Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[Orual]

Ravion finished his breakfast and put the plate aside, leaning back against the wall and rubbing his aching head. Never again! As he swore off alcohol for the fourth time in as many weeks, something of a commotion started up a little ways away.

"Where's my hat?" demanded a boy, facing another youth--Ravion believed he had heard him called Faran--whose head was bowed and was in a submissive stance. Ravion watched in detached interest as the first boy accused Faran of stealing his hat, an accusation that was firmly denied by the youth in a stuttering voice. Ravion would have taken the accused's side, if he had thought that the stutter was genuine. This boy was accustomed to fakery, and that never boded well.

Just as the first boy pulled his hand back into a fist meant to knock out a few of Faran's teeth, Faran dodged and ran through the common room, making a dash for the door. Ravion stood up and strode quickly to the youth, grabbing him by his collar and pressing him against the wall. He stared evenly at the boy, wordlessly took the hat from him and passed it to its rightful owner, who looked more than a little stunned by the turn that events had taken. He stared at it for a moment, then bolted.

"W-w-wait! T-t-that’s my h-hat!" Faran cried, struggling against Ravion. The Ranger held him firm, moving only slightly despite the boy's wriggling.

"You can drop the false stutter," Ravion said dryly.

"O-o-only if y-y-you l-l-let m-me go," Faran replied, his struggling abating somewhat. Ravion raised an eyebrow, and loosened his grip a little. Not much, but a little. He locked eyes with the boy for a moment longer, a dispassionate stare that he found quite effective in intimidating people he needed to question, or just people who were getting on his nerves. After the moment had passed, he grabbed Faran's collar once again and marched him over to the table at which he had been seated.

He pushed the boy down into a seat and took a seat himself. He did not push back his hood: he thought that it rather gave the impression that he was trying to give the youth. They weren't sitting down for a friendly cup of tea.

"Thievery," he said, his voice casual. He made a wry face and took his glass of water, drinking it and wrinkling his forehead in pain. It was still quite cold.

"I d-d-didn't st-steal an-any-anything!" Faran protested. Ravion glanced at him from over his glass. The Ranger cleared his throat and placed his glass on the table slowly.

"I said to drop the stutter," Ravion said, his voice low and indicating that he was no longer playing games. He leaned over the table, eye-to-eye with Faran. "You don't know me. You probably wish you hadn't met me, that you had gotten to that door. In fact I know you do. But we did meet." He realized that he was drumming his fingers on his scabbard, and that Faran was glancing nervously at it. He forced his hands to be still on the table, and held his glass to keep them steady. "My name is Ravion. I am a Ranger. Don't look so surprised; there are still some of us around. Not many, though. You might wonder what we do now. Well, with very few orcs around, and only a small number of Easterlings and Southrons who want to cause trouble with our good King, I have to settle for a little less." He leaned in closer. "Trouble-makers like you."

He straightened up. "Now, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself. Tell me why this hat was so necessary to your survival," he said mockingly, sitting back in his chair, fingering his necklace, a white-green stone with a square hole in the center, tied to a leather strap. His fingers ran over his father's name, engraved on the back, as he awaited the youth's answer.

[Nurumaiel]

"Sunset is lovely," Liornung murmured, his gaze fixed to the west. A red and gold haze had fallen over Rohan, mingling with the colors of the grass. The fiddler's eyes were soft and dreamy, and Bellyn's eyes were sparkling. "How often I've wished to follow the setting sun to the West and see what lies there. Ah, but first the North, to Ædegard and the blacksmith. Is that not so, little Bellyn?"

Her hazel eyes were took in greedily all the land about them, and a slight flush had come to her pale cheeks. Her mouth was slightly open, probably in awe at the magnificent scenery, and she was unheeding of the strands of her dark hair that fell in her face. Studying her most carefully, Liornung concluded that she was not beautiful but she had lovely eyes. Which was well. Nobody could be really beautiful if they had ugly eyes, and only would their eyes be beautiful if they were kind and loving.

Those eyes turned and met his blue ones and, either forgetting or ignoring the sunset for a moment, she questioned him, saying, "Do you think we'll catch Ædegard soon?"

"Yes," he replied. "I don't think he will ride all night. And if he does, we can ride faster, though it would be a pity to tire our mounts so." Liornung's hand fell to the neck of his bay and he rubbed the mare gently. "Ædegard would not, I fancy, wish to tire his mounts either, despite his need of Freawine's advice concerning his gear. He'll probably keep it in mind the rest of the day." Liornung chuckled.

Bellyn hesitated a moment, her eyes studying the ground with unnecessary keenness. She seemed to have something on her mind, but apparently she desired to think it out a little before she said anything. Liornung was quite content to let her. He whistled softly to himself... softly so she would not hear and have her thoughts interrupted, but he was composing a little tune that would reflect the beauty of that sunset.

"Do you think, Liornung, that Ædegard is an unkind person?"

Liornung did not look surprised, annoyed, or even amused. He merely gazed most gravely at Bellyn. "Have you no opinion of your own?" he asked. His eyes locked on hers and he could see quite plainly what she thought of Ædegard. "Well," he said, smiling in a very charming fashion, "I think much the same as you about him. I don't think he's too bad. He did seem a bit short and sharp when he left earlier today, but I trust it was merely because he was anxious to begin and annoyed at the trouble of leaving. Leaving on a journey is very troubling, you know.

"Ah, look, Miss Bellyn, I see him now."

And there he was indeed. He had turned his horse a little and was facing them at an angle, his hand resting tentatively on the hilt of his sword. A suspicious frown was on his face, and as they drew closer to him he said, "Who are you?"

"That," said Liornung, a tinge of admiration in his voice, "was very brave. See, Miss Bellyn, how direct he was in asking us. Surely he isn't a coward." Liornung gave what clumsy bow he could from atop his horse and said, "I am Liornung, a wandering fiddler and this is Miss Bellyn, an artist and my companion. And we are both following you." Liornung seemed quite pleased that he had been equally as brave as Ædegard.

"And why were you following me?" Ædegard questioned.

"Because you're following the blacksmith and we were intending to, but we concluded it would be much easier to merely follow you. In fact, Master Freawine has given us permission to join your company, which I see consists merely of you and your horses. Do you fancy having four more horses and two more people with you, or should we continue following you?"

Ædegard hesitated at this very bold way of speaking. Surely if Freawine had given consent these two must be honest and not thieves, but were he to suppose there were lying about Freawine. "Can I trust that Freawine really said what you say he did?"

"I could lie, quite easily," Liornung said. "I heard your conversation with Freawine, and I could have merely remembered their names. It would be very simple. However I do not like to lie in general, and never in front of a lady." And he cast a very significant look at Bellyn. "I'm a wandering fiddler, as I said," he continued. "I can play a good tune on my fiddle and I'm told I have a fine voice. I was quite content to stay in Edoras for quite awhile longer but a dear friend of mine was very concerned about this blacksmith going north and he desired me to follow and see that no harm came to him, being the blacksmith, Master Ædegard. So as you see my reason for being here is very honest. I wish to do what this one I mentioned asked of me as well as that I wish to help this blacksmith if I can, and I have no intention of stealing any of your horses or harming you. Miss Bellyn here most graciously suggested that she guide me and help me track the blacksmith as I have no skill in it. To be very short and honest... Would you, Master Ædegard, let us come with you, or should we be content to follow you?"

[Imladris]

Blast. Of all things, he had to run afoul of a ranger -- a drunken ranger at that with a mocking mouth. It really was quite humiliating that a mere thief such as himself was lower than an orc. “I think its pretty low to assume that I’m a troublemaker and that I stole the hat,” he said. “Really, I would have expected better from a ranger.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at him.

“I have not yet received an explanation,” Ravion replied. “Why was that hat so necessary to your survival?”

Leaning back in his chair, Aeron replied, “Whoever said that the hat was necessary for my survival, and whoever said that I stole it? If you must know, the hat is actually my sister’s. Not only did that scurrilous boy insult her, he took the hat from her. My sister is a gentle creature,” he added with a soft smile. “You couldn’t really expect her to reclaim the hat herself, could you?”

The man gazed at him, his keen eyes searching Aeron’s own. It was as if the man was prying through him, scrutinizing every word he had uttered, trying to catch him in a falsehood. Words…always waiting to ensnare you.

“And what about the stutter, Faran?” Ravion asked, sipping from his mug.

Drat. How he did harp on that stutter. It baffled him that Ravion had been able to tell it was false…a stutter was a stutter, what could be simpler? Yet somehow he had sniffed him out, just like he would sniff out an enemy.

“I used to stutter many years ago and he would make mimic me in a mocking manner,” Aeron said. “I must be out of practice,” he added. “I broke the habit when I was young. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Aeron said, jumping to his feet, “I have business to attend to.”

[mark12_30]

Working at an Inn had its disadvantages, Mellonin decided. You heard all the news, but you also saw all the brawls.

The rightful owner of the hat had already fled; now it looked as though the thief intended to flee as well. Mellonin hoped that the Ranger had everything under control. She moved away from the pair, murmuring calm greetings to the patrons nearby, and straightening the chairs that had been knocked about. But the tension between the ranger and the thief was palpable.

"Raefindan, perhaps you'd care to investigate?" she murmured as she passed.

He gave her a blank look. "But I'm not the one who is curious."

"I wonder whether the Ranger might know something about my brother, " said Mellonin.

"Then you should ask him, " Raefindan replied.

"Please, " said Mellonin.

"All right. But why won't you ask him yourself?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's the boy. Maybe... I don't know."

Raefindan gave Mellonin another puzzled glance, and walked towards Ravion's table.

[mark12_30]

Long before Amroth wanted to stop running, his body forced him to. What had happened to his endurance? He felt weak, weary, vunerable.

Perhaps more had happened between his leap into the foam, and his arrival at Edoras, then he strictly remembered. Either way, he needed physical rest. In fact he needed to sleep... again. He shook his head, but the weariness would not be fought off. He slowed to a walk, and studied his surroundings. Were he in a forest, he would sleep in a tree. But this was an open plain. He had not cared about hiding his tracks, for he had not anticipated being off his guard.

He left the soft turf and walked on rocky terrain, til he found a stream, which he waded in for several hundred yards. Then he turned uphill, and followed a rocky ledge for a quarter mile. It ended in a rocky outcropping that offered shelter from the wind, and from prying eyes. He found the flattest spot and stretched full-length on the ground. Dismissing all other thoughts, he reached northward, searching for the familiar touch of her mind even as he slipped into dreams.

[Orual]

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to." Faran leapt to his feet, more than eager to get away from the half-drunk Ranger who had assaulted him. Ravion rolled his eyes in a long-suffering sort of way and grabbed Faran by the arm, forcing him back into his seat.

"First off, shouldn't you take things one step at a time? Whatever business you have to attend to can wait until our business is done." Faran sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "And sit up straight. Sitting straight and walking tall shows people that you have your dignity, if nothing else." Ravion's eyes went distant for a moment, and he hoped that Faran could not tell that with that sentance, he was no longer talking about the youth. He ran his hand through his hair, breaking out of his reverie, and looked at Faran. Sensing that the boy was about to make a break for it, he added, "Even if you are a thief."

His repetition of that accusation was apparently rubbing Faran the wrong way. With a look of exasperation, he exclaimed, "I've told you again and again, I'm not a--"

"--not a thief. You've told me again and again, and I've heard you again and again. I may be a little hung over, but I'm neither deaf nor stupid, regardless of what you may think of me. Nor am I inexperienced. I saw the look on your face when you were quarrelling with that boy. You think I've never stolen anything before?" He broke off abruptly at that, wondering why he had admitted that to Faran. Not only did it diminish him in the eyes of the youth, but the circumstances had been different. Very different! If he hadn't stolen that horse, he never would have gotten to the battle on time...besides, it wasn't like the man hadn't had more than enough horses. And he would have returned the horse, but he couldn't find the man after the war was over...

He glared at Faran, both challenging and wary, waiting for the boy's response. If there was so much as a smirk on Faran's face, he'd slap it off of him.

[littlemanpoet]

Minas Tirith: Raefindan

Raefindan watched the Ranger rise from the table quickly and block the youth's way. The youth glowered at him.

Raefindan knew that he should have made Mellonin take responsibility for her own curiosity, but he couldn't help being gallant. Responsibility. Gallant. More words they don't use much around here. Raefindan shook his head and came up to the Ranger and laid a hand on the youth's shoulder.

"Ravion? Greetings. I am Raefindan. I see you have the youth well in hand."

The youth turned a baleful eye on Raefindan. "Unhand me, barhop!"

"He needs to be taken well in hand," the Ranger responded. "Well met, Raefindan." The Ranger kept an eye on the youth. What do you say we do a Frodo and Sam to this Gollum?" The youth looked positively indignant.

Raefindan's eyes went wide. "Did you say Frodo and Sam? I've heard those names before! And a clever idea at that, if I take you aright."

"I should hope so! They're famous. If you hadn't, I would wonder where you'd hidden these last few years."

They walked the youth to a chair and sat him down, then pulled a pair of chairs away from the table and placed one on each side of him, and talked over him.

"This is not funny! It's unjust! You have no right to hold me this way!"

Raefindant talked over the youth's protests. "That's just the thing, Ravion. I don't know where I've been before about a week ago. Yet it's positively amazing what I recognize and recall. Such as Frodo of the Nine Fing- now see there? You didn't even say that, yet I remember vividly! It's as if I was at the Cracks of Doom myself!"

"I would not envy you that," Ravion replied. "Speaking of things forgotten and remembered, there was something I was supposed to say here."

Just then the youth bolted. He scrambled under the table, forcing the two tall men to pivot around it. The youth sprinted for the door and looked like he was going to make a clean getaway. A foot appeared before the door and tripped him, sending him sprawling. Ravion was right behind the youth. He sat on him.

"Good work, Mellonin. Clever of you to sneak around and cut off the boy's escape."

"I have a name, you know," the youth said in an injured tone.

"Let's have it then," Raefindant said.

"Faran. Not Gollum, thank you very much."

Rohan: Mellon/Amroth

Ædegard regarded Liornung and Bellyn. A fiddler minstrel and an artist. The artist could track. And he being a wheelwright added a perfect third to the triangle of seemingly worthless skills for catching a mad blacksmith. He shook his head. Better to have them near where he could keep an eye on them than out of sight and a possible danger. Or distraction. Of course, their music and talk might prove distraction enough as it was. This Liornung certainly had a gift for turning a simple thought into a spun out string of endless words. It might just prove to be an overtiresome companionship. He would have to make the best of it.

"You may come with me. If the lady can track, as you say, that is good." He turned north without another word and let them catch up to him. He was not about to make conversation. It was not his way, unless he was in a tavern and at least one good pint down his gullet to loosen his tongue. Wheelwrighting was silent work, and he liked it so. Tracking a mad blacksmith had all the appearance of being a tongue wagging time. He hoped not.