Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The horses began moving at a steadily quicker pace than before, and Bellyn wondered at this sudden change and spurt of motivation in the animals. Amroth intrigued her as well -- his outward approach at things contrasted the way he spoke -- it was so strange to Bellyn. Still, the group soldiered on northward, with the somehow refreshed horses and quiet atmosphere. Liornung did his best to lighten the mood, and he sang songs that delighted Bellyn and always brought a hint of a smile to Ædegard's lips. Amroth was quiet and contemplative, and Bellyn went through different ideas in her mind that might explain what he would not.

"I wonder why such bad luck fell upon him," Bellyn wondered aloud to Liornung as he paused for a while between merry and somber songs.

"What do you mean?" Liornung inquired, and Bellyn sighed as she watched Amroth in front of her. Bellyn didn't get to know very many people, but she her imagination was always running away and always found explanations and reasons for everything. While drawing and sketching, she liked to make up stories for what was portrayed on the paper -- it made her feel better about being alone drawing maps in random Inns.

Snapping out of her reverie, Bellyn looked back at Liornung, matching his gaze with her own. "Well, bad luck, right? He says he lost his betrothed when she did not show at their meeting place. Do you think she purposefully left him there? Or did something horrible happen to her? Maybe she is looking for him too, and we are heading in the opposite direction from her, and she is going right past us, right over that hill! What do you think, Liornung?"

"I think you have a very active imagination," Liornung replied, chuckling softly as his voice trailed off. Bellyn's face showed that she was slightly offended, though she did not mean to be so. Liornung caught the look and stopped laughing, quick to make sure Bellyn did not feel offended anymore. "I did not mean it badly, of course. It is a good thing to have such intellect. It makes people think about possibilities they never thought were, well...possible."

"Again, I must compliment you on your people skills," Bellyn reiterated, remembering their conversation earlier. "It is admirable that you are so quick to realize how people feel. How do you think Amroth feels now, being without his loved one? And Ædegard, following Amroth on what might be a slightly wild goose chase? In fact, how do you feel going out now on this journey?"

"This journey will teach me much, as much as it will teach you." Liornung said, smiling.

"I suppose. In any class, I'm glad to be here right now, wherever it leads..." Bellyn agreed, copying Liornung's smile.

[Imladris]

“Go gather the firewood, Aeron,” Ravion said as unsaddled the horse.

Go gather wood Aeron mimicked under his breath. Naturally he got the dirty job…the sticky job. Sap always seemed to ooze in the little crevices of dead wood. “Gwyl, would you mind helping me?” he asked.

As they gathered the wood, he whispered to her, “You are now my older sister.”

“Even though that thought brings me immense pleasure, how could I possibly be my older sister.”

“Only to them are you my older sister,” Aeron said, shoving her slightly. “One cannot change the fate of time, my dear.”

“You lied to them?” she asked. “He is a ranger, and you are going to get in trouble when he finds out.”

“ If he finds out,” Aeron said.

“Why did you lie in the first place,” she moaned. “I am two years younger than you, and you cannot expect me to act older.”

Blast it. She was being difficult. “I am not asking to purposely act older,” Aeron said gently. “Just remember that if they ask how old you are.” I never knew she looked so young he whispered to himself. “I lied because I did not think they would take you along. You should have seen Ravion’s face, Gwyl.”

She tittered and said, “So for once lying didn’t pay. You naughty boy!”

[littlemanpoet]

The day passed quickly, and Ædegard enjoyed Liornung's songs, for the most part. They made him laugh inside with their lightness.

By day's end the mountain ring surrounding the Wizard's Vale could be seen at the western horizon. It was still named the Wizard's Vale by many, though Saruman was gone and the Ents were the new tenants holding Orthanc under the rule of Éomer, Lord of the Mark. It was a strange world, with Ents and Elves and 'Obbits, as the saying now went in Edoras, for the Eorlingas loved their songs to greet sound to sound. Which, Ædegard considered, Liornung's did in a different way than he knew.

As they made camp that night, on the plains of the West Emnet, still a stiff ride from the eaves of Fangorn, Ædegard spoke his thought as they sat around their campfire under the starry dome, the southwesterly breeze soughing through the tall grasses of the plain.

"Liornung, your songs are fair and light, yet they sound unlike that which I grew up listening to in Edoras. Your songs have the same sounds within the words at the end of a line instead of the way of the Eorlingas, whose songs make most of tongue against tooth or mouth roof or lip. And yours are fair and speak of family and love and sparkle and wit, as on a summer breeze, while those I grew up with are of stone and sword and come on a cold wind out of the north, as did Eorl long years ago. Our minstrels have made the War of the Ring into such songs. One runs like this, in part:

"Hear of the heroes at Helm's Deep
who refused to fall against the greed
of that twist tongued serpent, Saruman.
Hear the names of the heroes that night,
Théoden, mighty thewed Mark lord,
his loyal heir, Éomer son of Éomund,
Aragorn son of Arathorn, wielder of Anduril,
Legolas of the Elves, fleetfooted orcslayer,
Gimli son of Glóin and Gamling the Old,
and Gandalf Greyhame, wielder of Glamdring,
courage bringer, counsellor, friend of the free peoples.

"Helm haunted the Hornburg that night,
and the stout Helmingas withstood the siege.

"And so it goes. I have that much by heart, and more, but I would not bore you with it. Under your hand I'd expect somewhat like so:

"Hear of the heroes of Helm's Deep
when Saruman's orcs did creep
to the Hornburg from the Wizard's Vale
to overrun but - um - they did fail....

"or something like it. I speak overlong, wending my way to my point, but where did you learn your verse skill? Tell us the tale of it, if you will."

Liornung

"The tale of it?" Liornung blushed slightly but it was clear he was more than eager to tell. "What you have said is true... the Bards of Rohan have rarely put rhyme in their verse and their great songs have been sung without. Yet I learned the art of song not from one of Rohan but from a wandering minstrel of Gondor who always sang in rhyme. Indeed, this fiddle is his that he left me, and 'twas he who first named me Liornung. The name my mother and father gave to me is Sarig, but I do forbid anyone to call me thus." And, a twinkle in his eye, he looked at each member of the company in turn.

"Yes, indeed, it is a name to avoid! But as I was saying before, it was that wandering minstrel who brought me to sing in rhyme. He sang for me a lovely song. He was not as I am. You see, he had a lover in Gondor waiting for him, and I have never fallen in love and don't fully intend to. He was fair eight and thirty years when he first passed through my land and stayed at my father's home, when I was but a lad. He spoke to me a little of her, calling her fairest and dearest, her heart the sweetest and kindest, and though I daresay now all say so much of their lover's, as Amroth would surely say of his, I have rarely seen a man love as that minstrel loved his Gondor maid. He would often describe her to me in a verse, saying:

"Dear are her charms to me,
dearer her laughter free,
dearest her constancy.

"She was of Rohan though he had brought her to Gondor to wait for him at his mother's home. He would have married her long before that time but he could not bring himself to lay aside his roaming just yet. He did tell me once, however, that two years forward he would abandon all roads, build a little home, and take her for his wife. I have not heard of him since, but I pray the two of them are happily wed." He paused a moment before continuing, and his voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Once I heard him singing a song he had written to her, though he did not know I was closeby. It was a charming little song, very simple, but full of such love and devotion. I heard it only once yet it has ever been in my mind. It ran thus:

"Do you see yon bonnie minstrels as they go along
a-trippin' and a-skippin' to the lilt of their song?
And, lassie, they sing a song for thee
so jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

A minstrel's fare is poor if his songs do not please
but if hunger faced us I should love you 'fore life ceased
and with my dying breath I would take you on my knee
and I would tell you truly how much I loved thee.

But if my songs should pleased and bring us some food
still I'd love you as ever a man could
and I'd play you a tune 'neath some shady tree.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

And if there came children a home they should not lack.
I'd set aside my songs and take my fiddle from my back
and I should love them however many there may be.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come away with me.

And when, my darling girl, we are both frail and old
and your hair turned to white and lost its lovely gold,
though youth had with time decayed still I would love thee.
So jump up, bonnie girl, and come along with me.

[littlemanpoet]

They were up with the sun next morning, and Mellon, or Amroth, pushed on, the three others following in his wake. Ædegard was happy, even though the cold seeped through his clothes, the price of a clear night in late Autumn. Liornung's story had been good, and even though Ædegard had not been able to see his eyes, the sound of his voice said that the fiddler spoke truth. Ædegard trusted him the more.

Liornung caught up with him at the middle of the morning, as the still far off eves of Fangorn came in sight.

"I've heard you murmuring or mumbling something. What is on your mind, Ædegard?" His words came on a vapor with the chill.

Ædegard turned to him with a sheepish smile. "I have been practicing your craft. Surely I'll only ever be a poor hand at it, but I like how it turns on the tongue."

"Tell me what you mean, friend!"

Friend! Ædegard made sure not to let his surprise show on his face, but such a term was dearly bought in his reckoning, but it came easily to the lips of the fiddler.

He grinned, bashful in answer to his request. "You would think me a fool."

"So be it then, I've often enough been a fool myself, so I'll enjoy the company of another!"

Ædegard laughed. "So be it then! A moment." He furrowed his brow and mouthed some voiceless words, then took in a deep breath as if to blow out a small fire.

"We make our way through West Emnet
to see how far we can get,
following Amroth or Mellon, whichever his name,
wondering for his ailment who is to blame!"

"There you have it. Silly, no?"

[mark12_30]

Amroth heard the verse, sighed with annoyance, turned, and glanced at Ædegard. He considered rebuking him for his disrespect, but decided not to; the lad seemed to have cheered up, and Amroth valued cheer.

In fact, he could use some. He was weary; wearier than any elf had a right to be, and his heart was heavy. He spoke to Echo, who slowed til he was even with the other three riders. They waited, wondering whether a rebuke was coming. They were surprised to hear a merry tune.

"Pacing steeds and daring deeds
and swords and lances shining,
Blades to wield on bloody field
With maidens back home pining.

Homeward bound, with joyful sound
The elves to wood returning
Treetops blow, the rivers flow
For seashore ever yearning

Golden bread and wine so red
and eyes and faces shining
harps to wield in grassy field
with friends in pleasure dining.

Ages turn, elf-hearts yearn
For lands beyond the water
Yet here we wait, and til then take
Our joy in simple laughter."


He turned weary eyes on Ædegard, and then chuckled. "Ailment indeed. May your betrothed never lead you on a search such as this. Indeed, I suppose she is to blame. Yet I will neither speak ill of her nor hear her ill spoken of."

Things were getting serious again. Liornung and Bellyn exchanged nervous glances. Amroth chose to smile.

"Come, Ædegard, it is your turn again. Another rhyme. Mine was simple, and quite rough; you may easily better it. So fear not. Sing!"

[littlemanpoet]

"But I must work it out first!"

"Then do so! Fangorn is still far off, and Lorien many leagues away."

"Give me the morning. Let Liornung cheer you with one of his. I wager he has one at the ready always! Or Bellyn can."

Liornung said, "It is my turn, since the both of you have had a go. I'll sing you to and by Fangorn!"

And he did. Soon it was noon. They stopped for a short meal, under the outer reaches of Fangorn. Then they were on their way again, keeping the great wood to their left. Echo led the other horses on a brisk pace, seemingly at the beck of Mellon. Or Amroth. Ædegard was finding it hard to turn his mind to think of the blacksmith as Amroth, but it was beginning to seem necessary so as not to cause undue ire amongst them. And who knew? Maybe it was somehow the truth of the matter.

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Ædegard announced that he had worked up another.

"We gallop on beneath the bows of Fangorn wood,
remembering that many trees once stood
where grasses grow beneath the sun,
where breezes blow and horses run."

"That is all I can manage at a time. You will have to be satisfied with that."

[mark12_30]

Snatches of song drifted past him, but Amroth spoke with the trees as they rode past.

Have you seen Nimrodel? Have you seen my lady? Her mantle is golden-hemmed, her shoes are silver grey. Has she not been here? Her hair is long, her limbs white; she is fair as the moonlight. Has she not danced here? Her voice is falling silver; has she not spoken with you? Have you not heard her sing?

Tree after tree told him nay, and his heart grew heavy again.

She took refuge here, fleeing from the darkness of Moria. Has she not returned? Has she not taken refuge again beneath your branches?

The sun neared the mountaintops, and then sank behind them, and the air grew chill. Echo tossed his head, sometimes looking back at Amroth; Amroth stroked his neck. "Yes, my friend. We can go yet further ere we halt. You are right."

Echo swung into a mile-eating trot, and surrounded by song, Amroth bent his thoughts toward the forest again as the twilight deepened.