Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

Mellonin stood frozen on the bank, her heart in her mouth, staring at the circles on the water where Ravion had just gone under.

Do something, fool!

Far in the distance, she heard Aeron running. He had heard Ravion call. She could hear Aeron's labored breathing, and she turned; he seemed so very far away. She must do something. She looked down at her waist. Knife. I have my knife. But what good is that--

Something moved near her foot. She gasped as her foot went out from under her; inhaled a great breath to scream-- and the waters closed over her head as the tentacle pulled her under as well. Another tentacle wrapped itself around her thighs.

She remembered her knife. She drew it, and feeling with her left hand, began to slash with all her strength at the thing that held her thighs. The water grew darker. The grip around her thigh was loosening! It was gone. She curled up toward her ankle, feeling with her left hand, and stabbed at it again and again. Suddenly its strength was gone, and she was free. None too soon, for she could hold her breath no longer.

She kicked downward, but her foot sank into mud. She wrenched it loose, and kicked at the water, and kicked again, and broke the surface gasping for breath.

Beside her the water churned, and she saw Ravion's cloak. She gasped for breath, and took hold of the cloak. With one more breath she put her face in the water and pulled herself down hand over hand along his cloak. Beside her Aeron splashed into the water, and she felt a jab of pain in her arm. She pulled herself down further. Ravion was thrashing, and she saw a dark-grey arc of movement. His sword. She dodged away, and went to his left; she pulled herself down along his tunic, his belt. There was a thick tentacle wrapped around his waist. Aeron was beside her, kicking, and she saw his blade too; she moved away to Ravion's back. She was getting dizzy, and wanted only to breathe. She hacked at the tentacle around Ravion's waist. The water grew blacker still. She felt with her left hand, and hacked again.

She had to breathe. She let go, hating herself, and surfaced. She felt her foot kick something that yeilded.

Beside her Ravion came up. She reached for his shirt as he reached for her, and they both nearly went under again, but he pulled her towards shore. Aeron came up next. Mellonin's foot kicked something again; it yelded again. It felt solid. She looked down, but the water was black.

"Gwy--" She tried to point down. "Gwyl--"

Aeron dove. Seconds later he surfaced with a handful of his sister's hair, and swam hard for shore.

Aeron dragged his sister onto the tussocky shore as Ravion and Mellonin crawled out on all fours and collapsed. Ravion sucked in several breaths and then said "Further. Still too close." They crawled til he was content, and then collapsed again. Aeron dragged his sister up beside them, and sat down, holding her and wiping the reeds from her face and hair.

"Gwyllion, " he pleaded. " Gwyllion, wake up. Listen to me. Gwyllion, wake up. Gwyll!"

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked southeast, at the mountains on the far horizon, and heaved a great sigh.

Erebemlin turned to him in surprise. "My lord?"

Amroth combed Echo's mane with his fingers, and shook his head. "Erebemlin, I have searched for the touch of her mind in both Dagorlad and Gorgoroth. I found few minds in either place, and none seemed familiar. It was a difficult search, far more difficult than searching Rohan and Fangorn; at least in Fangorn there were trees to ask. And now my heart misgives me, for I do not know where to turn next."

Erebemlin was silent for a little, and then said, "My lord, you wished to follow the river; yet you have not searched its banks. I do not understand why."

Amroth looked at Erebemlin. "If she is on the river, she will find us."

Erebemlin frowned, hesitating. "Only if she is looking for us, my lord. What if she is not? What if she does not desire to be found?"

Amroth's eyes kindled, and he raised one eyebrow. "Have a care, Erebemlin."

"Lord, I do not doubt her love for you. None who knew her, or you, would do so." He took a deep breath. "Perhaps, my lord, she has been hiding from all eyes. The years were dark. If she... There were many enemies roaming far and wide. To hide from them was wisdom, my lord. Many elves did so."

"Why would she close her mind?"

"Many minds were closed during the war, my lord. The enemy's thoughts reached far and wide, and sowed much discord. It was an evil time. Lorien herself wore a cloak after the girdle of Melian."

Amroth studied his friend, doubt in his eyes. "Even so?"

Erebemlin hesitated, then nodded. "The Lady Galadriel herself made it so."

Amroth looked away from his friend, and passed his hand over his eyes. His head hurt; his eyes hurt; his heart ached. Galadriel. What had she to do with Lorien? "I did not sense the Lady Galadriel's thoughts in the forest, nor a girdle blocking me, Erebemlin."

"My lord, when the Shadow was defeated she sailed west. She is in Valimar now, I deem."

Once more, Amroth's hand passed over his eyes, this time rubbing them. It felt strangely pleasant, and he rubbed harder. As Erebemlin watched, Amroth raised his other hand to his face, and scrubbed with both hands.

"My lord?"

Amroth finished and looked down at his hands, puzzled. "Why did I do that?"

Erebemlin waited.

"You say I do not wear an elvish body, Erebemlin."

Erebemlin nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"I begin to believe you. I have little strength, no endurance, frequent pain with no wound to cause it, and my eyes hurt. Often! Can you see anything in the sky over there?" He pointed southwestward.

Erebemlin turned. "Yes, my lord. Eagles, hawks. Some sparrows. A flock of crows further west."

Amroth shook his head. "I see them not."

Erebemlin waited.

"What shall I do, Erebemlin?"

Erebemlin replied, "You had hoped to find her along the great river. Let us search the river carefully as we follow it."

"But the choking, lifeless dust?"

"That was only your last dream, my lord. You have dreamed of the water many times, have you not?'"

Amroth nodded. "Very well. We will search the river." He closed his eyes again, and breathed deeply. Why was he so very weary?

[Nurumaiel]

Argeleafa's face paled at the words of Ædegard as she stared unmovingly at him, and then a deep flush came to her face and a faint smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you, Ædegard," she murmured. She fell silent and reflected once again on what he had said to her, and how he had called her 'Leafa.' A tear sprang to her eye before she could stop it, and glistened a moment in the firelight. Then she bowed her head and put a hand to her face as if to brush a strand of hair away. She hoped no one had seen the tear, for the might think it was one of sorrow, but it was not.

The eyes of the company were still on her, and Liornung realized that he should draw attention away from them. He turned to Ædegard, a teasing little smile on his face. "Ædegard, why did you not tell us of your great skill in song?" he questioned. "One would not have guessed your voice from the way you sang the rhyming songs you worked to compose. So hesitatingly you sang them, as if doubting yourself. Come," he said, the mischief clearly glinting in his eyes now, "and sing us another song before our eyes begin to close with the weariness of the day and we creep away to satisfy our desire for rest."

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard grinned. "If you thought I was trying to sing then, it is no wonder you thought my efforts were so poor! I was only trying to give strength to the words!"

Liornung looked at him in momentary confusion, then threw back his head in laughter. "That is a good jest, my friend. More fool me. If that be the case, then your singsong poeting should have been a clue to me that you might have a singer's voice. So sing us another song!"

Ædegard's head sank almost between his knees and he looked sidelong at Leafa. He mumbled something.

Liornung bent his ear toward Ædegard. "What's that? I could not hear you."

"I cannot think of any songs." Ædegard looked askance at Leafa again. "I am sorry."

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwe listened to the humans, not far off in the swamp. Children, all of them. They had survived the swamp beast, more the pity. He had heard the one's dreams from far off, and had wondered. The curse was at work again. It had been hundreds of seasoncycles since its power had been felt. Why now? Because the Dark Lord's waxing had ended. That must be it.

So this boy dreams of Mithrellas, and of himself as Imrazor, while he is in a fever. Tharonwe considered how dreams came to this boy whose red hair placed him if anywhere, among the half civilized humans that dwelt between Eryn Lasgalen and Ered Mithrin north of Lothlorien. But he was tall as the Elves. Strange. Yet this one seemed a part of the curse.

Unless some force sought to undo it, after all these seasoncycles? Tharonwe's brow lowered in growing anger. Who did this? It must not be undone! She had spurned him and claimed Amroth, upstart of Lothlorien, as her lover. They could not be allowed to reunite. She needed to remain where she was until all things that needed to pass, did so, and then - then! - he would claim her and win her heart, she who had captured his long ago. There was no one else for him to love, only Nimrodel. Sweet name, fair heart, turned to the wrong Elf. Cruel fate had cast Tharonwe's love in his face with a mocking laugh. He had believed in Nimrodel's true heart. And it had been false. She had spoiled his faith in her. Others would say that she was true indeed, and to the better elf. Tharonwe scowled. Cruel fate had dictated his bitterness, not an upstart king of Elves too fearful to protect themselves as he had done for ages now.

So be it. Tharonwe would have the final laugh, and would have Nimrodel in the end.

He fed the two young humans dark dreams. Feed them long enough and they would cower from sleep, would give up on their quest to piece together the puzzle of the dreams that had come to them true. He would have to find out who it was that had given them these dreams, find out what power in Middle Earth worked against his curse. The Valar? If so, only through one of the cursed Istari, but that was unlikely.

Tharonwe knew enough of what had passed in the world beyond his swamp to understand that the world had changed, and the ages of the Elves were past. And that the new King in Gondor had ended the curse of the dead men of Dunharrow. Maybe this Elessar's power over death and shadows had something to do with it. Maybe the tales lied. Tharonwe would have to learn what he could from these children.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin slowly withdrew her hands from her face. Looking up at Aeron, she drew a deep breath, and glanced at Raefindan and Gwyllion.

Ravion slowly let go of her shoulders, and drew back. She did not look at him. Mellonin turned towards Gwyllion with beseeching tear-filled eyes, and reached for her.

"What ails you, Mellonin?" said Gwyll, puzzled.

Raefindan knelt near them both. "What dreams, Mellonin? Tell me."

Her white face turned towards him, and she shook her head.

"It's over, " he said. "It was just a dream. Nothing more."

"I am not so certain, " she quavered. "It seemed quite real, and when I awoke--" Horror filled her eyes again, and her composure fled beyond recall. She curled up and sobbed. Aeron snorted in disgust and walked away to gether his things. Gwyllion hesitated, then followed him. Ravion sat back on his heels, and looked on as Raefindan waited beside Mellonin, one hand on her wrist.

Tempted to rise and finish packing, Ravion hesitated as he studied them: one sick in body, the other sick in heart.

"Shall we march, or rest, Raefindan? What think you?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Shall we march, or rest, Raefindan? What think you?" Ravion asked.

It was not as easy a question as it might have seemed to someone looking in from outside. Raefindan allowed a fleeting grin to pass over his face, for that kind of thought was quite alien to this place called Middle Earth, which was not his home. Raefindan focused his attention. Mellonin's dream was not merely troublesome. This was worse. It reminded him of how he had felt when the Elf had forced him to dream. If that was so.....

"We must be away from here, Ravion," he said suddenly, with more force than he had used in any speech for a long time. "I do not trust that Elf, nor the beast in the waters."

"Mind you, Raefindan, you are weak, and we have all barely escaped with our lives."

"All the more reason to leave this place, which I think you know."

"Aye."

Raefindan helped Ravion to encourage the others to move. Aeron, kicking at a bit of turf, looked at Mellonin down his nose. Gwyllion stamped up to him and punched him on the shoulder.

"The real men in this group do not turn up their noses at a woman's sorrow, and neither should you, you beastly boy!"

Aeron made to swing back at her, but she ducked out of reach. "Little you know, Gwyllion, and I am older than you and know more of the ways of the world."

"Hah!"

"It is time to move your feet and not your mouths!" Ravion called over his back as he checked Gond's pack.

Jorje was sniffing at Mellonin's hand and face, eager to lick her salty tears.

"Come, Jorje," said Raefindan. Jorje wagged his tail. Raefindan patted his head, and knelt before Mellonin. "Come, my friend, let us put some distance between us and that Swamp Elf and his evil dreams." He offered her his hand.

Mellonin looked to him. "Do you think that my brother is not dead?" She placed her hand in his, and he lifted her to her feet.

"I cannot say, but a dream dreamed in this swamp is no clear arbiter." They began to follow the others, Jorje tailing them, his tongue lolling happily.

"No clear hour bitter? What do you mean?"

"Pay no mind. It is one of my odd words. What I mean to say is that I would not trust a dream dreamed here." Mellonin nodded. "We will not travel far."

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung laughed again and clapped Ædegard on the shoulder. "What a little boy you are," he said, his voice full of mirth. "Come, come, surely you do not take so seriously the teasing of an old man." As he had often done since he had left Edoras with Bellyn, he winked at the lass.

Ædegard looked at Argeleafa again and she smiled. "Perhaps," she said, "if you cannot entertain us with song and music you might tell us a little story."

"Yes," said Liornung, looking with approval at Argeleafa. "What a wise little lassie you are! You told me a story just moments ago, Ædegard, and you told it in a way that captured my attention. Tell another story." He flung his hands out wide. "Laugh in a manner that makes others laugh too. Do something to entertain us. Argeleafa," he said, turning to her, "make a request of him. Surely he will endeavour to please you."

She paused and considered a moment, and then her face brightened and she said to Ædegard, "Tell us about your family."

[Imladris]

"Gwyllion!" he cried as he slapped her as hard as he could on the face. She did not stir, her face was white and pinched, as if the life had been sucked from her. His slap did nothing to her but leave a harsh red mark upon her cheek. Aeron cursed himself and said, "Gwyllion...Gwyllion! Wake up!"

He pulled his sister to his chest and smoothed her hair. It was tangled, mud clung to it, and there was some marsh weed strung through it. He rocked her and said, "Breathe you little idiot. You cannot live if you don't breathe."

Little Gwyll...why? Why did these bad things happen? Why had that slimy thing dragged her under in the deep, muddy, slimy water? Why had she even been that close to the dratted water in the first place? She should know better. It was unfortunate that she did not fear water as much as she feared blood.

What if she died? Would she be happier? He did not know. But what use was there screaming at it, ranting at it? His crying would not stop her from dying. If she died, she would no longer be plagued about her father, nor have to have spasms of fear rack through her at the sight of blood. "Breathe...please!" he whispered, hugging her.

Her body undulated upwards, forcing the swallowed water out of her body. She gasped for breath and clutched at Aeron. "Gwyllion!" he shouted, forcing her upright and wiping the water from her mouth. "You're alive!" Alive!

She nodded and said, "Yes-- the black thing was --"

If she wasn't careful she would talk herself back into the sickness. Typical of women. He put his hand over her mouth and said, "Shush you. Rest is what you need."

"But --"

Protesting, as usual. He rolled his eyes and said, "Make it quick."

"Is Raefindan all right?"

"Of course!" he snorted. "Now, you rest!"

[Orual]

Ravion's lungs burned as he forced air into them. He was shaking somewhat, much to his humiliation. He watched as Aeron revive Gwyllion, and his own breathing became somewhat easier. He had been terribly afraid that the girl was not going to wake up. She must have been under for a very long time. She was unbelievably fortunate to be alive.

He stripped off his sodden cloak, rolling his shoulders back to rid himself of all the cricks in his back. He looked about himself wearily to try to find something with which to wipe his sword on, but could find nothing. He was too tired to look very hard. The battle in the water, then trying to get far enough away from the water to be sure that they were safe...he was worn to the bone. He was sure that Gwyllion and Mellonin were, too.

Mellonin. He looked over to her. She was breathing heavily, obviously shaken, but in an admirably gathered state of mind. She too had been watching Aeron and Gwyllion, and was still doing so. Raefindan was standing by Gond, digging in the horse's saddlebags for anything that could be of use.

"You did well back there, Mellonin," Ravion said quietly, moving to her. She looked up at him and smiled wearily. "You saved us all."

"I could hardly have done anything else," she said simply. "I could not tell whether or not you were..." She broke off abruptly.

"Capable? Obviously not, by myself." He smiled at her. "Mellonin, I would be dead now if it had not been for you. So would Gwyllion. I thank you."

He stood up shakily, gripping the trunk of a tree to support himself. "Raefindan, get some of that green fennel-looking herb, would you? It will help with our nerves. Take some yourself. It has been a hard day for us all."

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan was tired. Maybe his pneumonia had passed - and he wondered how the Elf had been able to remove it from his body so easily - but he was weakened and unable to be of much use. It had been torture to watch from land and be told to do nothing, although it had been the right decision on Ravion's part. At least they were all safe. He could not bear to lose Gwyllion, or any of them. It reminded him of his dream, having lost Mithrellas, which reminded him of another loss, which awakened deep pain in his gut. Angela.

Raefindan found the herbs Ravion required, and brought them to him. Ravion's hands were knowledgable in the use of them, though his fingers shivered with wet and cold. Jorje followed him from ranger to horse and back again, whining. He scratched the dog between his ears. Raefindan watched Ravion to see how he used the herbs.

"How does this herb work? What is it called?"

Ravion explained as well as he was able, his teeth chattering as he did, and Raefindan rehearsed the information to himself. He recalled having done such a thing many times before, but why or when or where, he could not recall. It did not matter for now.

"Ravion, you have a scratch on your upper arm." The ranger looked at his arm in some surprise, then turned back to Raefindan and asked him to find strips of cloth in his pack, to be used to cover his wounds. "I will tell you how to use them."

He returned to the horse packs and found blankets, Jorje tailing him, and gave one to Ravion, Gwyllion, and Aeron. Holding the last one, his thought turned to Mellonin.

Although each of them were weary and spent, it was important for Raefindan to speak to Mellonin. She sat on a dry hummock of grass, her legs crossed before her, her arms crossed in front, her entire body shivering from wet and cold. One arm had a nasty gash in the fabric, and Raefindan could see blood smearing under the wet cloth of her sleeve.

He knelt beside her and she looked up.

"You are wounded." She nodded, having seen it. "You should have said something."

"It does not hurt much, and Gwyllion's need was greater."

"You did well. I wish I could have helped." He lay the blanket around her shoulders while Jorje sniffed at her wet leggings. "I'll get more strips of cloth."

"My thanks."

Raefindan made another trip to Ravion's supply pack, Jorje doing an admirable imitation of his shadow, and returned to Mellonin. He tore the fabric of her sleeve away from the wound, and cleaned and dressed it, as Ravion had shown him.

"Mellonin, I have had dreams again. I think you should know them."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin's eyes closed. Dreams. Can we not have a restful nights' sleep? Must we always be haunted by longing, drownings, dust and despair?

She opened her mouth and was about to speak, when Ravion spoke. "We must move on. We are weak and weary, but I do not want to stay here near that..." he nodded towards the river. "The walk will warm us up, and later we will make a fire and dry our clothes. But first we must change into such dry clothes as we have." Ravion paused, and considered Raefindan. "We could go and ask the elf for a warm fire."

"I think not, " shuddered Raefindan.

He pointed at Gwyllion and Mellonin, and said "Gond's right side. Men on Gond's left side." THey struggled to their feet, separated as ordered, held blankets for each other and put on what dry clothing they had, hanging their wet things off of Gond's harness as best they could and using blankets as cloaks.

Mellonin marched in silence. Everyone still wore their wet boots, and they were glad when Ravion found a hollow between two low hills. Raefindan and Aeron collected firewood; Ravion started the fire; Mellonin gathered long sticks to hang their wet clothes on near the fire. The cloaks and boots dried slowly, and they sat in a tight circle around the fire warming their bare feet.

Suddenly Mellonin laughed aloud. "Halflings, barefoot and wandering! Four halflings and a man; Raefindan is Aragorn! This is Midgewater! Aeron, you shall be Peregrin, and Gwyllion, Meriadoc!"

"Nay, " chuckled Ravion, "Peregrin was the younger; Ernil i Periannath falls to Gwyllion."

"But Aeron is the rascal."

"Quite true! Very well, then!"

Once the laughter faded, Raefindan said, "So then who will be Samwise?"

"I will, " replied both Mellonin and Ravion; each glanced at the other, and looked away.

Raefindan hid a smile.

Mellonin looked up at him. Then she reached into her bag, and brought out a pen, and a bottle of ink. She shook it. It had held against the water. The papers were wet, and she laid them out by the fire; in the still air they did not stir. She brandished the pen in the air, and smiled grimly, and laid it beside the papers, smoothed her hair, and looked at Raefindan again. "I must hear of your dreams," she said, wriggling her toes nearer the fire. "Tell me your tale now."

[littlemanpoet]

"I must hear of your dreams," Mellonin said, wriggling her toes nearer the fire. "Tell me your tale now."

Raefindan sighed. Mellonin wanted the dreams told before all of them. Truth be told, they did not feel as if they belonged to him alone. Still, it was as if she was asking him to reveal dark secrets from his past from the witness stand.

"I dreamed that I was Imrazor. That I took Mithrellas to wife."

"Who are they?" asked Gwyllion.

"Old tales tell of Amroth and Nimrodel," Ravion said. "Amroth, king of Lorien, loved Nimrodel, who gave her name to the river flowing out of the Misty Mountains, and through Lorien until it joins the Silverlode. Amroth went over sea, and Nimrodel became separated from him. He was lost in the waves, and she was lost in the mountains. It is told that Imrazor found and took to wife Mithrellas, one of Nimrodel's serving women."

"You have almost told my tale for me, Ravion," Raefindan said. He widened his eyes and shook his head. I dreamed of finding and wooing her, and helping her to look for Nimrodel. We gave up hope and she consented to be my wife."

"Cunning scented?" One brow rose on Aeron's face. "What kind of smell is that?"

"Consented. It means, agreed."

"An odd word." Aeron frowned.

"No doubt!" Raefindan grinned. It's from a language you cannot know, my friend. "In my last dream, she left me and my son and my daughter, and ranged into the mountains, as if drawn by some call. Perhaps Nimrodel called her. She fell to her death. From a high cliff." Raefindan hung his head, for he did not want the others to see how his eyes welled. He rubbed them. "The smoke!" He stood and stretched. "So that is my dream. Make of it what you will." He sat back down.

[Imladris]

"What were you doing beside the water?" asked Aeron, as he plopped himself down beside the water. "You weren't thinking of going for a swim, were you?"

"Yes. I wanted to swim in the nasty muck," Gwyllion said, rolling her eyes. She tossed her head, put her nose in the air, slided her eyes down at him and said, "I was investigating. "

He chuckled and tossed a pebble at her, which cuffed her on the ear. "That is a big word for you," he said, winking. "Did you hear it from Raefindan?"

"I should have stayed under the water and died," said Gwyllion, stifling a yawn. "You do not even seem to be grieved that I almost died."

[/i] Women were so sentimental.[/i] "But you didn't die," he said. "Why should I shed tears over something that didn't happen, eh? You're alive, and ripe for tickling, teasing, and all sorts of brotherly affection."

"Brotherly abuse, you mean," Gwyllion replied, throwing a pebble at him.

It flew wide the mark and Aeron laughed. Girls were such rotten shots. If objects didn't naturally go down towards the earth, she would even miss that. "Missed!" he chortled.

Frowning, she picked up another and threw again. This time he caugt it and said, "You're a hopeless cause, little Gwyll."

"That is because you caught it, brother." She sighed, and yawned.

"Are you tired?" he asked. He was tired too, though he didn't have a reason to be. He hadn't even had a chance to throw in a punch or two during the scuffle between the elf and ranger. But Gwyllion had had a near death experience including a bit of venom.

In answer she crawled toward him and put her head on his knees and closed her eyes. "What do you think I am -- a cushion?"

"A bony one, yes."

"Good night, Gwyll."