Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

Let the mortals deal with-- and for-- the mortals. Taitheneb, I need you here now.

Yes, Silmaethor. A ripple seemed to go through the group as Taitheneb's thoughts narrowed to Erebemlin alone. He rode to his side.

Erebemlin held Amroth tightly. Do not leave us. Do not leave us. Wait.

...Silmaethor? Taitheneb waited; watching Erebemlin, but no orders came. Hesitantly, he reached for Amroth's brow, and closed his eyes.

Twilight surrounded him; the air was warm but stale. He walked in the greyness, searching. He found, not Amroth, but Mellondu, struggling down a dark path. As he approached, the boy faltered, and fell to his knees.

My sister. I am weary. All is dark. Where is my sister?

She yet lives. Courage! Taitheneb knelt beside him.

So weary. Why... Why did he do this?

Taitheneb grieved at the boy's sadness. One day you will know.

Nay, Taitheneb, I know now that he would not rest in his search. But... I do not.... understand.

Follow me. I will lead you back. Taitheneb offered the boy his hand.

But I am... weary. Tired. Mellondu's hands found the grey grass, and he lay down and then he looked at his empty hands.

Do not yeild to despair.

Why not? It is something to hold.

Your sister needs you.

Lightlove yet lives?

Yes, thought Taitheneb, silently thanking Raefindan that it was true. She lives, Mellon, she lives. Come. We will return to her as soon as we may.

Take good care of her. The boy began to fade.

"No!" cried Taitheneb aloud. "No, Mellon!"

Dark... Dark... Tired...

Erebemlin joined them, tall and shining. Taitheneb's hopes rose for a moment; but the boy turned from the bright elf saying, No more of this. No more of you and your king.

Hear me, boy, said Erebemlin, and his thoughts rang like steel. Stand. Do not yield. Stand!

It is too late.

Do not yield! Stand! Stand!

Mellondu laughed, a weary grunting rasp.

Erebemlin's face grew pensive, and he came closer, speaking softly now. You have hidden my king. You have free will, and so you have decreed, young mortal. I would that you had not done so.

You do not think it wise, Mellondu replied.

Erebemlin dropped his gaze, and was silent. Despair prowled at the edges of Taitheneb's mind. He could hear Erebemlin's heartbeat, and his own heartbeat, but the boy's was fading.

Do not yield to despair, Taitheneb said to the boy.

I want to, replied the boy.

Erebemlin knelt and took the boy's face in his hands.

If you leave Middle-Earth, other hearts beside the king's will also break. Do not leave us.

I am not a horse to be ridden, replied Mellondu.

No, said Erebemlin. There was a long pause before Erebemlin spoke again. No. What you say is true. But now, little mortal... Mellon--

Were Silmaethor's eyes glistening? The mighty warrior dropped his gaze, and bowed til his forehead softly touched the boy's.

Mellondu, you are our only hope. Do not fail us. Do not fail me.

Taitheneb held his breath, and then softly added, Nor your sister.

Mellondu spoke no word, but put one hand on Erebemlin's forearm. Silmaethor straightened, and for a moment all was still. Then Silmaethor lifted the boy like a child, turned, and quietly carried him out of the shadows; Taitheneb followed.

Their eyes opened. They wondered what had happened around them, but for the moment they hardly cared; somewhere, deep within the boy, their king was still with them. Yet there was someething different, too, about the way Silmaethor held the boy. Taitheneb kept silent, and enjoyed watching Mellondu slowly open his eyes.

[littlemanpoet]

While the party waited, Ædegard and Jorje came back amongst them.

"You are pale," Erundil said. "Are you well?"

"Well enough." Ædegard attempted to dismount and fell to the ground in a swoon, lying face down. Erundil came to him and turned him over, his eyes opening wide. "Ravion!" he called, turning. "Come look at this!"

Ravion came over, looked, and swallowed hard. "Tooth marks to the wrist. It must be cleaned." Erundil and Ravion busied themselves with healing ministrations for Ædegard's left wrist.

Much later, as the sun was extinguishing below the horizon, Mellonin and Leafa came into sight, frantically carrying Gwyllion between them, her arms hanging limp. Their faces were stained with tears, and they kept looking back in fear. Bellyn came running up behind them around a stand of dead cattails, holding a knife; she wore scratches on her arms, face, and legs. Merlocks were chasing them, the nearest a mere swipe of a claw behind Bellyn's heel.

[Imladris]

Mithrellas glanced back at Nimrodel, who was rocking violently back and forth, her golden hair caught in the wind. A shriek echoed in Gwyllion's dream world...the grass melted away like snow before the morning sun, the song of birds was cut short, the blue sky faded revealing scurrying clouds that fled before bladed wind.

Mithrellas clutched at Gwyllion, trying to keep the shreds of the dream together -- trying to keep Gwyllion. A torrent of pain and fear washed over her and Mithrellas gasped. Elbereth! she cried, climbing to her feet. Flames of fear and pain burned in Gwyllion -- A Elbereth Gilthoniel o mene palan-díriel le nallon sí di-nguruthos A tiro Gwyllion, Fanuilos!

A cold hand drew near, and snuffed spirit's fire. Gwyllion had met her doom.

Gwyllion

Gwyllion awoke screaming, writhing in pain as she saw one of the ugly short men...she couldn't feel her leg..

Panic leaped like a monster, clutching her heart in fear. She struggled, struggled wildly trying to escape. How could she run with one leg? The blood...she gasped and retched.

Then she saw Mellonin...her cheek was torn by a knife's cruel edge. "Mellonin!" she screamed, trying to crawl towards her. There was another, but she did not know who she was. Aeron wasn't there? Why? Hot tears bathed her cheeks..."Mellonin!"

The pain...she struggled to stay awake. Aeron...where was he now? She wished that they could go back home to Gondor...back to father...

Dirty hands clutched at her, forcing her to the ground. One grasped her hair, pulling her head back. A sordid, short, ugly man, his leering face contorted with anger, lunged towards, a knife gleaming in his hand. Gwyllion screamed...this was not how she imagined she would die.

Aeron

Raefindan was gone when Aeron and Ædegard caught up with the elves. They had not found Gwyllion. Aeron even now realized that it had been foolish of him to think that he would find her in a grassy glade crowned with flowers. He even wondered if such grasslands existed -- they had been in this dratted swamp for so long.

Gwyllion would be alright. He smiled...they would have a good laugh about it when she came back, or when they found her nestled among the cattails. The smile faded and he gnawed his lip as the sun began to set. If that elf had lied -- his hand clenched into a fist.

Then he saw them: four girls: one brandishing a knife to keep the merlocks at bay, two others stumbling as they carried his sister. Aeron's heart grew cold as he saw the limp body of his sister, one leg missing. No. She was not dead. The pain had cast her into sleep.

The merlocks crowded behind them, and one of the merlocks lashed out, snagging the dark haired one with a blood stained claw. They would kill her with their leering hungry faces. With a shout, Aeron whipped his small dagger from its sheath, and drove his heels into his horse's flanks, trusting that the animal would find the surest route through the treacherous mire.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had kept a watchful eye on Ædegard since he had returned. True, he mused in response to the thoughts that pulled at his mind. They had not been on good terms at the first, but they had grown in friendship since their first meeting. True again, Ædegard had been their leader, if anyone had been a leader, from the start. Yet despite Ædegard's leadership, the fiddler was older (by a few years), and likely more experienced. He had met those younger than himself by only a few years before, and each time he had assumed the role of an elderly wiseman with good counsel. He had helped many a lad in trouble: shy lads in love to bold lads in debt. He had developed a keen interest in the welfare of all human beings, and a very paternal sense towards any and every young man (or woman, for that matter). When Ædegard had returned with his hand gone and the blood flowing, Liornung had instantly set an attentive eye to him. For one thing, Ædegard was wounded and probably in (at the very least) a little bit of pain. For another thing, it wasn't impossible that he might be wondering what Leafa would think.

Liornung recalled the time he had met a young man who was strong, handsome, fairly well-to-do, and in brief everything a young lassie would want in a man. As a matter of fact, a girl already wanted him, and he wanted her. She was pretty, and had classic Rohirric features with a touch of her own individual charm. They had known each other for years, and the girl wanted nothing more than for the man to hurry up and ask her to marry him. Liornung entered the village the day before the young man intended to propose marriage to her. That day they became fairly good friends, and the man chose Liornung to confide in (though, of course, not in the same way the lassies confide, if one has a sense of the difference). And on that same day the young man had taken a tumble from his horse and broken his foot.

Broken his foot! What a simple, absurd little thing to worry about. And just barely broken, too. The lad would be better in no time at all. He was simply unable to walk for a time. But it set him into fits of agitation. What would his lass think? Marry a man with a broken foot? What did it matter if the foot would heal sooner or later? Maybe it would be crooked for all time. So much for proposing to her the next day! Could he (Liornung) imagine him (the young man) asking the girl to marry him when he was lying in bed with his foot padded and propped up? Well, Liornung could imagine it, and it was absurdly amusing, but he had the good sense not to laugh, and he sat and consoled the fellow. As it happened the girl didn't care very much, though she did laugh, and they were happily betrothed, and married not too long after.

But, there! If a man was worrying that a girl wouldn't marry him over a broken foot, what might Ædegard be thinking, with his hand gone? Sweet, gentle Leafa, made for nothing but love. Liornung knew she wouldn't care in the least. But Ædegard might worry. And Ædegard was worried enough already with her gone, and worried with the pain of his wound. So Liornung left the healing matters to Ravion and Erundil, but he watched Ædegard carefully, and kept his fiddle close at hand, in case his friend might want a song to distract his mind from weary things.

A cry was raised from someone in their group, and heads turned to a sight that made Liornung spring to his feet, and made his heart beat madly. Leafa, that gentle Leafa, was running towards them, alongside the weeping woman, and they carried between them a limp figure. And, oh! there was Bellyn behind them, wielding a knife and fighting off creatures like nothing Liornung had seen before. A shudder went through him, and the colour was completely lost from his cheeks. For a moment he was still, and then he took one step forward, his weapon in his hand.

And somewhere in the depths of his heart he could hear the strains of a fiddle sounding a battle cry.

[Orual]

The sun was low in the sky, matching Ravion's spirits. He knelt by Ædegard, cleaning and binding his wounded wrist slowly and methodically. Ædegard would not be another casualty that he could add to his generous pile, not another disaster that he could attribute to his works. Ædegard's wrist was actually one of the nicest healing jobs he had probably ever done.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Erundil's head snap up, and only a split second later he heard a rustling in the distance. He tied off the bandage on Ædegard's wrist and stood, peering toward the horizon.

"It is Mellonin," Erundil said, shocked. "And Gwyllion!"

Ravion threw his medicinal supplies onto the ground and tore his sword out of his scabbard. "They are being pursued!" he cried. "They cannot hold out!"

"What pursues them?" Erundil asked, squinting and straining to see, his hand on Ravion's arm.

Ravion shook his head. "I cannot tell. But let me loose--I must help them. I have failed them once! I will not so again."

He brandished his sword and, without a battle cry or any sound at all, charged towards the women and their attackers.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

'You are Bellyn...' the dream-figure said in a thoughtful, melancholy tone. Dream-Bellyn nodded. Her brows furrowed together as she felt someone - or something - gripping her shoulder...but nothing was there behind her. She ignored it for a moment, for the dream-lady had opened her mouth to speak again. 'I am...looking...for someone. I lost my way, a long time ago, I lost my way. If you find who I search for, could you tell him something for me? Tell him I do not forget my quest...'

Bellyn nodded again, and closed her eyes, feeling once more the sensation of a tug at her shoulders. She doubted that she could ever find the person her new acquaintence was looking for. When Bellyn opened her eyes she opened them to new, more terrible surroundings. She had woken from her nightmare...
--

Sitting up, Bellyn could see strange little creatures to her right, and two women at her left. Bellyn stood as quickly as she could, though she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. The little creatures hoarded around some crumpled pile - Bellyn dared not guess what it was. One of the women was oddly familiar -

"Leafa!" Bellyn called groggily, too frightened to look back towards the creatures she had glimpsed. They both turned, but they went right past her and towards the group of gnawing beings. The one Bellyn did not know kicked away the things, and began dragging a human from the wreckage! Bellyn gaped at the sight, watching the unfamiliar woman kick and scream at the creatures while Argeleafa helped to heave away the fourth woman.

She ran to the women, who were hustling quickly away from her. Not from me...Bellyn thought. Turning, she could see the little people chasing after the group of women. "Leafa! Leafa! Leafa!"

Argeleafa would not turn. Bellyn despaired and continued to run after the women. The one that she did not know turned around quickly, and handed a bloodied knife into Bellyn's hand.

"Take the back," said the woman.

Eyes wide, Bellyn did not need more explanation, nor would she receive any from the one who had given her the weapon. Argeleafa and her new companion continued to pull the seemingly dead lady with them.

Turning, Bellyn saw the tiny, crawling things coming after her. The path seemed narrow enough, so Bellyn hoped she would not have to fight too much. I do not know how to fight, I do not know how to fight, I cannot! I cannot! Bellyn was screaming on the inside, but on the outside she could do naught but wait for the ladies ahead to lead the way and the attackers behind to clear the way.

Swatting at the beings with her knife, Bellyn was clawed at and bitten, but these wounds received no more notice from the victim than a slight gasp before swinging the knife once more. Not long ago I was sitting in a nice old inn with a warm fire nearby...Bellyn thought meekly. Seeing the cold, damp swamp around her and the knife in her hand made her cringe. This is the journey I thought I wanted, the world that I wished that I could see.

Bellyn did not know how long she could keep it up. Her system worked fine enough: she would run as long as she could before she caught up with the women ahead. Then she would slash at the first creatures behind her before running to catch up again.

Dashing through the swamps with a knife in her hands was certainly the last place Bellyn thought her journey would lead her to.

[Imladris]

Weeds clutched with their sickly fingers at his mount's flank, thorns raked his leg -- behind him he could hear Ravion pound behind him.

In moments he caught up to the women. Gwyllion was slumped between two of them, half her left leg missing (it looked as if it had been chewed off -- Aeron stifled his stomach's uneasy lurch)...her clothes were torn, her cheeks pale, as if all life had been sucked from them, a red blotch stained her blouse -- a red stain

Time slowed, the dagger faltered in his fingers. His breathing was squeezed by a throttling fist of fear and anger. Gwyllion wasn't asleep -- she was...de -- NO...injured. Not dead. Her head lolled backwards....her eyes were still open.

He locked his eyes on hers. And then he knew. They were fixed. Lifeless. Even the reflection of terror was beginning to fade like morning mist. They were just...eyes. Shallow. Dim. Dead.

"NO! You filthy little --" he screamed, a torrent of curses flooding from his mouth upon the elf's head. He tumbled from his horse, trembling with rage. The golden haired lady stumbled and limped feverishly onwards. A merlock, splashing through the swamp drew ever closer to the woman.

Aeron dived as well as he could in the sloshy ground towards the girl, brandishing his dagger in front of the merlock. The merlock's face was twisted in cruel arrogance, he licked his lips like a hungry cur. Aeron dodged the Merlock's graps, and plunged his dagger into it.