Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

The morning came cold and damp. The fire burned low. Ædegard sat up. Argeleafa and Bellyn lay huddled tightly against each other for warmth, still sleeping. He wished it could be him next to her, but it would not be seemly, not even in these dire straits.

His hand hurt. How could it? It was not there.

Taitheneb sat by the fire, adding a log. He looked up and gave Ædegard good morning. Argeleafa gave a start and sat up. Bellyn stirred but remained asleep. Ædegard went over to her.

"Good morning," he whispered. "How do you fare?"

She shook her head. "What did you say?" Her left hand went up to her left ear and she winced. He was speaking on her left side. His throat tightened and his eyes became wet. He blinked them dry and crawled to her other side.

"How do you fare?"

"My head hurts."

"I am sorry." He raised his left hand to hold her right, but his stump merely glanced off her forearm. It sent pain shooting up his arm. He winced and doubled over in pain, hugging his left arm to his abdomen. She lay her hand between his shoulder blades, as if she could rub away the pain from there. It was soothing, and little by little the pain lessened to a constant throb. He reached his right hand over and she put her right in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the smooth, pale skin between the blue veins.

"I am sorry. Sorry for not thinking of you when we rode off to do battle, leaving you behind to be captured. I am sorry that you have lost your ear. I am sorry that I have been such a fool as to lose my hand for no better reason than a cocksurety that I knew better how to save you than any others."

"Oh, Ædegard." Her smooth voice sought to comfort him, but he shook his head.

Someone else stirred. Nethador. Ædegard looked over to him. The Easterling boy sat up. Ædegard pursed his lips, and with a sudden resolve released Leafa's hand. He went over to Nethador, who tensed. Ædegard fell to his knees no more than a yard from him. Nethador bridled as if expecting to be punched. Ædegard sighed, saddened that such an action was the first thing Nethador expected from him.

"Nethador, I am sorry that I wronged you. I have been a fool. I have seen evil, and you are not evil. Forgive me." Ædegard dropped his head before the boy and tears flowed down his face.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador stood watching Ædegard for several moments, and then he took two steps back. His eyes flicked to Bella, who was still asleep. Then he looked at Argeleafa.

She was smiling, just a little.

He tipped his head, and she nodded.

He began to approach Ædegard, and then sidestepped; but Ædegard did not move. Nethwador was ready to shy away like a horse, but Ædegard remained still. Bella stirred, sat up, looked around, stood and came quickly to Nethwador's side.

"Forgive." She placed her right hand on Ædegard's right shoulder, and looked up at Nethwador. Ædegard placed his good hand over hers, and looked at Nethwador.

Still suspicious, he glanced several times from Ædegard to Bella, but she murmured to him as if soothing a horse, and he calmed bit by bit. Slowly Nethwador's right hand reached to cover both of theirs.

[alaklondewen]

The ground was frozen, and Erebemlin watched over the young blacksmith, who was shivering under his blanket. The elves had taken turns at watching the camp during the night, and Erebemlin guarded Mellondu’s mind, giving him a dreamless sleep.

A few of the humans began to move about, but Erebemlin paid them no more attention than a momentary glance. He kept his eyes on the blacksmith. Amroth had yet to return, and the elf wondered if he could return. If the king remained silent, Erebemlin would have to decide what course to take next. How would they continue on this journey? Would they follow Tharonwe? The darker elf was not too far that Erebemlin could not sense him.

Taitheneb gently nudged Erebemlin from his thoughts and motioned toward the humans. Nethwador had his hand on Ædegard’s shoulder as some bond was being made, but the elder elf just nodded that he saw them but gave the younger no reaction.

Mellondu began to stir, and the elf placed his hand over his forehead.

[mark12_30]

Opening his eyes, Mellondu did not move, but lay staring wide-eyed at Erebemlin. He could sense the elf's presence combing through his thoughts; but for several moments it was less an intrusion than the sense of being ignored. He waited, hearing his own heartbeat pound. He felt weaker than he could ever remember. Many heartbeats passed.

Finally Erebemlin seemed to turn, and greet Mellondu the sick boy. "You are awake."

Mellondu wanted the strength to answer, but could not find it. The elf waited, and then gently touched the edge of his thoughts.

My sister.

Erebemlin's eyes sparkled, and flicked away, and back. She lives; she is here with us. The other did not fare so well.

Other? What other? Bella? Argeleafa?

Gwyllion.

Mellondu did not respond at first, and then said only, I want to see her.

Mellondu is not your true name, Fingon. And your sister is Finduilas.

I must see her.

She is asleep. But Erebemlin knelt, and picked up the blacksmith as he had been a child. Mellondu hardly had the strength to hold his head up; but Erebemlin carried him quickly to his sister's side, and sat the blacksmith beside his sister, his mighty arms around the blacksmith's shoulders. Wake her not, Fingon.

Not far away, Ravion sat up, and watched uneasily. Nothing had been said aloud. He stared at the blacksmith, and made as if to rise, then sat back down. Mellonin paid him no heed, but gazed and gazed at his sister. She looks so peaceful.

Her face may decieve you.

What do you mean? Mellondu sensed Erebemlin departing his thoughts. Not long afterwards, he returned like a warm summer breeze.

Your sister's dreams are troubled.

Mellondu was displeased. By a tall goldenhaired elf-king? He will not aid her, that is certain. Nor will you.

Indeed I shall if I am free to. You wrong me, man-child.

Mellondu did not respond.

He became aware of another man nearby. Ravion knelt across from him, on Mellonin's other side, studying his face .

[Orual]

Ravion knelt by Mellonin, putting his cupped hand gently to her cheek, careful not to touch her cut. She slept quietly, peacefully. He hoped that it would revive her, that it would help heal her. She had much to heal from, apart from her physical injuries.

Thinking of that, he shrugged his shoulder, testing out his range of motion with the bulky bandage that he wrapped around his own slashed arm. He looked around the camp and lowered his arm. He had come off so much better than others, especially little Gwyllion.

Tears still stung his green eyes when he saw the child's body, wrapped though it now was. He would have traded himself in for Gwyllion, had he been given the choice. He was sure that Aeron would have done the same. Any of them would have. But it was the most innocent among them who had died.

He looked up, and saw Mellonin's brother across from him. He watched the boy's face carefully. He was so much like his sister in appearance; oddly so, for a boy. He was quite pretty, much like Mellonin was handsome. Mellondu looked up and met Ravion's gaze.

"Thank you," Ravion said. The words slipped off his tongue before he had time to think.

Mellondu tilted his head. "For what?"

"For the decision you made. To save Mellonin. I think it was the right one. We have suffered, but that is true of all decisions...there is suffering." He looked down at Mellonin. "And usually those who suffer are those who deserve it least." He sighed. "She will recover, I think. But it will not be an easy road for her. She is a survivor, but the wounds in her heart will take long to heal, and they will leave deep scars. I hope that she can move past them. It can be hard." He swallowed hard, shut his eyes tightly, then looked back up.

"She missed you dearly," he said.

[Imladris]

Aeron curled himself on the cold ground with his knees to his chin and his arms clamped around his legs. The air was so cold, but he didn't want to get a blanket. Who cared if it was cold? The seasons came, the seasons went....soon it would be warm again.

He heaved a sigh and watched with morbid satsifaction his foggy breath waft over the grass like dragon smoke.

Dragons...there was a ring with a silver dragon somewhere back in their hovel. Eyes of emerald...scales of ruby. It had been Gwyllion's favourite.

Gwyllion....he scrunched himself into a tighter ball.

Gwyllion was dead.

He curled tighter, and let the tears fall quietly.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan was lying on the cold ground. He shivered. And ached. He couldn't feel his hands. He forced himself up and blinking, looked around. Ah, yes. The sward of trees. It was a cold, gray morning. There was the Elf, standing not far off.

"I give you good morning, Roy Edwards. You are very ill of mind, I would have you know."

Raefindan shook his head and cleared his throat. "Good morning to you too, Tharonwe."

"Do not call me that. It is a name given by those who wish me ill. My true name is Maegeleb. Sharp Silver, in the Common Speech."

"Maegeleb, then. What do you mean, I'm ill of mind?"

"Everything in your mind is broken to pieces. Nothing is whole. On one hand you have all that which you can see, hear, taste, touch, or smell; on the other, you have separated out all else. Yet your mind is sectioned off in unlike any Elf or Man I have ever met. Why is this so?"

"You're asking me? I've never looked inside my own head!"

"Ah, not true. You are constantly looking inside your own mind. 'Tis one of the strangest things about you."

Raefindan grimaced and closed his eyes tight. It was too early to be talking about such things. Of course, this Elf wouldn't see it that way; any and all times were good for talking to anything. "Doesn't anybody else look inside their own minds?"

"They think thoughts to themselves, but you think about youself thinking, and that is something I have not seen anyone else do."

Raefindan nodded. "It is a bane of the future, Maegeleb. We call it being stuck in our heads."

"Quite an apt expression, Roy Edwards. It is time we were up and moving. My enemies are aware of where we are and the direction we are taking. I would put greater distance between us and them. Here is something to break your fast."

Maegeleb handed him another swamp leaf packet, turned, and started southwards. Raefindan got up with difficulty, shaking his sleepy legs, and followed, munching on the Elven waybread. It gave him the strength of mind and body he needed, which brought back some thoughts that had been held at bay by weariness and the task of watching Maegeleb's steps the night before. Gwyllion had been stabbed in the chest, and blood had gushed from the wound. Mellonin and two other women had rescued Gwyllion from the merlocks, but Raefindan was sure that she was dead. He shook his head. He should not be here with this Maegeleb; he should be with Aeron! He hoped that someone there might make a point of easing the boy through his grief.

Elves, whatever your names are, please care for Aeron in his grief! Raefindan had no idea if any such mental message might work, or even if it could, whether those Elves were paying any attention to him. Maegeleb did look back, a wry expression on his face. Then he turned his face southward and did not look back or stop until the sun was high in the sky.

[littlemanpoet]

The morning mist lay thick about the swamp. Thus, the party heard feet approaching from deeper in the swamp but could not descry to what or whom the feet belonged. Jorje stood on all fours and sniffed the air, then padded quickly toward the sound of approaching feet, stopping just at the edge of their camp. Erundil rose, facing the sound, his hand moving swiftly to his belt knife. Erebemlin and Taitheneb stood also.

"Who goes there?" Erundil called.

Through the mists came a bent figure, wrapped in a cloak that seemed either dark green or brown depending how they looked at it. In the claw-like left hand was a staff that rose a foot taller than the hooded figure; it was being used like a cane. The figure stopped just beyond the rough border of the camp. Leafa huddled in closely to Liornung, fear in her eyes. Her thought was shared by most if not all: is this a merlock, or their leader?

Jorje came up to the figure, which reached its wrinkled right hand down to his nose. Cautiously, his tail down, he sniffed; then his mouth came open in a grin, his tongue loosened, and his tail wagged happily.

"What be you a-doing out here in the cold, unfriendly moors," came an old, quavery voice, "far from tidy home and warm hearth?"

"Name yourself and show yourself," Erundil said, still cautious despite Jorje's obvious welcome.

The figure chuckled and through back its hood. An old woman grinned at them, her hair long and white, her cheeks red as apples, her eyes glinting with mirth, sometimes seeming blue, sometimes hazel, sometimes green.

"I am called Marigold. You are in my realm."

Erundil looked to the Elves and the others, confused, then turned to the old woman again. "We thought it was the realm of Tharonwe."

"That lonesome stripling of an Elf?" She chuckled again. "He has done little to harm my realm, so I have let him be."

"Are the merlocks yours?" Erundil asked.

She looked at Erundil and the others as one who pities those who do not know what they are speaking of. "Nay, they are not mine, nor I theirs."

Ravion spoke next. "There is a monster in the deeps out there. It almost killed some of us. If this is your realm, how can you let it live there?"

The old woman gave them the look of pity again. "Many creatures of Middle Earth are tainted; yet Middle Earth is still their home. Who are you or I to remove one from the other? But come! My cottage is not far from here. There are coals in the hearth, and four warm walls to keep out the cold and the mists, and there is good bread baked just this morning. I have been waiting for you, yet you have not come. Come now!"

With that the old woman passed through their small camp, and moved slowly down the path that led out of the swamp; Jorje pranced at her heels.

[mark12_30]

Warm bread. Their spirits rose even in the mist.

"Well, " said Bella, "I hope she is as nice a grandmother as she seems."

"Naneth, " said Nethwador, readying Celegaer.

"Mother? She seemed older than that, don't you think?" Bella mused.

"Naneth, " said Nethwador again, a gentle light in his eye.

"The dreary wild oft hides the fair hind. Or gazelle, " said Taitheneb.

"Gazelle!" snorted Ravion. Erundil laughed.

Erebemlin said nothing, but helped Mellondu mount Echo. Liornung helped Aeron with Gwyllion's body; Taitheneb helped Ravion lift Mellonin onto his horse. They broke camp swiftly, and hurried after the cloaked woman.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin rode silently at the rear of the procession that followed this...woman? The elf knew not what words would describe her, and he wondered at his inability to sense her presence so near them in the swamp. How had he missed her? He tried to touch her thoughts, but her mind was closed to him.

The path they tread steadily became more solid, and suddenly the morning’s fog parted. Before them stood a small wooden cottage with a thatched roof. A warm glow illuminated a small window on the wall that faced them. Erebemlin could see the mantle of what surely was the fireplace and the source of the flickering light. As they got closer to the home, he noticed rich mosses and plants that covered the ground on either side of the path. At first they appeared chaotic in their pattern, but quickly, the elf realized they grew in an intricate design...waves that crossed and re-crossed, almost like braids, and forced the eyes forward in motion toward the cottage where they did not stop, but came up from the earth and enveloped the earthy home. Taitheneb had noticed the intriguing beauty and turned to catch the expression on Erebemlin’s face. The elder elf shook his head with uncertainty and shrugged his shoulders. He certainly looked forward to sitting with this strange woman, and learning more of her ‘realm’.

Following the path, she led them around the left side of the house. Here they found a small porch where dark green vines grew up and wrapped around every board, creating what felt like a canapy instead of a roof. The old woman opened the door and the light and warmth that filled the inside seeped onto the porch and touched the visitors. They could smell the warm bread.

"Do come in," she called from inside.

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced dully at the welcoming cottage, wishing with all his might that he was far far away. Life just was not worth living. It was pointless. What would he do if he want back to Gondor? Steal? Why? Learn a trade? He laughed outwardly at that. Who would take him -- a known thief.

He slumped into a chair and ignored the piece of bread that the woman held out. What was her name? He shrugged. It didn't matter, not in the long run at least. Nothing mattered in the long run. Everybody died, some sooner than they should.

Why had Gwyllion died? Had she been doomed to die? It wasn't fair that he couldn't have saved her no matter how hard he had tried. He wished that it had been him back there...

It should have been him...it should have. He had brought her there. He had brought her from Gondor. He had been the one who had killed her.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard did not know how it chanced, but he was first to enter the cottage of the old woman; except for the dog, Jorje. Ædegard held Leafa's hand in his good hand, and she followed him, staying close behind him. It was cozy and warm, and smelled of freshly baked bread. Ædegard felt the warmth enfold him like a soft blanket; the cold left his bones. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Ædegard!" Leafa whispered urgently, nudging him. He turned to her; her eyes were big as sky blue saucers, and she pointed. Ædegard looked, and saw a woman standing before them. Her face was the same as that of the old woman's. Her daughter? Her hair flowed in yellow, brown, and even green waves over her shoulders, shining in the light of a hearty fire. Her dress had the sheen of willow leaves, green and gold, and as she moved it shimmered like the sun on windblown willows. She held a large wooden tray with bread, still steaming. The others hand entered and were all gaping at her, except for Aeron, whose eyes were downcast. He went to the nearest chair and sat down, and the woman handed him some bread; he did not see, but she looked upon him with pity.

"Are you the daughter of Marigold?" Ædegard asked.

The woman laughed but shook her head. "I am Marigold. I wander often as the old woman, but this is the form I wear most times. Come in, come in! Be at rest! Eat and be filled!" Then she became grave. "And bring in the youngest one. She should not rest outside."

"But she-" Ravion began.

Marigold shook her head. "Bring her in. She does not belong outside." She set the tray on the board and bid the rest of them to eat.

Ravion nodded and took Erundil with him, and between them they brought the body of Gwyllion in with them. She came to them and held out her arms to them. Bemused, they placed the body in her arms, and she carried it as if it weighed no more than a toddler. She took Gwyllion to a bed near the hearth and laid her out. She kissed the dead girl's forehead, and it seemed to Ædegard that Gwyllion was merely sleeping.

Marigold turned to them and said, "You have been wounded in body and heart, and need rest. Take rest here, all of you, and receive what healing you may." She began to sing, and the song reminded Ædegard of cozy nights at home with his family; or of soft afternoons sitting by a calm stream in the warmth of summer. He sighed and ate, sharing his bread with Leafa. To him, Leafa seemed a cousin of this woman, for her face glowed with quiet joy, and her eyes were alight. And he thought that maybe it did not matter that he had lost one hand. Maybe there would be a way to have Leafa to wife, and to thrive and have children, and to make a life after all. He smiled at Leafa, and she returned his smile, looking at him in a way that made him feel as if they belonged together.

[Orual]

Ravion sat on the floor by the fire, drawing his cloak around him despite the warmth of the cottage. He felt like he had an iron weight on his heart, and that would take more than a lovely shapeshifter to lift. While Marigold was an unexpected occurance, he did not feel uneasy around her. He trusted her, and did not worry for his safety or the safety of any of his companions. He wondered if he was not going just a bit insane.

He looked over at Aeron, who was huddled in a chair. His eyes were downcast, and alarmingly dull. Ravion did not suppose that Aeron was seeing anything around him: perhaps he was seeing Gwyllion. At that thought he glanced at Marigold, and wondered why she had wanted Gwyllion's body. He had seen no harm in it, but thought it odd. Perhaps, though, she could help them give Gwyllion a proper burial. Maybe that would lighten Aeron's heart some. A proper burial was a proper good-bye, and it would fulfill his duty as her brother.

But it would not bring her back, and it would not take away the sorrow.

Ravion stood slowly, feeling very old all of a sudden, and walked over to Aeron. Reaching the boy's chair, he sat again on the ground, and did not look at him. He kept his eyes on the ground. "You should eat something," he said quietly.

Aeron kept silent.

"You have been through much. Suffered much. Your body is as weak as your spirit feels now. If you do not eat, you will fall ill, and I do not fancy carrying you everywhere. You are no light load."

Ravion's attempt at levity was met with stony silence. The Ranger sighed heavily. "Aeron, I am sorry for your loss. I know that it does not help, but I am sorry. Deeply sorry. I mourn with you, and though I cannot comprehend your grief, in whatever small way I can I share it with you."

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung sat, his heart beating more fierce than it had ever before, even more than when they had walked the Golden Woods of Lothlorien. Could it be that they had climbed from the midst of peril and woe into the homey cottage, to sit and it whilst this fair maid tended to them, so young and beautiful, yet so kind and compassionate, as if she were an elderly mother? Was this not a sweet dream to refresh him while he lay weary upon the battlefield? It could not be real.

"Will you not eat, Liornung?" Leafa spoke softly from where she sat with Ædegard.

He shook his head. "Nay, I could not eat at this time. Soon, perhaps."

"Then will you not sing us a song of these wonders? You did so aptly in the Golden Woods."

"That I cannot do, for words are lost to me. And this fair and motherly one has sang for us; I could not best her, and I tremble to lift up my feeble voice after her pure, sweet one."

"But you must say something, Liornung!" said Leafa, with a laugh. "You look as though you are dreaming, and I hardly recognize you. You seem too young now, when before you were always like a father to us."

"Let me be young then, little girl," said Liornung, likewise laughing. "You have no need of my care when fair Marigold is tending to you. I can cast aside my duties as 'father,' as you say, and be youthful. Would that Good Secgrof were here, to sit by this fire, and also fair Blostma, to dance to this song, her golden hair shining in the lights, and her gentle eyes beaming with joy and peace."

And, with a sigh, he fell to eating.

[mark12_30]

The smell of bread wafted out to the elves' nostrils, and tempted them; Erebemlin helped Mellondu dismount from Echo, and together they turned to help Taitheneb with Mellonin. Weak as Mellondu was, he held Taitheneb's horse. There was little need, but the elves were glad of his willingness.

Taitheneb met Mellondu's eyes. "Should we not wake her? This is a fair place."

"It is odd that she has not woken already, " Mellondu said.

"Perhaps, " Erebemlin replied. "She knows that Gwyllion is dead, but in her dreams that death is woven into something else."

"She dreams! What does she dream of?" said Mellondu anxiously.

"Dark things, " said Taitheneb. "Come, Erebemlin, let us wake her."

Taitheneb laid his palm over her forehead, and closed his eyes. Erebemlin walked into her dreams, and searched; a dark fog hindered him. He called her name. Mellondu could hear him whispering. Strain showed on his face.

"Finduilas."

Mellondu waited. The elves strove through the mists, calling, but Mellonin did not wake.

Finally Erebemlin opened his eyes, and turning to Mellondu, said, "Come. I will lead you into the cottage."

"But Mellonin?"

"She will be well. Patience."

"I want to talk to her, " Mellondu replied.

"You will. Patience."

They entered the cottage, and Erebemlin helped Mellondu sit down at the table. Erundil passed the bread and Mellondu began to eat.

Erebemlin gestured to Ravion. "Come."

Mellondu watched as Ravion stood, face blank with surprise, and followed Erebemlin wordlessly out the door. Mellondu twisted, watching; but behind him, Marigold rose, and her dress rustled as she walked past and followed Ravion. She stood in the doorway. Her song changed. Deeper and richer she sang, like deepening shade under a great tree, like dark earth just turned by the plough; and the earth seemed to respond. Ravion's gaze went from Marigold to the elves to Mellonin-- Mellonin raised one hand to her eyes, and the cares faded from her face. She woke peacefully.

"Mother?"

Ravion reached for her. Erebemlin took her from Taitheneb, and stood her between him and Ravion. She looked to Ravion with a childlike wonder and said, "How did we come here? This is lovely. How long have I been dreaming? Was it all a bad dream?"

She turned to Marigold. "You sang with my mother's voice. Yet you are not my mother."

Marigold tipped her head a little. "Your mother would be glad of our meeting."

"Yes, she would." Mellonin reached for Marigold, who embraced her as naturally as any mother greets her child, and turned and led her into the cottage.

Ravion and the elves followed them in, and Ravion returned to Aeron's side. Aeron looked up, and watched as Ravion sat down again. Then Aeron's eyes returned to the floor. Ravion waited.

[littlemanpoet]

The stars were out. Marigold saw the humans to sleep and went outside. It was cold but Marigold needed no cloak, and wore none now. The two Elves stood beneath the stars, their breath steaming before them so that they seemed like horses eager to run with the wind on the open plain to the south.

"Eärendil sails bright above this night, does he not?" she said.

Erebemlin and Taitheneb turned to her as if woken from a dream, and acknowledged her presence.

"The humans sleep dreamlessly this night," Taitheneb said.

"'Tis one gift I can give them."

"Lady," Erebemlin said, "you are a mystery. Your mind is closed to us, your place here has gone unnoticed these last few days, right beneath our noses; 'tis as if you are not really here."

"Do you believe that, Silmaethor?"

"Nay. The air you breathe turns to mist as for anyone. But - if I may be so bold - and please do not be offended - what are you?"

"I am Entwash's daughter. Ulmo is my father."

Erebemlin looked stricken the moment he heard her words, and Taitheneb no less so. They fell to one knee. "You honor us, Lady."

Marigold laughed lightly. "Do me no obeisance, I am just a humble river daughter, doing the little bit of good I can in my small realm." As they rose to their feet, her head tilted. "But tell me, Erebemlin, why do you, one of the first born, feel shame?"

He shook his head, confused. "I know not of what you speak, Lady."

"You watched me before, when we were within, and I knew it, and returned your gaze but a moment, and you seemed ashamed."

Taitheneb smirked and looked to the stars, wandering off a ways. Erebemlin noticed, and his brow furrowed. He looked out to the swamp as if he would find his answer there.

[Imladris]

"I think," said Aeron thickly, "that I would like for her to be buried here...amid the beauty of the things she loved." He nodded and wiped his tears away. As Marigold drifted to speek with the elves, Aeron twirled the flower in his hand and sniffed deeply. Yes...she was beautiful...just like the River Daughter had said...

Vaguely, in the distance...he wondered vaguely who Ulmo was...

[Orual]

Ravion lay on his back by the fire, staring at the ceiling. He could see the flames out of the corner of his eye, but he still felt cold.

He rolled onto his side and looked at Mellonin, who had fallen asleep. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was a sad smile. Somehow, even in this safe haven, he could not come by any joy. In some way he realized that he was pushing it away, not allowing it in. This was his punishment.

But he was allowed some small happiness, like watching Mellonin sleep. She was so peaceful when she slept. She was facing away from him: he could see her back rise and fall evenly, her soft, dark hair falling across her shoulders. How long would it be before he was courageous enough to tell her how he felt? He was a Ranger: he had seen battles and injury and death. He had felt the heartbreak of a dying friend. Why did he cower before the rejection of this young woman? Why was he so afraid?

He shook his head ruefully and turned back towards the fire. Perhaps the flames would hold the answers he sought.

[mark12_30]

Mellondu's sleep was uninterrupted, but it was visited: very briefly visited, by two visitors.

One was his sister. She smiled at him, and embraced him, laughing. He jested briefly with her; she teased him a little, and then peace descended again, but it was a happier peace and a deeper rest than before. He was content.

Mostly content.

Far away, miles and miles... beyond the White Mountains, he heard the dim echo of a silver voice. In his dreams he turned toward it. The song, lilting and wandering, wafted in and out of his hearing. His heart ached. He tried to ignore it, to shrug it off and push it aside, and return to the peace of his sister's company.

It echoed still, dim and far-off. Almost he could ignore it. But not quite.

*****

"Mother."

"Yes, dear."

"If I were to... to leave my mistress and master, and..."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, and go away with someone else--"

The silence was suddenly loud and echoing. Her mother sent a piercing glance her way, and then the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her old eyes.

Her father spoke. "The redhead or the ranger? Not that scruffy boy."

"Gracious, no!" protested Mellonin.

"Ranger, " nodded mother, and turned to her sewing again. Her father stared into the fire. Mellonin saw their eyes twinkling and said no more.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

She could hardly think of anything new to sing. Surely Liornung or one of their new companions would have a better song – a happy song. The only song she could think of was the one from her dream. It was hardly a cheerful song, and it had haunted her since the woman of her dream had sung it to her in a beautiful, melancholy voice. What would the new companions think of her?

“I fear I have nothing happy to sing,” Bellyn murmured softly to her friends. She looked over her shoulder to Liornung. “And I fear that I could not write a song like Liornung could.”

“That is well, Bella,” Argeleafa replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We shall let Liornung sing us a song next.”

Bellyn smiled at Argeleafa, though she had hoped to shift the attention to someone else.

“All right,” Bellyn agreed, nodding. “I warned you, though. I have naught but sad songs left to sing!”

‘Agony,
Can you cleanse this misery?
For never again will I breathe,
The air of home…

Bellyn’s voice came softly, slowly, as she tried to recall exactly the way the song had been sung in her dream.

‘…From this sandy edge,
The rolling sea breaks my revenge.
With each whisper – a thousand waves
I hear roar.
I am coming home…’

She let the last word die on her lips, to be carried away by the careless wind. She felt better, releasing the tune and melody from her heart and mind. The song had been stuck in her head since she had dreamed of the fair-haired lady singing it to her.

“I feel, then, that it is Liornung’s turn to cheer us with a happier song,” Bellyn said, reaching for Nethwador’s hand and grasping it.

[mark12_30]

Somehow, thought Mellondu, that wasn't quite what I had hoped for. Far from cheerful or uplifting, Bella's song had been .... depressing. Mellondu sighed, and looked around. Liornung seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and showed little inclination to sing or play. No cheerful tunes were coming to Mellondu's mind, either. He felt glum.

Mellonin tipped her head, pondering. "There's more than sorrow... perhaps not in the words, but ... I don't know. It's sadder than the words express."

Erundil's face went carefully blank. The girl's excitable, changable nature made him leery. Resisting the urge to shrug his shoulders, he stared ahead at the city.

"Still, " Mellonin continued, "it starts with despair, but then the poet says, she is coming home. So perhaps it holds hope. Or..."

Mellondu looked southward to the city, letting his mind wander. Would his forgemates be glad to see him?

"Perhaps, " said Mellonin, "the poet does not know whether to hope or to despair."

"Bingo, by Jorje, " said Raefindan.

Mellonin giggled, and then laughed gaily, and Mellondu heaved a sigh of relief. He let Mellonin's laugh trickle into his heart, and soon he chuckled with her. Raefindan chuckled too. Aeron snorted and muttered; the two rangers exchanged glances; Mellonin laughed and laughed. When her laughter finally subsided, she was silent for a while, and then said, "I miss Jorje."

"So do I, " replied Raefindan, but said no more.

The horses jogged steadly south, and the miles, like the hours, passed in bright whiteness.

[Imladris]

Aeron tossed a twig into the fire, a small frown on his face. Bella's song echoed in his mind, and he wondered what to do. The company wasn't at all pleasant, the elves were cold and distant like hard, beautiful gems; Ædegard and Leafa were to be married, that was good, he supposed. But where should he go? Everything was finished, all was said and done was it not? Well, save for the fact that Nimrodel was not united to Amroth...

And now they were heading to Minas Tirith -- that was not good. Aeron fidgeted uncomfortably in the saddle, looking behind him once and again as if expecting to see the dark form of the merchant trailing behind them. He could not go back to Minas Tirith. In fact, he refused to even without the problem of the merchant to be considered. Even though it was hard to admit, he would miss Gwyllion far too much in that home, he could not bear the pain of living in that old shack of theirs....he would not forget her by leaving, but he would not miss her so much either if he left and lived in another town...

Around him, the company had lapsed into silence, tired by the day's hard travelling. The elves stood silently on the fringe of the fire light, Mellonin and Mellondu were murmuring quietly to themselves, Ravion stood aloof, and Bella and Nethwador huddled close to the fire. Standing Aeron said, "I am going to get more wood for the fire."

He shambled away from the fire, easing himself from the fire's light. If they so much suspected what he was doing, they would catch him instantly, and drag him to that horrible city. He slipped into the shadows and crept away until he could not longer see the cheerful glow of the fire.

It was well that it happened like this, he told himself as he lurked in the shadows, shivering in the chill night. He had always been a tag along, an inconvenience...now they would be rid of him for good. He should have left long ago, he mused....broken oath with Ravion and fled with his sister... He laughed bitterly. No, he could not have done that. An oath was not mere words to be uttered in the wind -- even a miserable thief such as he knew that.

[alaklondewen]

Everyday we are coming closer to the white city, Silmaethor. Taitheneb waited for a reply, but did not receive it. Erebemlin knew exactly where they were and how close they were to Minas Tirith. After several moments, the younger Elf continued. Will we go into the city to replenish our supplies?

Nay, Nimrodel is not within its walls, so we shall not grace them either. Actually, Erebemlin was unsure what would happen when they came close to the city. Amroth’s mission must be continued, but if he did not resurface soon…the Elf knew not what the young Blacksmith would do. He wanted to stay clear of the city so the man was not tempted to return to his family and relinquish the quest.

“Has anyone seen, Aeron?” Bella’s voice interrupted the Elves private conversation, and they both turned curiously over their shoulders to face the fire.

“I heard him say something about getting wood, but…” Mellonin looked over both of her shoulders and squinted into the dark beyond the firelight. “That was some time ago,” she said after several moments.

Taitheneb raised his eyebrows and turned his eyes toward Erebemlin. The tall Elf tightened his jaw and audibly exhaled through his flaring nostrils.

“Should we look for him?” Leafa inquired innocently.

“No,” Erebemlin snapped, not necessarily at the young Rohirrim, but at the whole mortal race. “We have left the dangers of the swamps behind. If the foolish boy wishes to leave the group and cause trouble…leave him to it.”

[littlemanpoet]

As they rode south toward Minas Tirith, Ædegard thought back to his last conversation with Leafa. "It depends upon Mellondu. I took up this quest for his sake. If he deems that it is done, then we can go. If not, then I owe it to him to see this through. Does that sound right to you?" She had nodded mutely.

The youth, Aeron had been left behind, or perhaps left to wander ahead of them, for all they knew. They did not know where he was, and would not search for him. The Elf, Erebemlin, had made it clear that he did not care to have someone with the group who could not be there with all his heart. Ædegard sighed. It was time for him to speak with Mellondu. He urged his mount forward until he was riding by Mellondu's side.

"Mellondu," Ædegard said, "what of -" Ædegard frowned, having forgotten what he had been about to say. He knew what he meant to ask, but the words had slipped away.

"What of ...what?" Mellondu grinned. "Has love addled your brain?"

Ædegard grinned back. "Maybe. It is that of which I wish to speak. Where do you go now? What of -" he forgot again what he had been about to say, and struggled to put into words what had fled from his mind. "-what of that which we have been busy with these last weeks?"

[littlemanpoet]

After washing up and breaking his fast, Roy discovered that he was to be accompanied by Ædegard and Leafa, as well as Erebemlin. Taitheneb was going to stay with Tharonwe at the Inn, and had asked Erundil to stay with him. Ravion looked to be in no eager mood to go see Mellondu and Mellonin in their own home, sombre in his refusal to join them. Liornung and Bellyn chose to go accompany Raefindan, Ædegard and Leafa; and Nethwador was not about to be separated from Bellyn.

None of them knew where Mellondu and Mellonin lived, not from memory; they had directions from the proprietor of the Seven Stars, and with only a small bit of difficulty found their way to the home of Mellondu and Mellonin after a little more than an hour, half way to noon. Roy knocked. After a moment, the door opened.

[Nurumaiel]

As the door opened, Leafa, who was towards the back of the group, wondered rather anxiously when her own father would tire of the wayfarer life and return home. She could imagine now how she would bring Ædegard to see her parents... how her mother and father would be so courteous to him... yet they would be watching him so closely... and her mother would look at her every so often with a very faint shadow of sorrow in her eyes.

"It must be hard to be a mother, Liornung," she said, with a little sigh.

"I suppose so," said Liornung, and his tones were so absent that Leafa looked up in surprise. His eyes were fixed on the ground, but it was as if he did not see it, so vague were they. Concern was written across his face in no uncertain lines, and he was fidgeting restlessly where he stood. Leafa gazed wide-eyed at him, and at last he sighed and turned towards her. "Hello, Leafa," he said with a little smile.

She barely managed to smile back. Something was terribly wrong with him, and she wished she knew what it was. That troubled look in his eyes...

She lifted her shoulders slightly and dropped them again, feeling dejected now, and turned her attention back to the door.

[Orual]

Ravion sat by the hearth with his ale, staring sullenly into the flames. He was alone save for Erundil and Taitheneb, who had stayed to watch Tharonwe, he seemed to think, though he was not sure. He shook his head slowly, then gazed into his mug with disgust.

"You look contemplative." Ravion sighed deeply and turned around, fixing hostile eyes on Erundil.

"Shouldn't you be watching that swamp creature?" the younger Ranger snapped irritably, raising the mug to his lips only to put it back down again. He kept his eyes on the mug, though, unwilling to make any more eye contact with his erstwhile tutor. He knew that it would not deter Erundil, but he did not have to listen.

"I told Taitheneb that I was coming down. I will be brief, much to his relief and yours." There was an infuriating touch of amusement in Erundil's voice that rubbed Ravion entirely the wrong way.

"Then be brief and leave me to my contemplation," Ravion growled, still refusing to meet Erundil's eyes.

Erundil sat by Ravion, much to the younger man's dismay. "You should go to Mellonin."

"Be quiet."

"You should talk to her."

"Be quiet!"

"If you do not do it now, you will regret it."

Ravion jumped up, splashing his ale all over the hearth. He ignored the glares from the bartender. "What do you know about this? Nothing. You cannot understand."

Erundil gazed calmly at Ravion. "Perhaps not. I have spent too much time here as it is; but listen to this. You have succeeded in your mission--you did for her what you promised to do. You found her brother. Perhaps it is time to go on a mission for yourself. Find something for yourself, Ravion. Perhaps you have finally earned a little happiness."

Erundil went back to join Taitheneb, leaving Ravion slightly stunned in his wake. The younger Ranger watched Erundil's back until he was out of sight, then looked down at the ground. He was baffled by Erundil's words. He liked to think that he was right in saying that Erundil knew nothing, but...

But...what if he is right? What if I will regret not speaking to Mellonin?

Thoughts raced through his head at high speed, bouncing off of each other and filling his mind with meaningless noise. He grabbed his mug of ale, and set it down with determination on a table. Then he went up to the bar and put his money down on the counter...

...And ran out of the inn.

[Imladris]

Aeron crouched in the shadows peering at the glimmering white city of Minas Tirith. He had said that he wouldn't come back, but now he knew that this had been foolishness. Minas Tirith was his home, Gwyllion's home...he could not leave it behind.

He felt like a twig drifting aimlessly in a pond. He did not know what to do now after his wanderings. He was a thief, he could continue to steal, but why do that when there was no reason to do so? Gwyllion was dead. And, somehow...after everything they had gone through, returning to the life of a common petty thief would be like throwing a choice gem into the mud and then trampling upon it. He had seen true nobility in Raefindan and the ranger, he admitted grungingly.

With a dismal sigh, he rose to his feet and crept into the city, gliding amid the shadows. He did not know if the company had already come and gone, niether did he care. He thought that maybe he could rejoin, but he did not think he would be wanted...not that he cared a fig about that. At any rate, what would he do after Amroth and Nimrodel were re-united? The problem would only be delayed and he wanted it solved now. Helping two lovers reunite was hardly the answer to anything, he speculated.

He came across the Inn, and pressed closely to the side of one window, and peered in. He saw the ranger, Ravion, and one of the elves -- he forgot their names -- he was surprised that they could remember their own names considering how difficult it was to say them.

Suddenly, an awkward knot twisted in his stomach, and dropped to his knees in the shadows. He did not want to be seen -- he had run off...like...well, like a dog. But what did he have to do with them? he thought desperately. Why did he care what they thought...he shouldnt care. But yet he did...

Heavy footsteps pounded on the dirt, and Aeron glanced up to see Ravion run out the Inn, his fingers running through his black hair. He looked as if he was thinking about something important that he couldn't quite make up his mind about.

Now, what could be occupying Ravion so Aeron could not possibly imagine. Surely everything was alright with their company -- he couldn't possibly imagine what could be bothering them with barrels of mead and fine wine and a lovely night at their fingertips.

Rising quickly to his feet, Aeron tapped the ranger on the shoulder and said, "It's a good thing you didn't have anything remotely valuable on your person or else I would already be sneaking off in the darkness with it." A smile played on his lips. "Of course, even if you did I wouldn't -- if I did you and Raefindan and Mellonin would in all likelyhood pour another bucket of water over my head or ask me for my obedience instead of turning me into the authorities..." his voice trailed off and he grinned half heartedly at the ranger.