Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold sat Mellonin by the fire, and still singing, opened a cupboard and pulled an earthen jar from it. She brought it with her and sat next to Mellonin. When she spoke, her words still carried an echo of her lilting tune, like slow moving, reed strewn waters.

"Let me see to the wound on your face, dear one, or else it will leave a scar." She dipped her hand into the jar. What came out in her hand was mud. So it seemed to Mellonin; her brow furrowed in worry. "This will cool the wound, and deaden the pain. Fear not." She raised her mud covered hand and waited. Mellonin nodded and held still. Marigold pressed the mud into her wound, from brow to lip.

"I - I - cannot feel my face!"

"Fear not! Sleep a dreamless sleep tonight, and in the morning we shall see. Lie back." She rose and brought bread to Mellonin. "Eat, my dear one. Rest and be at ease this night." Mellonin looked up at Marigold as if with a child's trusting eyes, and nodded, and ate.

Marigold was humming again, and went to Ravion and Aeron, whose head was buried in his knees, muffling deep sobs. She knelt before the boy and waited. Slowly his heaving shoulders subsided and he rose up a little, and saw her kneeling by him. He looked at her through half closed eyes, his face suddenly closed and distrustful.

She looked at him kindly and said, "Will you go with me to your sister?"

"What use? She is not there. She is dead."

Marigold took a golden flower from her hair. Aeron had not seen it there before, but it lay in her hands, as real and fragrant as if it had just been plucked. "I plucked this marigold today. It still holds a little of its life and much of its fragrance. It reminds me of the fields of marigolds that flourished in the marsh this past summer. Is it not beautiful?"

Aeron nodded dully. He had a notion of why she was talking about the flower this way, and what she might say next, and did not want to hear it; but deep down, he needed to hear her words, with a need he could not name. He waited for her to say more.

"Today your sister's life was plucked like this marigold. I have done what I could to keep her fragrance strong. Is she not beautiful?" Aeron looked, and nodded slowly. The tightness around his eyes loosened and the hardness in his face softened, ever so little. "Will you go to her with me?"

[mark12_30]

Mellondu gaped in disbelief as Mellonin walked right past him, not seeing him, and followed the shapechanger to the hearth. He stirred, but Erebemlin warned him with a raised hand.

So Erebemlin called the ranger to Mellonin's side, but not Mellonin's own brother? Mellondu's patience ran out, and he drew breath for a sharp retort. His anger only grew when Erebemlin's voice sounded in his mind. Patience. Let the River-Daughter care for her.

Mellondu's eyes flamed, and his fists clenched. Who are you to part me from my sister? But as he half-stood, he swayed, and the room spun. He clutched at the table.

Young mortal fool. Persist and you will need healing next! Can you not let those whose need is greater receive theirs?

To his surprise, the tall elf's arms surrounded him, lifted him like a child, and carried him to the hearth. He looked down at Mellonin; her eyes were closed, and her face showed blissful peace. Erebemlin set Mellondu carefully down beside his sister.

Would you like to watch over her as she dreams? I do not think her dreams will be evil; not this time.

Taking another deep breath, Mellondu hesitated, and then grudgingly thanked the elf. You annoy me. But I think you mean well.

Erebemlin did not answer, but only turned to watch Aeron and the River Daughter speaking.

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced at Gwyllion...her face was pale....lined with the fair lines of death. She was beautiful, as Marigold had said. Beautiful with Death's beauty...

Marigold leaned over the body, and tucked the flower into her hair. He would find her with a wreath of flowers in her hair, nestled in a grassy dell... the dream echoed in his mind as he stared at the golden flower.

Aeron gasped a little and plucked the flower from her hair. "Yes, but like this Marigold," he said dully, twirling the stem between his fingers, "she is still dead. And there is nothing that you can do about that. No matter how beautiful she is, I would rather her alive. I would trade this beauty if only she would become alive again."

[littlemanpoet]

Marigold looked at Aeron sadly, and passed a hand through his wild hair.

"I know that you would die in her place. It is well that you love her so. Love her still! And cherish her memory!"

She is not far.

Marigold could feel the light touch of the boy's sister on the cold marshy breeze; it had been that which led her to them. Some purpose lay in that. These were words she could not say, so she spoke not of it. This boy would have to learn its meaning as he could. Dreams lay thick as a many layered weaving around these folk, dreams she could almost see and hear; but they were not hers, and once they left her, those dreams would depart with them. She would do what she could for them.

"I have a boon to ask of you, Aeron." She used his name, having heard it from the young Ranger. He looked up into her eyes. "Though her ghost has left the body, her life was sweet and good, and full of love, not least for you, and I would be grateful if her body's presence could bless my home. And you could stay here for as long as you like, and if you choose to go, you could return as often, as for as long as you wish. Would you permit your sister to be buried here?"

[alaklondewen]

Near the fire, Erebemlin stood tall and silent. His eyes studied the River Daughter as she ruffled Aeron’s hair. She was quite beautiful, and unlike any creature the elf had seen before. Within her small form she contained a great power, yet she was soft and caring. Tilting his head slightly, he watched the flickering light reflecting in the many shades of her long hair. The elf slowly exhaled the breath he had not realized he had been holding, and Marigold turn momentarily and met his gaze. She smiled warmly before turning back to Aeron. Heat quickly rose into Erebemlin’s cheeks. His hand covered his mouth as he cleared his throat awkwardly and swiftly sat at the table beside Taitheneb.

Taitheneb grinned at the elder elf, delighted to be in this beautiful place and finding his embarrassment slightly amusing. The younger elf sliced a piece of warm bread, placed it on a small saucer, and then slid it over the table to Erebemlin, who nodded in gratitude and began to eat, keeping his eyes lowered and away from the River Daughter.

Erebemlin internally kicked at himself for becoming so easily embarrassed. He had lived too long and fought in too many battles to let himself become flushed in anyone’s presence. Stealing a quick glance at Marigold, he stood suddenly. “I’m going to step out for air,” he told Taitheneb without looking at him. Taitheneb just smiled to himself and watched Silmaethor stride out to the porch.

[mark12_30]

Nethwador had shared his bread with Bella, but still eaten all he could hold. He smiled at Bella, and then gazed fondly at Marigold, and thought about the sudden turn of events.

Amroth had been kind to him, and a lord and master. And Bella-- well, he could talk all day about that. But Marigold-- she made him comfortable. Peaceful. On the edge of a wild swamp he felt safe. After being hungry and cold, he was warm and fed. After wandering, he was secure.

They had only just arrived, and yet, he almost felt that he never wanted to leave.

Would Bella stay here with him? Could they live together with Marigold, safe and secure and warm and happy? The Merlocks were nearby, but Marigold knew about them. Tharonwe was nearby too, but Marigold did not fear him. Was there a safer place in the world? Certainly there was no safer place in all the swamp.

How to care for his horse here? And Bella's horse? Would they be happy? There were fields to the south; he knew, from pictures in the minds of his friends. Perhaps the horses could roam there during the day. He wondered how far the fields were.

His full stomach made him sleepy. He wanted to go to the fire, and lie down. But he wanted to stay with Bella. And he wanted to talk to Marigold, to sit near her, too. All of them together by the fire would be nice. But Mellondu's sister and her dead friend were by the fire. And there was the boy, sulking. THe boy was sad about Mellondu's sister's friend.

Taking a deep breath, he took a meal-sized chunk of bread, got up, walked to the sulking boy, and pushed the bread into his hands. The boy glared at him, and then at the bread. Nethwador walked toward an empty corner of the hearth; he could sit with his back against the warm stones of the chimney. Perhaps Bella would come sit with him. He stood by the fireplace, and turned to her, and spoke. "Bella?"

She looked sleepy too. She stood, and drawing her cloak about herself despite the warmth, she came to the chimney. He sat down with his back to the stones. She sat nearby, not too close for modesty but not too far for friendship. Nethwador was content.

A green shadow rustled hearby, and they looked up. Marigold gave them each a cup. Inside was a dark, thick drink. They looked up at her, wondering.

Her eyes twinkled. "Blueberry. You'll both have purple teeth, but pay that no heed. Drink, and rest."

They leaned back against the chimney again. They sipped at the cups, and smiled at each other; it was true. They drank and giggled their way to the bottom of the cups, and then with Marigold nearby, leaned back against the warm stones, and drifted into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan

Raefindan dreamed again.

He stood again at the edge of the vale of Nimrodel and Mithrellas. The dark haired one's head came up; she seemed sorrowful. She recognized him.

"Imrazor!"

"Why do you call me that?"

"That is your name."

He shook his head, but let the matter stand. "What saddens you, Lady?"

"Death has claimed a lovely child."

Gwyllion. The loss of the lively, joyful, moonstruck girl, struck him full in the heart. Raefindan squinted his eyes shut. Tears leaked through the corners of his eyes. Something soft struck his body. He opened his eyes to see that he had fallen to the turf. A shadow was cast over him; he looked up. It was Mithrellas, her face full of care. She was fair beyond words, and looked nothing like his Angela, his love, who was lost to him. Too many deaths. He turned from her, shaking his head, and looked to the blades of grass beneath him.

"I have a message for you," he said to the grass.

"Speak it, my love."

Raefindan shook his head again, and looked up to her, drying his streaming cheeks. "There is one who loves Nimrodel. I speak not of he who was lost to the sea. His name is Maegeleb."

"Sharp spirit?"

"His love is centuries old. He desires to end the grief of Nimrodel, to bring her joy to make her forget her years of sorrow."

The vale blurred and faded and vanished.

Tharonwe

Maegeleb took Roy Edwards from the vale before Nimrodel's servant maid said too much. He opened memories of warfare. They were not Roy Edwards' own memories, but things he had read of. There were trenches and blasted earth, mud discolored to green and yellow mire. The air bled yellow like the stench decay in the merlocks' marshes. Soldiers ran from the yellow air, their faces hidden behind strange masks; and those who wore no masks, choked and fell in yellow spew and mud. The air was poisoned. The words that came with these memories were The Somme and poisoned gas and world war one. This might be useful. How was the poison made? Curse it. Roy Edwards did not know. Maegeleb would have to search the longer.

The others had come from the swamp, Tharonwe knew, and had found a place to stay the night, some home whose owner he could not see, nor hear, nor probe. Maybe it was an old shack where no one lived. Some of them seemed to be ready to stay there for the rest of their lives. Well and good. In the morning he and the young red head from the future would put some more leagues between them.