Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“That is very kind of you,” Liornung was the first of the group to speak. “I would love to stay for a while, to visit and talk.”

“So would I,” added Argeleafa, who smiled. Bellyn liked to see her friends happy; it had been a long journey and now they could rest for a while. “There are many of us, though. Will it be trouble to feed everyone?”

“Of course not,” said Mellondu’s mother, earning a look of dismay from her son.

“It is settled then!” Mellonin looked happier than all of them. “Come, sit. Leafa and Bella, over here…Ædegard…”

Mellonin and Mellondu were finally home. Bellyn wondered why she did not feel more at home. Though she had been born in Minas Tirith, she had not been back to the city in over six years. Bellyn had thought she would be fine returning to the city, but as soon as the company had entered the walls, memories had begun to flood back. She remembered so many things. She remembered the day she fell and scraped her knee, and her mother carried her home. On her third birthday it had been raining, and her brothers took her outside to dance in the puddles. Ever since she had been tall enough, Bellyn helped her mother every day to make dinner. Her father spent most of her youth traveling. Sometime when she was twelve, her mother and oldest brother grew ill. When her father finally came home, it was too late.

The memories made Bellyn sick to her stomach. She forced a smile. Mellondu’s parents searched for more chairs, and the visitors made themselves comfortable in their home. Bellyn and Argeleafa stood to help Mellonin and her mother prepare something to eat.

“No, no, sit,” Mellondu’s mother insisted, “I would love to hear of your travels.”

“I do not know the whole story myself,” Bellyn replied with a wry grin. “Let me help, and someone can tell the story from the beginning.”

“Or we could let Liornung sing us a song!” Mellonin suggested.

“Yes, he is very good at that,” Ædegard mused.

Sing something from some distant place, Bellyn hoped inwardly. She could not wait to leave Gondor in three days.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung had readily accepted the invitation, but his manner, while cheery and polite, was rather subdued still. Argeleafa watched him with the deepest concern, but he hardly glanced in her direction. For the most part he gazed out of whatever window was closest at hand, but his face, far from being peaceful and dreamy, was full of shadows.

Leafa moved closer to him, but he did not look up at her presence, or even seem to sense it. She hesitated briefly, but decided that she ought to try to speak to him again.

"Liornung," she said, sitting down beside him.

He made no answer.

She bit her lip, wondering if he had not heard her, or if he chose not to hear.

"Liornung," she said again, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He started, and looked up at her in surprise. "Why, Leafa!" he said, with a smile that was too strained for her comfort. "I didn't hear you come up. How you startled me!"

His voice was cheerful, to be sure, but it seemed so force. "Liornung, they want you to sing," she said.

"Do they now?" he said. "How kind of them. After dinner perhaps I shall sing." He smiled up into her face for a moment more, and then turned his face back to the window. When she saw the shadows returning, she hastened to distract his attention.

"Liornung!" she cried.

The urgency of her tone was unmistakeable, and he immediately looked to her again. She looked desperately into his eyes, and spread out her hands. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?" she said.

He opened his mouth as if to deny any worry on his part, but saw that she would not be put aside. There was a pause, and then he heaved a deep sigh and, getting to his feet, strode over to the window. He could see naught but his own reflection, and the reflections of the others, sitting and talking, or getting the dinner ready, all looking at ease and glad for a rest, safe for Leafa, who was still sitting with worry etched on her features. And his own self. He saw the haunted expression on his face and could not blame Leafa for her worry.

The reflections of the window seemed to fade, until they were moving about the room like so many ghosts, with echoing voices and laughter, and swift floating movements. The room seemed to reel, and the ghosts vanished, so he could see only his own face in the window, and the stars in the sky. And then everything cleared, cleared more than they ought, for the reflections were no longer hazy figures in the window, but sharp and real images that moved before his eyes. He did not recognise them at first, for he was seeking for Bella, or for Ædegard amongst them.

And then, slowly, his mind cleared, as the window had done, and the faces became familiar to him. He caught his breath, and at that sound they ceased in what they were doing, and turned their heads to him, smiling in welcome. He saw Master Ealdor, the innkeeper from home. The Inn was quite empty of guests, so Ealdor was sitting by the fire, laughing and talking with an old man. It was Old Secgrof, and he looked older and more worn than ever. Indeed, he looked as though another winter would bring not only the cold, but his death as well. And yet his face was cheerful, and he raised a hand in greeting to Liornung.

There was one more figure in the quiet Inn. She was sitting in a chair, a little distance from the fire, leaning back and watching Liornung with a little smile on her face. It was Blostma, the innkeeper's daughter. She wore an old faded apron over her gown, as if she had just come from the kitchen. Her foot was slowly beating out the time of some unheard song... some song she was waiting for him to sing. They were all watching him, just as they had in the days before he had left home. They would cease their talk, and watch him... and any moment one of them would ask him to play and sing. Blostma would ask, for she always asked, with a breathless tone of voice, and eyes full of eagerness. Did they delight in his music so much? Did it truly bring such joy to their hearts that they waited in such an anxious manner?

She was standing up. And now she would ask.

But she did not say a word. She simply came mutely to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gazed at her, through the reflection in the window. There was a long silence, and at last she spoke.

"Liornung," she said.

He waited for the request, but it did not come. His mind was filled with bewilderment. Did she not want him to sing?

"Liornung," she said again, and shook him.

And when she did so, everything faded. The stars vanished into a blackness, and the blackness began to glow softly with a golden haze. Blostma was gone... she had dispelled herself into nothingness. For a moment there was only the blackness with its faint glow, and he was tempted to let it go no farther. He should like to remain in the blackness, and imagine that he would be back at the Inn again. If he left the blackness behind, he knew what he would find. And yet, with a sinking heart, he knew he could not remain. The glow grew stronger, and the figures began to take shape again. The hand still remained on his shoulder, a for a wild moment he thought that perhaps Blostma was still there. But when all reflections had returned, it was Leafa's worried face that stood behind him, and her hand that lay on his shoulder.

"Oh, Liornung, what is wrong?" she said.

He turned away from the window, and looked about the room, studying each face in turn. As he recognised each face, his own was filled with disappointment. Truly, Blostma, her father, and Old Secgrof had disappeared, to the other side of that blackness. But when his eyes fell on Bella that lingered there, and he smiled a smile full of sorrow.

"How I envy dear Bella," he said, "for she is home."

He patted Leafa's hand, and then slipped from her grip and returned to his chair.

[Orual]

"My 'lass', as you put it, is nearly as far out of reach--" Ravion broke off, seeing a hurt expression on Aeron's face. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "I am sorry, Aeron. That was unfair of me." Aeron shrugged.

They sat there, two silent figures with similar expressions of pain in their eyes, staring up at the sky. Looking out of the corner of his eye at Aeron, Ravion wondered if the stars held any more answers for the boy than they did for the Ranger. He found no solace in them.

He saw in Aeron's eyes a pain and confusion that was achingly familiar to him. He knew that the boy probably woke up at night and looked for his sister. Again he realized how brave Aeron was, to be able to compare his own loss to the loss that Ravion was inflicting on himself.

He stood up, and extended a hand to Aeron. Characteristically, the boy refused the help and stood up on his own. "It is late, Aeron," Ravion said. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will surely be another long day."

[Imladris]

That night, Aeron's sleep was restless, and he dreamed of his sister, Gwyllion. He remembered the murlocks, her blood that stained the ground, the wreath of flowers in her hair, how the fear had seemed to fade from her face when she had been brought to Marigold's dwelling.

It had been peaceful there, like a pool of sunshine in a glassy dale.

He awoke when the sun was still low in the sky. Quietly, he slipped from his bed and stole his way out the Inn towards the little hovel they had once called home. The place had a lonely feel, he thought as he stared at the crumbling cornerstones framed by drooping weeds.

As the first rays of the sun gilded the sky, he went into their mouldering dwelling and pryed up a loose floorboard to reveal a rather large and lumpy dusty velvet sack that tinkled with cold delicacy as he lifted it from the hole in the floor. He looked hastily over his shoulder as he crept back into the streets again. He was a thief after all...it would not due to be caught -- an urchin with a sackful of precious gems and gold coins...the only thing the authorites could do was to throw him into a jail cell.

Aeron flitted down the streets of Minas Tirith until he found an market place full of bustling women bartering for goods. Quietly, from the shadow of closely clustered buildings, he hurled the sack into the midst of them. Golden coins gushed and pattered to the pavement, rubies glinted in the sun and sapphires winked at the young ladies.

Aeron slipped away as the people gasped, and clustered around the wealth snatching it from the streets with greedy hands.

Thief's honour. That was what Ravion had said. And it was because of this honour that he had thrown the work of years into the streets. He had stolen them for Gwyllion and himself. Little Gwyl was gone, and he did not need the hoarded wealth. Let others have it who was in greater need of it than himself.

~*~

It was evening before Aeron returned to the Inn and slumped into a chair beside Ravion, who was brooding over a mug of ale. Aeron didn't say anything to him, deciding to wait in silence for the others to return.

[alaklondewen]

Even though his parents’ home buzzed with friendly chatter, Mellondu sat glumly, stewing over the predicament in which he now found himself. Glancing up, he found Erebemlin searching his face as if he already expected to see signs of the great Amroth. Mellondu clinched his jaw and looked back down at his hands. He hated this. He could still feel the Elf king within him, but he did not want to relinquish control…not again, especially after all that had happened.

The sound of his sister’s voice babbling happily brought Mellondu out of his thoughts. “…and that’s when we met Gwyl…”

“Mellonin, no,” the young man interrupted. His voice was sharp but low in volume.

The other travelers became quiet, and Mellonin looked indignantly at her brother. “Well, I would rather speak of her life than…” Mellonin stopped herself.

“It’s just too soon.”

Mother recognized the tension in the room and stepped between her children. “There will be more time for tales and song before this evening is finished. For now, let us eat.” She forced a smile and took Mellonin’s hand. “Come, Light-Love, help me serve our guests.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The laughter and storytelling before dinner was served came out forced and half-hearted. Whatever silent burden hung over the heads of the travelers permeated into their conversations. When Mellonin’s mother began to serve the meal, the friends quieted and thanked her graciously. It was a simple bean pudding, sweetened with honey, but everyone knew that no food on the road could hold contest with a good, home-cooked meal.

Appreciation for the hospitality overflowed from the visitors. There were occasional choruses of “this is wonderful” and “thank you” during the meal, but otherwise the visitors hardly spoke.

When everyone had finished eating, Mellonin and her mother took the dishes. There were many offers to help them wash, but these offers were politely refused. Mellonin started to continue the story of their journey, but hesitated to speak at all of Gwyllion. Mellondu’s stinging gaze threatened more moody and angry words should the conversation take a direction he did not like. After what seemed like ages of awkward jump-start-stalling discussion and storytelling, Mellonin looked over to Liornung.

“Well, our new friends have traveled far as well,” she said, smiling faintly. Mellonin looked at her mother. “They have come from Rohan.”

Bellyn turned to Liornung as well, and saw that in his eyes were images and memories of Rohan; of his own home. Argeleafa’s eyes held the same nostalgic expression. Liornung began to recount his story, from the beginning: meeting Bellyn, catching up to Ædegard, trying to catch up to the ‘mad blacksmith’.

Bellyn realized as Liornung told the tale that it all began wonderfully and mysteriously. Bellyn had drawn and read and revised her father’s maps for years, and always desired to see what was beyond her home. She remembered looking out over the valleys with Liornung and seeing the colors of the sunset – at first, she had never wanted to go back to Rohan.

But Liornung’s story quickly progressed into darker territory.

“Well, then, we rode off, for we saw their company on the horizon,” Bellyn listened eagerly, though she knew the ending.

“It is getting late,” Mellondu spoke before Liornung could introduce Tharonwe into the story and speak of the kidnapping of the women. Both his parents and Mellonin cast him a reproachful look.

“That it is,” agreed Ædegard. He looked to Erebemlin, who nodded, face solemn as Bellyn had always seen it. Does he not smile? Bellyn wondered. The group stood from their seats and moved towards the door. “We shall take our leave then.”

“Thank you for welcoming us to your home,” Raefindan said, looking towards Mellonin and Mellondu’s parents. He opened the door and led the way out.

“Yes, thank you very much, especially for having us to dinner,” added Liornung. A chorus of ‘thank-you’ followed from Bellyn and Leafa. Erebemlin gave one last lingering look to Mellondu before thanking his parents, and Nethwador followed Bellyn out of the home.

[alaklondewen]

Smoke and light poured through the door of the inn into the cold night air as the band of travelers returned from their visit with the Gondorian family. The common room was warm in contrast to the air outside. A warm fire glowed in the fire place lighting the face of the ranger who sat before it.

“Why Master Aeron!” Raefindan stepped toward the boy as Erebemlin finally noticed the young thief beside the ranger.

The Elf watched the humans greet the boy, but Erebemlin stood behind them, irritated that the foolish youth thought he could just turn up unexpectedly after running away like a child and then rejoin the company. The boy did not receive a welcome from the tall Sinda, rather the Elf returned to his room to speak with Taitheneb.