Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[Formendacil]

Bergil thrust any concern for the strange laughter affecting the Elves from his mind as he bent down to greet Indil, who herself had caught the infectious glee. At another time, Bergil would have been rather concerned about the Elven laughter, for their seemed to be precious little to laugh about. They had unexpectedly found Tharonwë incapacitated, certainly, and Indil was safer than he had dared hope, but the situation was still far too grave for such mirth, in his view.

Kneeling in front of Indil, and holding her hand, Bergil glanced over her face and arms, hoping to confirm that she was an unharmed as she appeared. There seemed to be little to fear, for Indil wore a smile that had no shadow of fear, and bore all the excitement of a child who, having just been found, had suffered no worse trauma than being lost.

"As you can see," he said, himself smiling in wide relief, "we are glad to have found you. How are you feeling?"

"I wish mama and papa were here." she said, petting the dog that followed them slowly. "Mama used to tell me stories about Elf ladies. She said they had pretty laughs, and that their eyes sparkled." She bowed her head. "I miss my mama."

Indil's smile faded, and Bergil's own heart tensed in sympathy. The little girl had been separated from her family for many days indeed now, and at her age, that must have seemed an even longer age than it did to Bergil.

"Don't worry, Indil," said Bergil, his hands on her shoulders now, eyes directly across from her, "we're almost done with this quest. Just another few days and we can go home and find your family."

Indil said nothing, and seemed to be on the verge of tears, so Bergil pulled her into a tight hug, rocking her slightly. Looking over her shoulder, he could see the four Elves (or those who were acting as Elves, anyway. Bergil was beginning to lose surety over who was whom). They were speaking not, but still bore smiles wide with joy, and Bergil could tell from their eyes that though they said nothing, they were still communicating with each other, and as his eyes lit up Raefindan, it seemed to him that the red-haired man understood them.

This gave Bergil a deep shiver, and he clung to Indil's trembling body, seeking comfort in her small, human warmth. Once before, he had seen Elves in a great celebration, during Midsummer's Eve after the War of the Ring, when Elessar had wedded Queen Arwen. That too had been an eerie night, and even as a rash boy, Bergil had been clearly aware of the differences between Men and Elves.

"They are fey," his father had said. "Fair, both in their actions and in their appearances, but also fey."

Still clasping Indil, Bergil understood why the Rohirrim had shunned the Golden Wood, and why his own people had fallen out of friendship with the Elves. They were indeed a fey people.

Letting Indil go enough that he could look at her again, as her trembling subsided and the readiness to cry turned into more of a sniffling, Bergil held her away so that he could see her face.

"It will be all right, Indil," he said. "We will find your family."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil looked into Bergil's eyes and smiled with the sad surety of one who has seen many, many years. "No, Bergil."

It seemed as though a voice spoke to her then, or through her, one which had long spoken to her in dream: Mithrellas, whose blood flowed through Indil's mother's veins, through her own.

"Amroth," she said quietly, turning to them, her sweet voice echoing on the wet stone, "Erebemlin. Avarien. Nimrodel awaits. Mithrellas stands beside her, ever faithful, ever vigilant and with them are those who have been lost to us. Ravion, your Aeron is laughing with his sister by a stream where she can see her face rippling, reflected. Roy Edwards, one whom you have long missed patiently watches for your return. And Bergil..." she whispered, "My mama and my papa are there, but they are with Aeron, not with Mithrellas."

[mark12_30]

Ravion opened his mouth to reply to Raefindan, but Indil's little voice cut through the cold air, and Ravion started, and closed his mouth again. All the elves gave her heed.

When her last whisper echoed off the rocks, no one stirred for a while, except the black elf, a little.

Ravion glanced at Ædegard, and at Liornung, and at Bella; then back to Raefindan. THen he shook his head.

"We will discuss this further, later. Meanwhile it seems we will soon be once again on the march."

Raefindan met his gaze and held it. "I lie not."

Ravion sighed. "I know. Yet the boy is still dead."

Raefindan nodded. "He is. Yet though my will, mind and body were used, it was another who sought to kill him: that same mind that killed Aeron's sister."

Ravion's only answer was a tightening of his lips, and a shudder as he remembered Gwyllion's tortured end. Should he fear Raefindan or trust him? he wondered. And then he remembered Erebemlin, and Avarien. They would know.

He turned to seek Mellonin.

[Formendacil]

"And Bergil..." she whispered, "My mama and my papa are there, but they are with Aeron, not with Mithrellas."

Perhaps because Mithrellas gave her strength, or perhaps because she was too young to comprehend the impact of what she said, or perhaps because she was stronger than her years suggested, Bergil knew not which, but Indil remained steady while he felt as though the world had fallen out from beneath him, as sympathy for Indil coursed through him. She was too young and innocent to deserve what had befallen them on the road; to have no family to rejoin was worse.

Embracing the little girl again, for his own support, Bergil rocked slightly, not comforting her so much as he found himself unsteady. No tears fell from his stricken face, for too many years of proud training and hardship held them at bay, but the lack did not disguise the impact of the knowledge on him.

"Do not fear, Indil," he said in a low voice, which was the most he could manage to keep level. "I will be your surety of a home when we return to Minas Tirith."

And how will that be? Bergil could hear the doubt in his mind, expressing itself in the voice of his younger brother, Borlas. Borlas, the steadier of the sons of Beregond, had often been at odds with his more impetuous older brother, and during his time of training with the rangers, Bergil had accustomed himself to thinking as his brother would, whenever he had grappled with a situation he knew he was handling without due thought.

You have no home, and you are a ranger on the borders of Ithilien. You have no place for a child in your life, and no one to promise her care for.

"If I have to leave the Rangers," Bergil looked directly into Indil's eyes, resolute, "I will make sure you are warded." If Indil understood the full meaning of his words, Bergil did not know, but she certainly knew the tone of his speech, and she hugged him back with the gleeful bliss of a child who is loved, and even at her young age, she recognised the rock-solid immovability of Bergil's word.

You'll regret this, Borlas' voice advised him. Being discharged so early in your service is not easy. You know nothing of raising a child. Prince Faramir will disapprove. Father will disapprove. You'll miss the rangers. This cannot end well.

It already has, Bergil thought, as he slowly released Indil from his embrace, standing tall, and hoisting the girl over his shoulders and onto his back. Worries aside, he could not have brought himself to promise any less.

[mark12_30]

Before Ravion reached Mellonin's side, he was at peace.

Mellonin needed rest, but the elves swept into action as Bergil lifted Indil to his to his back. Erebemlin motioned Tharonwe towards Raefindan, who nodded.

Erebemlin and Ravion hastened to catch up to Mellonin and Mellondu, who were already turning downhill. The rest of the men swung into line behind the elves. Ravion knew that Mellonin was deeply weary, but she showed no sign of it; indeed, though the stars were hidden in mist, the snow about the elves' feet showed a faint glimmer, a blending of silver and gold.

They traveled downhill steadily, surefooted despite the dark. Ravion wished that the sky would clear; and he thought, as if in reply to his hopes, that he smelled a sea-wind. Several times through the night he caught the scent. Just past midnight the sky began to clear; stars peeped through; and as the snow gave way to grass beneath their feet, the mist was swept away entirely, and the sky was ablaze with stars.

[mark12_30]

From the tiniest crevice in a plain grey rock, a trickle of water dribbled onto the cold dirt below.

The blacksmith knelt, and touched his fingers to the trickle of water. Nethwador stood behind, and Erebemlin did not even turn his gaze towards the water.

Amroth's fingers, shining and cold from the icy water, came toward his face. With eyes closed, he savored the scent of the water, and then his fingers tightened into a fist, and Amroth stood.

This water would please her.

Nethwador smiled. He was exhausted. But then he turned southward and gave a shrill whistle.

Amroth also turned southward.

Echo, we have need of you, and your brethren. Come.

Avarien nodded. Roheryn, we stand upon snow no longer, but upon the gentle earth.

Amroth swayed, fighting exhaustion. Avarien was weaker still. Ravion spoke.

"Your mortal bodies need rest. Surely now we may wait for the horses to arrive?"

In answer, Amroth settled onto the cold earth, reaching one hand into the stream. Avarien sat a few paces away in the sunshine.

The rest of the men needed no further urging, but settled quickly onto the ground, hoping that the horses were at least a good nap's distance away.

[mark12_30]

Ravion, sweet Ravion. How good you have been to me. To us. It is good to have you near.

Ravion sat bolt upright. The voice inside his head was not Avarien's, but Mellonin's; how could that be?

Perhaps, he thought, he had been dreaming. And if so, then he had been a fool to leave the dream. She was nearby; two paces away as modesty demanded. He lay back down, and the gentle voice returned to his mind, nearer than near. He held his breath. Mellonin?

Ravion.

[mark12_30]

The trickle, leaving the cleft of the rock and flowing over the cold earth, joins another just down the hill, and another below that. We sleep on a garden of mountain-springs. Below us lies a dell, with a little pool; and below that lies another like it, and on down the hillsides. Roheryn drinks at one of them now.

Ravion heard Mellonin saying it. Amroth heard Avarien. Ravion wondered; Amroth rejoiced. He reached out with his longing. He could not sense her presence-- not as he once did; yet he knew she was on the hillsides, below them, along this very stream. A single tear flowed down Amroth's face, then another, and then a third. She is near. She is near. She is near. His heart beat to the rythm of it.

He called to her; Nimrodel, Nimrodel. She did not answer. He had called so often and she had not answered. He would learn why when they were face to face.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to the stream, and joined it. Small and simple, he trickled from the rock to the cold earth below, and with a tiny shimmer, flowed over the soil. Southward, southward, the pull of the earth drew him over pebble and sand, moss and grass. Another joined him, and they flowed over rock and earth; they rested, swirling, in a shallow basin, and then ran out the southward side, over roots, and more moss, spreading into the littlest fen, and then once again finding the way downhill.

And over every root and rock and crevice the longing of the sweet water was: I will join the sea. I will join the sea. I will join the sea.