Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[littlemanpoet]

He walked in silence. Always, he kept an eye on the one from the future, Roy Edwards. Was he an Elf after all? How could he be? How else could he hold such power? Tharonwë kept his mind far from that one. He also kept his mind barred from the other Elves. He had not experienced such defeat and humiliation in ages.

Nevertheless, they were moving toward Nimrodel. This had been Tharonwë's goal for centuries. If only he could find a way to be rid of these fools and achieve his end! But how? He could not see a way through. The tables had been turned, and by a mere human! Indignation burned in him.

If there was then to be no victory, he would steal victory from Amroth. If he could not have Nimrodel, she who was his by right, he would send her to the Halls of Mandos. They would of course kill him for his deed, but then at least, he and she would be together and Amroth's purpose ruined. A mirthless smile came to his face.

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Every hoofbeat brought them closer.

His weary body was feverish and weak, and he was grateful for the glossy chestnut beneath him, grateful for his steady service. He ran his hand over Echo's neck.

Nimrodel, Nimrodel. How I have longed to hold you. How often I recall the time I held you last. How eager I am to hold you again.

There was no song in return, only the murmur of the water over the roots and grasses. But he was at peace. She was there. And the distance grew less, and less, and less, with every hoofbeat.

[littlemanpoet]

The sky was light blue with wisps of clouds floating above on a high west wind. The sun had warmed the air so that it felt like spring. Birds trilled and sang, flitting from tree to tree. The tack of the horses were the only sound of their passing. Everyone was silent and expectant. The Elves were responsible for this; not through any command. Their anticipation was palpable and caused the others to expect something, anything, around the next bend of the stream by the side of which they rode.

It was just after mid-morning when the jumping and chopping stream fell into a small deep pool where the water swirled and slowed, then flowed slow and clear into a grassy field, still high on the mountainside, through which the cold water flowed gently down toward a line of evergreen trees.

Roy felt his heart race suddenly.

We have arrived!

Roy turned to Mellonin, whose thought he had heard. Her face was stretched and tired, her eyes lit with a fire beyond the scope of humankind.

Nimrodel!

Mellondu looked hardly less the worse for wear, but the same light was in his eyes, which seemed to look through the thick eaves of the evergreens.

They dismounted. Roy went over to Bergil, who had placed Indil before him on his saddle. Bergil handed the girl into Roy's arms, and he placed her on her feet; then he knelt beside her while the Ranger dismounted.

"Do you know where we are, Indil?"

She nodded. "Nimrodel and Mithrellas are in there with my mama and papa."

"Shall we go see?" Roy held out his hand to her. She placed her small hand in his big one, and they began walking with the others toward the evergreens. Roy and Indil were the first to pass between two of the evergreens, and stopped.

"I've been here in my dreams," Roy murmured. Indil nodded.

At the far end, where the stream divided into many rivulets before leaving the vale, sat a woman with bright hair, her face unseen. Near her stood another woman, her hair raven and lifting a little in the breeze. Mithrellas! Roy's heart quickened. She turned and looked, then smiled, and reached out a hand to someone whom he had not seen at first. This other was another woman through whom he could somehow seen the evergreens behind her; yet her blonde hair and lively brown eyes could not be mistaken. Angela!

He began to walk forward, still holding Indil's hand, and she walked with him. He approached Mithrellas and Indil approached Angela. Five paces apart, he stopped. As did Mithrellas. Indil stopped with him. But Angela kept coming, letting go Mithrellas' hand, and grew suddenly smaller with each step until she was the same height as Indil, then she walked right into Indil. Roy thought she they would bump and collide, but no.

Indil stood there holding his hand, but Angela was nowhere to be seen. Then Indil looked up at him. Suddenly he realized that her brown eyes were the same as Angela's had been. No. They were the same. Both Angela and Indil looked up at him out of the same pair of eyes.

"Indil? Angela?"

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Erebemlin's eyes were locked on the woman with bright hair. She sat unmoving, her face bent towards the ground. Golden light filled the hair that cloaked her back, her shoulders, her face; the breeze stirred it; Nimrodel did not move.

Erebemlin turned to his king, and together they drew near to her. Nethwador followed some paces behind, but stopped before they reached her. Mellonin hung back. Avarien still felt the sting of her name, and rested in Amroth's thanks, expecting none from her mistress.

Erebemlin listened for the voice of Nimrodel, but she was silent. Beside him he heard the king calling her, again and again; but she did not respond. They drew nearer, and Amroth walked past Nimrodel and turned, to face her. He knelt before her, and took her shoulders in his hands.

Erebemlin trembled as he stepped also to her side, and his tears fell. Her hair that had seemed golden in the sun was as white as snow. She was not bent, as he had thought, to study the ground; she was bent with age. Her hands were gnarled and crooked, and her skin as faded as fallen leaves. She trembled, not with joy, but with weakness. She scarcely seemed to know they were there. Amroth raised his hands to her face, and tried to raise her face to meet his eyes.

Her lips were withered, dry and cracked. Her skin, wizened, hung in folds about her face and neck. Her eyes were lifeless, and now Erebemlin wept in earnest. Almost he turned to his king for comfort. But as he recoiled from the thought, to his surprise, the king gave him the comfort he desired. The fire in Amroth's eyes burned through his tears even as his fever shone through his glistening face and neck.

Courage, Erebemlin. If ever I needed your strength, aid me now.

Stunned, Erebemlin offered himself like a waterfall.

My good Erebemlin, you have never faltered. Bear her to the waters' edge.

The king stepped back, and Erebemlin lifted Nimrodel like a feather.

Ravion, standing beside Mellonin, wondered whether the wasted king would reach the waters' edge. The king did not pause on the bank, but waded into the icy mountain pool, turned, and held out his arms.

"Bring her to me."

Erebemlin hesitated for one heartbeat, and then followed him into the pool.

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Ravion broke his silence. "Surely it is too cold for her, elf though she be. Surely she will take chill. Mellondu, wait. Listen! Mellondu! Oh, Mellonin, speak to him. Stop this madness. Mellonin-- Avarien, speak to the king. He will heed you!"

Mellonin swayed. Ravion caught her, and all her weight was in his arms. "Mellonin? Avarien! Avarien, where are you?"

Farewell, good friend Ravion. My duty is done. I wish you great joy.

"Wait! Avarien, wait! You must speak to the king!"

And how would I command my king? Nay, Ravion. Fare well, wherever you fare; and I deem you shall. Farewell, good friend. I go to find the sea.

"Avarien, wait! Avarien!"

Mellonin trembled and convulsed as the elvish life slipped away from her. Bereft of Avarien's hope and strength, Mellonin gave a cry, and then another, and then a wracking scream. Her eyes opened wide with terror and she convulsed again, and again. Her fever soared.

"Mellonin!" he cried. She did not answer.

Ravion carried her to the waters' edge, lay her upon the bank, wetted part of his cloak and washed her brow, her face, her neck, her hands. Terrified he pleaded silently with her as he had with Avarien, crying from the depths of his heart.

Mellonin, Mellonin, wait. Wait. Stay with me. Wait for me. Listen to me.

It seemed to him in the depths of his heart, she answered.

Ravion.

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Nimrodel.

The weary king took the withered crone into his arms, and with her weight borne up by the water, cradled her like a newborn child.

Nimrodel, Nimrodel, hear me. Come to me. Where are you? Nimrodel, my love, heed me. Heed me.

Erebemlin waited, breathless. Nimrodel did not respond. The king called her again, again, again. She did not answer.

Nethwador stood nearby on the bank, leaning out over the water, willing her to hear the king. "Llisten to him, lady, " he whispered. "Listen to him. Sing for him again."

Erebemlin watched, and waited. He heard a dry wind blowing, and tasted ash on his tongue. The king frowned, and shook his head.

Feel the water, Nimrodel my love. You languish not in the paths of the dead. You are here, in my arms, in a green wood, in a sweet water that seeks for the sea. Taste the sweetness, my love. Taste the sweet water.

Erebemlin cupped his hand, and brought water to Nimrodel's lips so that she could drink. She stared listless.

Drink, my lady. Drink for your king, he pleaded.

Amroth kissed her brow, and closed his eyes. Nimrodel, Nimrodel. Turn. Turn away from the ash, and hear us. Hear my voice. Hear Erebemlin, your servant. Hear us.

"Come back, lady Nimrodel, " pleaded Nethwador from the bank. "Come back to us."

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Ravion leaned over Mellonin, as she shuddered and moaned, and whispered in his turn, "Come back to me, my lady, my love. Come back to me." Slowly, the brow of Mellonin relaxed, and the tremors ceased. She was still fevered and fearful, but weary. In her weariness, she reached out to Ravion. He heard her voice deep within. I don't understand.

Mellonin, I am here.

Ravion. Then all will be well.

He held her close, and willed with all his might that she be strong.