================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon < About 3:13 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 46 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Mon Jul 16 14:04:39 2007
=====================================================================
Riverside, Naith of Lorien
You stand riverside, in Dwimordene, amidst the grey boles of the mellyrn and the concealing underbrush on the eastern banks of the river Celebrant. It is here in these golden woods where the rolling foothills of the Misties come to an end and the Elven realm of Lothlorien, often called Dwimordene or Dreamland by men, begins. It's summertime, and the mellyrn's leaves and branches form a light canopy of green to match the scattered undergrowth below. Presently, the mid afternoon sun casts lengthening shadows across the Wood as it begins its descent.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Haldir
=====================================================================

A rainbow of color filters through the canopy of Lothlorien, as the mid afternoon light of day shines down upon the lands of Middle Earth. The air is still, as if nature holds it's breath so to allow the inhabitants a moment to reflect upon the gentle beauty of a rich summer foliage hanging over a golden carpet. In the Naith of Lothlorien, the sounds are that of nature. Sweet chirps and melodies of birds flitter through the brush and trees, as excited chirps respond form hidden squirrels.

A deep breath is drawn in, and released slowly, as the Tailor Galharth looks about with adoration. "Home..." he whispers softly, "How I've missed thee...."

Maglind too is here, perched among the thick roots of a mallorn-tree: one arm is thrown about them, as if it were the shoulders of a loved one.

He tips his head back, until the angle of afternoon sun hits his eyes, and he smiles.

Fully scanning the Naith, the crafter's gaze comes to rest upon Maglind. "While the trip was a fools errand, I offer you thanks for accompanying me," Galharth says to the Warden. "In fact, I owe thanks to all who traveled with us. It is with our group that I learned the most."

A low whistle comes from across the Celebrant, followed quickly by the tossing of a rope, which is caught by one of the guard, drawn, and then tied up around of the many mellyrn. A quick motion, all of this, the efficiency of custom carrying it.

Haldir alights upon the western end, and begins to cross. Relief and satisfaction mark his expression.

"Yes," says Maglind thoughfully, swiping at the dust on travel-worn boots. "What have you learned, Clothier?"

Galharth laughs softly at Maglind's question. "Perhaps most importantly, I learned that I should have stayed home." Folding his arms over his chest, he opens his mouth to add more, but the sound of a whistle draws his attention and he looks back towards the river. "Ah! Haldir! Well met." the Tailor calls out in greeting.

"Aiya! Greetings!"

The voice of the marchwarden carries easily over the laugh of the Celebrant, even as he continues to tread across the thin rope and enter into the Naith. Haldir looks over towards the two, Maglind and Galharth, raises a brow, and then comments:

"Planning more diving expeditions? -- Or am I woefully behind date with news?"

"Woefully, Marchwarden," replies Maglind, eyes brimming with irreverent laughter. "We have been abroad and back, sir! It has been too long."

Confusion flickers over the Tailor's expression, "Had you not heard that we were away to Isengard? Certainly a Marchwarden would have heard such things if even in passing."

Shaking his head, his expression turns to that of interest. "Tell me, what news have you within the wood. Is all well?"

"Abroad and back!"

Muted surprise is readily evident in Haldir's words and face. He descends from the make-shift bridge and, with an inclination of head and whispered word to the other guard, approaches Galharth and Maglind.

"I know naught of what has passed in the Wood, Galharth. I have just returned from Imladris, with two visitors, as well."

A pause, as if to consider, before he asks:

"Isengard? What drove you there?"

"Questions," murmurs Maglind ambiguously, and he readily glances to Galharth, as if prompting a further explanation.

Crystal blue eyes widen in surprise. "Just now you've returned?" Galharth responds with awe. "Much as passed in the time since we've last met."

Turning to glance at Maglind as he speaks, the crafter nods his head slowly. "The dive brought forth a ships figurehead, and in turn brought to light questions about its origin." A slight breath is taken, and released with a touch of frustration. "Question sent us south to Curunir. A fools journey, as it turns out."

"Aye, just now," says Haldir, again inclining his head in a nod of affirmation. "Troubles plagued the journey and trip: on the way there, while there, and yet none upon the return."

Glance rests upon the tailor, as if in recollection, and the marchwarden adds, the barest touch of mirth mingled with solemnity: "The ship had a figurehead? I made mention of the craft to those in Imladris, and one of the two who travels with me has interest in the matter.

"But a fools journey? Was there trouble?" To both this is directed, concern in words.

Maglind stands, one arm still wrapped lovingly around the tree-trunk. "Only briefly," the warden answers nonchalantly. "We met a beast in Fangorn."

Even as he moves, the long gash in leather armor peeks furtively between the lines of his cloak.

"Did Annaiel make it safely to Imladris?" The Tailor asks with a hint of concern at hearing the news of the troubled journey north. While concern remains, a hint of interest flickers in his eyes. "You've brought someone back who has interest in the discovery of the ship?" Looking beyond the Marchwarden, he searches for the mentioned companion. "I should like to speak with this person...."

Falling silent as Maglind speaks, the clothier nods his head. "The Warden here was injured during the encounter, yet as a witness, I can say he acted with great bravery, as did all within our party. In the end, it was a herder who saved us.... or so I am led to believe. I, myself, was knocked out from a careless fall."

While Haldir asked of the fools, journey, Galharth falls silent without response to that matter, perhaps in his silence, identifying the fool as himself.

"Annaiel made it to Imladris," answers Haldir. "Safely? No. Otherwise, I would already have returned: I do not abandon a defenseless companion to the wilds of Eriador. -- My present companions are coming along. They will be here shortly."

Keen grey gaze flicks to the warden, mallorn, and gashed leather, noting each before momentarily turning to Galharth with a confused expression at his comment.

"Fangorn is not kind, but nor is it cruel and evil. What kind of beast?"

"A torog: one not unlike the foe we found in the foothills. I know not how it wandered so far into Fangorn. But a Herder saved us." Maglind's eyes flicker with a shadow of memory before he adds, "As for more trouble, sir, there was also word of strange yrch wandering the southern edge. Those we also met, though others of our party remember more than I."

"At least she made it," the Tailor whispers softly. "I am glad of that."

Falling silent as Maglind describes their woes, Galharth nods in agreement, offering nothing more to description of the encounters. "The experience will not be forgotten any time soon." Lowering his head slightly, he shrugs. "It does remind me that perhaps it might be wise to concentrate a bit more on training with my weapon." Looking up, a slight frown lays upon his lips. "Perhaps after we've had a chance to visit with missed family and friends, we can discuss this further."

A frown crosses the face of the Silvan marchwarden as both Maglind and Galharth speak -- but aside from that, he says naught concerning the creature.

"Strange yrch? I may have seen them a'fore, and it has troubled me for some time. I do not doubt they are the same."

Haldir laughs, hushed and short, and inclines his head to the tailor. "Indeed, indeed. One is never satisfied with the training one currently holds. That will need be later, for above family and friends I have news to deliver to Lord, Lady, or Commander."

A brief pause, before he quickly adsd: "Do not ask! I shall not speak about it until I have delivered it."

"They were terribly close to the Valley of Curunir, I feared ..." Maglind cuts himself off, putting a hand on a branch above. "We shall wait, then."

"In regards to the strange yrch, I know nothing, only that the encounter nearly resulted in Galaslagor's demise. As it was, it did result in the loss of several patches of hair," the clothier offers, adding the little he knows to what the Warden tells. "Oh..." he adds quickly, "The Rohirrim have much in the way of experience with them."

He nods to Haldir's final words. "At least you have news. All I have to pass along to the Lady is that we learned nothing, and gained little from Curunir." He shakes his head. "I had expected more."

Keen interest is paid to Galharth and his comment, an understanding nod accompanying the lattermost words, but to Maglind does Haldir turn his attention: "You feared...?"

"Invasion," Maglind answers, reddening somewhat. "Completely unfounded."

"There was much in the way of responsibility placed upon the Warden's shoulders." Galharth quickly says, "Between my own errors and young Rhibi's eagerness, it is reasonable for concerns to be compounded."

Lowering his gaze slightly, "Both young and old, we've much to learn."

Maglind's fear is met with neither surprise nor bemusement: it falls upon a concerned expression. Haldir simply inclines his head in a nod.

"Much to learn, much to avoid, and much to fear."

Glancing over his shoulder, the marchwarden then says:

"If you will excuse me, I should be off: Newly returned, and already duty drives me."

"Farewell, then," calls Maglind, before he begins to climb the mallorn-branches: "I must go as well. Will you excuse me, Galharth?"

"I should be off myself, though more to follow up to see if any progress has been made at the rivers edge. Be well, Haldir." Galharth says moving southwards along the rivers edge. Nodding towards Maglind, he acknowledges his departure as well. "Thank you again Maglind."

With that, the clothier wanders away from Naith, disappearing quickly from sight.

With nary another word, Haldir departs: swift steps carrying him away, deep into the forest.