================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon < About 1:28 PM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 7 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Fri Jul 27 13:29:34 2007
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Golden Roadway - Southwestern Arc - Fragrant Arches
You stand along the Southwestern arc of the Golden Roadway, deep in a copse of mellyrn. All about you, tall trees rise; grey ropes and bridges hang between them in an intricate web of interconnecting flets. Strings of creeping vines cross over head. All through the summer brilliant red trumpet flowers dot their lengths. To the northwest, a gently sloping staircase descends down the hill through the trees to another level of the city.

Towards the center of the hill, cut from its side, a small path leads through a gate of white wood and intricate carvings. Beyond them, the forest floor has been planted with thick green grass. The trees are thinner and several wide shady clearings can be glimpsed.
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A short distance from the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva, among the fragrant arches, Galharth pauses. Standing against a sturdy tree, he leans against the silvery bark, and peers up into the morning sky. The rising sun shines warmly upon his face, and yet it does not erase the shadows of concern that seem eched into his expression. Standing as a statue for several long
moments, he turns to peer up the hill. Finding noone
and nothing, he sits upon a deep root, as if waiting.

Hesitantly, footsteps silent but heavy, Ostiel follows Galharth down the hill, holding up her skirts with great care, almost too much. She stops by the Tailor's side, looks about, and cautiously lowers herself onto the root next to him, a safe distance away. The she just looks at him, expression unreadable.

"I must apologize," Galharth says quickly with a shaky voice as he continues to looks in all directions but the lady's. "I have no excuse, save a vision that seemed so....real."

Paling slightly, and clearly looking miserable, he finally turns his gaze towards the Attendant. "In several instances, it was as if I were another. T'was a vision unfolding before my eyes, and the emotion felt... I can not fully understand it."

Clasping his hands tightly, the Tailor looks down towards his hands. "You appeared as the lady carved as the figurehead."

A breeze floats in from the north, cooling Ostiel's skin. She closes her eyes against it. "I...I cannot say that it did not shock and startle me, mellon nin. However," her gazes fastens upon the ellon, sympathetic and sorrowful, "I felt what it was that had you in such bondage to it's will." The healer shudders. "Never before have I sensed that breed of evil, and never again do I wish to. But I understand."

She reaches out for her companion's hand, touch warm and filled with inherent healing. "I understand...and do not hold you responsible for your actions, Galharth."

"All is forgiven."

Laughing softly, almost touched with a sarcastic air, the Tailor looks up. "My friends forgive, and even our visitor forgives, and yet I can not yet forgive myself." He holds his gaze for a moment, and then tilts his head. "You sensed the evil? Tell me, was it from me, or from that which was projected in my vision that made me see friend as foe? And...." For a moment, Galharth's voice catches and he looks away as he continues, "....and that which sent me to look upon you, .... to be drawn to you.... Did you sense this as well?"

"Hmm," Ostiel affirms in the back of her throat, eyes haunted, looking to the ground, "I sensed it...and it was not you. When you kissed me," she blushes, but forces herself to look upon the object of her concern, "There was nothing of 'you' in it. Your fea...in place of it was a dark vortex, a whirling force that I had never felt before, from you. You have always been as a grape vine to me, growing, producing, needing your branches trimmed before great fruit is created. That...was not you." She presses his hand, emphasizing the last sentance. "That was not you."

"And yet the evil you felt, attacked evil," Galharth says with confusion. "Or one consumed by evil caught at a moment of rejecting evil?" Bending forward, the tailor places a hand on each side of his head. "Such confusion reigns within my mind. I'm still lost within the visions whilst reality plays beside the vision taunting me with the knowledge that I acted to the
unreal."

Closing his eyes, pain reflects ini his expression. "Injury does not always draw blood," he says softly. "Yet there is no bandage that can be applied." Glancing towards Ostiel his open his eyes and offers a pleading gaze. "Could the Lady help me? Or are my troubles that which you could help me with?"

"I will of course help you in any way I can," Ostiel says earnestly, crossing her ankles and relaxing, just a bit. "But you should indeed speak to the Lady about this, for she is most wise, and will certainly be able to offer you what others cannot." She has no more to say, and so offers the comfort that cannot be given by words. Moving closer, she lays her head tentatively upon the Tailor's shoulder, arm about his back.

Closing her eyes, she 'opens'...sending a healing wave to him, pure and crystal clear, strong, sympathetic.

"That is my hope...she is indeed wise...." the Tailor mutters as he closes his eyes. Comforted by Ostiel's presence, the harsh visions that seem to repeat within his mind seem more distant for the moment and this comforts him. "I need to go," he says out of no where. "I can not put off my time finding the Lady, because until she clears my confusion it will continue to
haunt me." Turning his head and opening his eyes, he offers a meek smile. "Thank you Ostiel, for understanding..."

"Of course," the healer whispers back, looks straight into Galharth's eyes in return, also strangely soothed by the encounter. "Go. Find your peace." Giving a gentle push to him, she also stands, brushing off her gown. "Excuse me." And with that, she slips away, silent as a ghost, soft as a flower petal, strong as a mother doe.

Watching the Attendant go, the Tailor does not wait long before he rises to his own feet. Glancing up the hill, towards the great tree, he moves along the path, clearly intent upon finding the Lady Galadriel.