================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 1:39 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 19 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waning 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: Tue Jul 31 09:33:07 2007
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Long Lawn
You stand amidst a long lawn of shining grass. It ripples in the gentle river breezes like tresses of golden hair, sprinkled too with hundreds of golden elanor flowers which radiate with the light of the sun. The eastern edge of the lawn fades into a white-stone beach, lapped upon by the deep and dark waters of the broad Anduin river which flows from the north, continuing southwards forever onto the sea. Joining the Anduin directly to the south is the Celebrant river, which hurries towards you from between the groves of Mallorns to the northwest. Northwards, the lawn is bordered by a high green wall of dense forest growth. With your sharp elven eyes, you spy a small recess in the wall, perhaps a passageway which leads through it.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Niinaeth
Calriel
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Darkness hangs over the Golden wood. A cloudy sky consumes the stars, bringing forth a sense of foreboding. A brisk breeze blows in spurts, stirring the water of the Anduin into frothy peaks. Autumn is announced by a slight chill in the air, but it still remains pleasant to all that wander in the night.

To this, the Tailor steps out onto the Long Lawn. There appears to be no one present, as the incident of days past has sent all away until a decision could be made regarding further efforts. Moving towards the rivers edge he pauses and stares into the choppy waters.

But Maglind is there, lying hidden among the fresh, oblivious grass. At the sound of footsteps, he sits up, clad only in his trousers, and a sturdy rope is already in one hand.

"I see you're here."

Perhaps Galharth is not alone, yet it would take one time to nice a small pair feet dangling high from a tree near the eagle shelter. Seated high above the shelter sits Niinaeth swinging her feet and lightly clicking two flat stones together. Words do not pass her lips, yet there is a unmistakable grin to her rose hued lips as she watches Maglind rise from the grass.

Next to the minister's feet peek out two smaller silver-slippered feet, belonging to Calriel. Over her usual white dress, a long mantle of Laiquendi green is draped to keep the chill at bay. She glances over at the maiden beside her and raises her eyebrows while an almost rascal smile comes to her pale face. "This is not the place for secret meetings, you two!" she calls out to the others below, her voice ringing clearly but not so that it jars the ear.

Turning swiftly to the voice nearby, he frowns slightly at Maglind. "You would go in search of the knife without me?" Galharth says accusingly. "Or has the curiosity of the object called to you as it has to me?"

Pausing as the sound of clicking fills the air, the Tailor narrows his eyes and peers about, scanning the area, "What is that? Uruk?" he asks cautiously as he takes a step from the shore. Catching sight of something he lifts a hand to point. "What is that?" he says, with a glance towards Maglind.

Alas, it seems privacy is not to be, and another voice is heard. "Has all come to witness our actions this eve?" The crafter calls out. "Join us and be well met!"

Maglind rests his forehead in one hand, groaning inaudibly. "I said you would stop me only till the morning. Here I am ... you know this is folly."

"Aye they have..even the eagles watch you this day." Niinaeth smacks the two stones together as she calls out in eagle what sounds like a one which is angry, "Tis true, even they have saw the folly of this... Cal! Get back here." Quick to reach toward the elleth she grins, slaps her knee and snorts with laughter, "First they attempt to beat each other then they meet in secrecy. I believe they are up to something.

Even as the clouds of night block Elentari's stars from view, a gentle brilliance runs down the golden locks of Calriel's hair, when her head peeks out over the concealed flet. Placing her hand against her forehead so as to get a better look of those below, she answers Niinaeth. She answers her friend, making some of the same bird-like sounds, with a hint of surprise to them "Are they now seeking weapons at the Long Lawn? Would it not be much easier to de-arm Haldir in close combat and just take his sword?"

She grins - more at her own jest than at anything else - before she calls out to the others "Why should we come down? The view here is much nicer here! I can see the Celebrant wind its way northward, and besides, we are not yet done mending the nest here! I had almost hoped you had come to lend us a hand, o crafter!"

"Folly indeed, but it has to be done. With or without the counsel of the Lady." Galharth says firmly, "I would not have any face that which comes forth with a touch to that knife." Turning his gaze from the Warden, he narrows his eyes towards the eagles nest. "Niinaeth? Is that you haunting from above?" Shaking his head and glancing to Maglind, he says in a lower voice, "She finds the oddest things to be entertainment."

Glancing back towards the Eagle Shelter, he stretches his neck as he peers into the darkness. At first glowing sight, he lifts a brow and shakes his head. "Nay, I'm a Tailor and not poultry so I would be no help to fixing a nest." Sweeping a hand towards the river, he adds, "We've something to retrieve, unless you haven't heard."

"Make me a modest tunic that does not hinder swimming," mutters Maglind as he ties the rope about his waist. The warden steps to the water's edge, letting the waves lap at his feet. "I'll be going in now."

Niineath places the stones back into her pocket, grips the bough on which sits and turns herself forward to hang by her knees. All the while whispering to Calriel her eyes planted on the tailor and warden. With a small piece of vine she begins weaving the whole in the nest, "Aye tis me me of course and I would venture to believe a tailor is capable of weaving." Once finished she pulls herself back up and grins at Calriel clearly teasing, "Haldir? What is the human phrase again? A sissy I believe. Even I could take his sword away."

"Oooh... brrr!" shivers Calriel as she spots Maglind stepping into the water. "Is that not much too cold?" she cries out. "What folly are you two up to below, and what is this knife you seek in the middle of the night?"

"Ouch!" she grumbles as she tries to sit up again, "It seems we have your knife right here!"

She hands over the small blade to the diligent Minister. "Until you take Haldir's sword once more, use this one. And what is this here, in the nest?" she asks, peeking into it over the edge.

"You insult me? Set me to work on tasks so that you might do the labor to retrieve the knife that set me to maddness?" Galharth asks with eyes wide open in surprise. "Nay! I'll not let you!" He said firmly as he quickly strips down to his trousers. A robe, a shirt, and a pair of fine polished boots goes flying haphazardly onto the shore.

Pausing, he glares up at the shelter with a frown. "You distract!" the Tailor calls out to the ladies, "The knife was dropped in the river, and I dare not venture to guess what strange articles line the nest of the eagles! Set to your housekeeping if you must. It's likely safer than what Maglind and I venture to achieve."

"I spoke in jest," Maglind defends softly, indignantly, hurt. "Is that you speaking, Galharth? I thought you were less grave."

With a slightly pained expression, the warden slips into the frigid waters, a slender sliver spiraling into the depths.

Taking the small knife in her hand, Niinaeth drops to center of the nest and begins weaving once more, "It is as I believed Caliel.. Ammunition." As her golden hair disappears into the nest she begins gathering the ammunition in a small pouch, yet speaking clearly to Galharth, "Aye you are correct. Yet it is not the objects which lie at the bottom I would fear, it is the wrath of my Lady for being so stubborn I did not seek her counsel in manner." On her knees now she scraps the remaming object from the nest and rises, "One would dare to hope certain Ellons would know this by now."

Looking from Niinaeth to the couple below, Calriel says "Why should you consult the Lady of the Wood on a lost knife? I suppose you know best, mellon... it must be a peculiar knife to go out into the river to seek it there. Bychance it has already disappeared with the stream down the Anduin. There seems to be no chance of finding it now, so I would be loath to risk a life over that."

"You do not understand, Warden!" Galharth snaps out. "You go forth to retrieve it, and yet we've learned it is /not/ safe. Together we might endure the vision...." Frowning deeply as Maglind enters the waters, his eyes seem to glisten in a paniced state. "Wait Maglind!"

"Turning back towards the Eagles Shelter, he calls out, "I tried! I searched the wood over, and kept missing her on each turn. I can not be found at fault when Maglind pushes forth. I can not let him go alone!" Pausing, he frowns at Calriel's words. "It would not go far, somehow I can sense that." With his final words spoken, the Tailor turns and wades into the water, looking to join Maglind on the search.

The rope anchoring the warden to shore stretches tight. Maglind is already on the river's moonlit bed, his slender fingers searching the silt, combing relentlessly.

From the nest she comes at a full run, in her hands a long vine tied to the nest. Niinaeth heads straight for Maglind's rope grabbing it in both hands as she drops the vine. If she is unable to prevent him from going in is anyone's question, "There are time Galharth when even my insanity is helpful." With a sharp pull of the rope, she digs her heels in, "Now help me...before he is death of us all. Ill hold him, you tie him up."

While reaching into the nest, holding two large leaves in her hand, Calriel seems untroubled by the commotion below. What, after all, could such a small lass as herself do. "Well, Galharth," she cries back at the other, "if your senses tell you that, then you should persue your feelings safely. I just sense that a load of Eagle droppings are coming down!" she says, reaching with her hands into the nest...

Moving into the water, tracing the line, Galharth frowns deeply with uncertainty as to what to do. "If it affects a trained guard.....We are lost...." he mutters aloud.

A jerk to the rope draws his attention back towards shore, and the Minister's words sink in. Without hesitation, he leans down and grasps the rope, pulling with all his might. "He'll not like this!" He calls back to Niinaeth, "As fearful as I am of the visions, he seems consumed to find them." Pausing he peers back at the Eagle shelter, and shakes his head. "Tieing him up might not work.... I can tell you this, the pull of that knife is strong!"

A glimmer in the grey sands catches the warden's attention: there it is. His face an amalgam of horror and resolve, Maglind reaches forward, three fingers catching on the hilt of the watery blade --

-- and his waist jerks backwards, carrying hhim up, bent double and trailing bubbles, to the surface. He is light, and Niinaeth may be stronger than he thinks.

Then he bursts out of the water, dragging limply on the white shore, and the small, glimmering weapon clatters to the stones.

Though unspoken, Niinaeth's trust of Galharth is unmistakable. If he has spoken of the dangers of this knife, then so it is. Dropping the rope, she snatches up the vine, runs back toward the shelter and quickly attaches it the winch used for moving wounded eagles. As she turns back the knife is noticed and shw begins to fashion a slip knot in the end of the vine, "If..I can get this around him, you go to the shelter and use the winch. No way can he break free of it."

Standing ankle deep in the water, Galharth catches sight of the knife clattering against the rocks, and for an instant, all the world seems to slow. Does someone speak? Or has the sound of insects grown remarkably loud. "What?" he mutters as he takes a step towards the knife.

Frowning deeply, the Tailor takes note of Maglind's position and Niinaeth's strange hurried movement. "It's been found, and we all seem safe," he says softly as he tilts his head to inspect the weapon's etchings.

For a moment the warden is breathless, waterlogged and panting with the effort. But then his eyes, lucid a moment before, catch Niinaeth and her winch. Then they dart to Galharth.

"You shall not take me!" he cries in the voice of another. "I will die before you do." And he lunges at the knife, ignoring the rope that pulls at his middle.

A swift kick of the knife sends it back into the water, her foot a bit to close to Maglinds face for comfort, "Watch me.." Niinaeth pants as she begins to circle warden, "Ready the winch Galharth! This is one Warden who shall learn the hard way." A quick flick of her wrist and she sends the vine toward his head.

Rattled from his thoughts, Galharth blinks first at Maglind and then to Niinaeth. "I...." he starts to say, then following silent upon issuing that single word. He glaces back to the water, and then to the Warden. Reaching up, he catches the vine as as directed he quickly works the winch. "The knife is dangerous. Silenced by the water for thousands of years, it now makes to have it's message known." Grunting with effort to trap the Guard before he can do himself harm, he adds. "Maglind, can't you see. The Lady needs to review the situation to be sure of no further harm."

As the knife leaves his sight with a plop, Maglind grows still, allowing the rope to settle and tighten over head and bare shoulders. He sits on the shore, blue eyes blank. "I saw what you saw," he murmurs, lip trembling like a reprimanded boy's. "There is already too much harm. Must we wait?"

No reprive the Minister is to come, rather a lecture as she motions Galharth to continue, "I do not know if it is Maglind who speaks or whatever evil is contained in the knife. Yes..we must wait and for that mellon I apologize for what must be done in advance." She looks back toward Galharth with an expression of sadness, "Do you not see Maglind? Galadriel did not know, Curanir did not know. Certainly if they can not know what lies in depths of the water is beyond our reach."

"It struggles to tell us its story!" Galharth calls out as he continues to operate the winch, trussing the Warden up so that he can do no harm. "Let the story be told and recorded, so that all might know the details and that which brings forth the vision can finally rest."

Shaking his head, he looks towards the river as if memorizing where the knife had fallen. "Under the Lady's direction, surely it will be safe to let the vision run its course. Let it be her that makes that decision."

The warden moves not, but rests his head on his knees. "Then I will wait for the Lady," he says finally, as the rope tightens again. "At least give me my cloak. It is so cold."

Light shines in his eyes, moonlight reflected off the waters, and he shudders.

"Aye Galharth, it does so. Yet I must say there is but one within our home which has faced evil beyond any we can know. Perhaps it is intended for her to be the one?" Niinaeth falls back as she watches Maglind being hoisted and fights to supress a smile at the thought of foot tickling. Reaching downward she takes the cloak in and hand moves toward the Warden. "Once he has calmed release him. However Maglind, neither is to go near the water until the Lady comes. I shall see her now as well as bring a panning sieve. Perhaps it can be recovered without the touch of our hands." Once the cloak is placed around the warden, she turns and unlike herself, does not walk, rather runs toward the city.

Comming around to peer at the captured Warden, Galharth frowns. "You promised once before to wait until I spoke with the Lady." He says flatly as he crosses his arms over his chest. Nodding towards Niinaeth, he watches her take off towards the city. "I'll keep watch over him!" The Tailor calls out.

Turning back to Maglind, his frown deepens. "Why didn't we consider retreiving the knife without touching it?" Tilting his head, he narrows his gaze, "Now do you believe what I've said... the visions are crippling."

"I only said I would wait until the morning," replies Maglind colorlessly. He lifts his head, still dripping with river-water. "But I only wanted to melt it down. And it took me ..."

Frowning deeply, the Tailor shakes his head. "I thought I had been clear, and I further thought we had come to an agreement. If I was wrong, then the fault lies with me. But...." Galharth says as he peers intently into the Warden's face, "I'm sure of what was agreed upon so it makes me wonder if perhaps this knife is toying with our thoughts even at a distance."

"Then think no more," says Maglind, moving the cloak closer about his body with his chin. There is a strange glimmer in his eyes, and it flickers and dies as he looks away. "... I would not blame you. Go put on your robe, or you will 'catch cold'."

Laughing softly, cutting the tension, Galharth steps away to retrieve his clothing.

Laughing softly, cutting the tension, Galharth steps away to retrieve his clothing. "We're not human, and not inclined to catch any illness as the second born do." Pausing to pull on his shirt and boots, he peers at the Warden. "Will your cloak be enough? Perhaps you can tell me where you've hidden your clothes." Glancing towards the spot in which Maglind had first appeared he looks again to the Guard. "Did you hide them in the grass?"

"Yes." Maglind blinks, peering out at the grass. "But ... where? I cannot recall where." He bites his lip, dazed, then shakes his head vigorously. "It does not matter. This is enough."

"It leaves a bitter taste in your thoughts, does it not?" Galharth comments knowingly as the Warden's reaction. "At first I thought it was my own reaction, my own thoughts, but clearly, you've felt the same." Taking a deep breath, the crafter sighs. "Melting the weapon is not enough I fear. Pehaps like the bands of a broken intent to marry, it should be burried."

"I wait for the Lady Galadriel's decision," says Maglind firmly, as gravely as he can manage, being dangled above the grass. He closes his eyes, and a bead of sweat runs patiently down his face.

Galharth nods his head in agreement. "Very well then," he says simply, settling comfortably onto the lawn to wait for the moment until it appears as if the Warden has calmed enough to be released. "I'm sure we don't have long to wait until we can both seek her out."