================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dawn < About 5:44 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 28 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: New <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 Aug 03 10:54:50 2007
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Healing Talan
This hushed talan is a quiet place of healing for those Galadhrim injured in battle. White robed Quendi, one wearing a bracelet, easily walk about, tending to visitors, offering refreshments, and various other small jobs. Meanwhile patients lie on comfortable, sparkling pads, gazing out at a sweeping view of the wood. Sunlight streams though the leaves of the mellyrn, casting dancing shadows on the wooden floor. The air has a fresh, clean feeling. You feel better just resting here for a moment.

Contents:
Galharth
Galadriel
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The light of dawn filters into the windows of the healing talan, bringing with it warmth and a promise of a glorious day. As the light creeps across the talan floor, crystal blue eyes follow the progression, silently watching. Healers move about the talan, peacefully at work, tending to their herbs, preparations, and caring for those in need. Beyond the talan, the sounds and scents of an active elven city move onwards, seemingly oblivious to that which occurs within this simple place.

Galadriel climbs the stairs into the healing talan, sunlight clinging to her frame as she ascends. A small nod here and there to the attendents, but she is there for one in particular. So she seats herself at Galharth's bedside, her expression inscrutable: sad, worried, angry...anything but happy. She looks at him without speaking.

It seems a shadow falls into the growing light, and the Tailor turns to seek out the cause. When his eyes reach the sight of the Lady Galadriel, he sharply draws in his breath and shivers slightly. Laying upon his sight, his arms recoil slightly over his chest and he grasps his upper arms tightly with opposite hands.

With furrowing brow, he clearly shows a mixed reaction. Relief and fear flicker over his face, and he finally closes his eyes. "Is the knife destroyed?" he asks with a distant and uncertain voice.

Crossing her legs, Galadriel folds her marble-pale hands upon one knee. "It is not," she replies in a quiet voice befitting the quiet setting. "But it is in a safe place, here in the city. So far from the river, it's power is spent." Her eyes trace the lines of worry upon the patient's face and she adds quickly, "We will destroy it soon."

Galharth's lips quiver as if battling the appearance of a frown. "The Captain bore much in his last moments," he mutters softly as he holds his gaze upon the Lady for several long moments. "I can not imagine how he maintained his struggle, given all that he witnessed in life." With his words spoken, the battle is lost and a frown emerges upon the clothier's lips.

"His hatred was great, and blinding." As he speaks these words, he looks past the lady to the growing light of dawn. "His memory was so powerful that the vision was...... consuming. It is as if I too remember and feel the loss of kindred to the hands of..." With a quick look to Galadriel, he falls silent as if ashamed. to speak his last word.

The Lady's composure does not waiver as Galharth recounts the vision, "It is a stain upon our history, the pain of which is little abated for those who suffered, even ages past. Even..." here she pauses and averts her gaze into the branches, "Even for those who witnessed..." Neither does Galadriel dare to speak the word here in a place of healing.

"Galharth," she fixes her eyes upon him once more, sharp and bright, "I underestimated the pull of the knife. I did not look for it grab you so strongly. I am sorry." She inhales slowly and and lingers upon the breath, "Any blame is mine for I can fault neither you nor the Captain for your actions."

Lowering his eyes, to look upon the talan floor, color of embarrassment colors the crafters face. "No apology is needed, for while your own strength is great, my own is much less. It is my weakness that drew me to the knife." He pauses a moment and rubs his arm as if the action would bring forth a measure of protection against his thoughts. "I am not as Haldir, Maglind, or even Rhibi. Perhaps the lingering memories upon the knife realized this and called out to me. Sadly, that calling was for revenge, and to issue forth a reminder of the past."

Looking up from the floor, watery eyes peer into the Lady's own. "While it scares me, I still believe that the full vision needs to be seen and perhaps recorded by our bards, if only to prevent the events from being repeated."

"The Captain was obviously a brave and proud elf. I too admit that I want to know the whole story, from whence he came, and what brought him hence," Galadriel's turns her eyes upwards, seeing a graceful prow break through the currents somewhere far away. "I will admit to you Galharth, that I would not trust myself with such an item of power. I think we need to find someone who cannot understand the emotions of the Captain to tell us what can be seen. A child perhaps...or a man." She lowers her gaze to the tailor again.

Where his earlier embarrasment set color to the Tailor's cheeks, the Lady's words now pale him. "In the vision, that knife would have done you harm!" He quickly calls forth in a voice that is riddled with panic and concern. "Such harm you could do," he adds in a lowered voice.

"A child might be harmed, not now but perhaps as they grow," Galharth's suggests as he clenches and unclenches his hands over his arm. Furrowing his brow, and pressing his lips tightly, he falls into silent thought for a moment. "Aragorn visits...."

Galadriel nods slowly, forming the name upon her lips, but not speaking it. "A man, even a man such as Aragorn, would not feel the pain of the Captain's experience quite so acutely. And it is weakened besides, in it's new resting place. I only barely sense its pulse when I draw near it here." She leans forward suddenly and pats Galharth's hand, "But here...distressing you is the not the way to mend. May I suggest you go and sit in the garden later, if you feel up to it. The birds, the flowers...they are a balm to any soul."

Nodding gently to the Lady's suggestion, the clothier takes a deep breath. "I will do so, perhaps later in the day," he replies.

"When the time comes to hear the full story, I fear that I do not wish to be present." Galharth says firmly as he settles more comfortably onto the cot. "Better that I hear its tale from a balad sung by the bards.

Half closing his eyes, he adds softly. "And what of the ship? Are we to abandon it?"

"What do you think?" asks Galadriel. "Would it be more respectful to leave it where it is, or bring it up and treat it as a treasure for our people?"

"It's hard for me to say at the moment, for fear rules my mind." Galharth says softly as he stares past the Lady toward the brilliance of the rising light of day. "Yet I know in my heart that the ship contains things that represented the hopes and dreams of our people. Ancient and while few are precious, they mean much." Falling silent for several long moments, his expression softens, "I think it would bring the Captian great comfort to know that his treasures are once more valued after all these long year."

Galadriel nods and for the first time, the barest traces of a smile are in her eyes. "I think you are right. Still, we will proceed with caution as we do not know what else the vessel holds. Tell me, do you recall how much of the ship itself is free from the mud?"

Closing his eyes and furrowing his brow, the clothier seems to consider the Lady's words. "Perhaps a third of the ship, and maybe a fraction more," he says softly, opening his eyes while he speaks. "I am certain that most of the ship lies below the silt."

The Lady rises slowly, her skirts spills to the floor as she does so. "Well I guess we shall see then. But that is for later." She leans forward slightly and lays a hand upon Galharth's cheek. "All will be well, you'll see. I bid you now to fix your mind upon lighter thoughts." She stands straight again, and leaves as quietly as she arrived.

Laying silently upon the cot, the clothier watches the Lady leave, and in his eyes a renewed strength can be seen. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Galharth closes his eyes and drifts off into a healing sleep.