================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight
IC date is: 46 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: Thu Aug 09
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Midnight in Lorien is a curious thing: the moon shines, but the leaf-shadows cover it up; the forest is filled with whispers, but naught is heard. If something exists and no one can see it, is it there? If someone speaks and no one hears, has he said anything?

There is an ellon standing here among the dim-lit trees, and he speaks, murmuring quietly to himself. He is clad in guard's attire, and a longbow stretches over his back.

Standing among the tents with face tilted upward, Lostiriel gazes toward the sky, searching for a gleam of moonlight to fall between the leaves. She is silent and more solemn than usual, her grey eyes void of their usual sparkle. Instead, she seems quietly thoughtful and stands with her hood pulled up over her golden hair, pulling her cloak closer about her.

He is a pale glimmer, peering into the night. Finally he treads carefully over the roots of mellyrn, approaching Lostiriel. "You are the courier coming with us, are you not?" asks Maglind quietly.

The flap of a tent is pushed back, and Mithsul slips out into the black night. Though no light of ithil filters to the forest floor, the ellon navigates the natural debris with ease, making little sound. Approaching, he flicks his single braid back over his shoulder pushing the stray hairs back behind his leaf shaped ears. "Well met this evening Mellryn." His voice, though not subdued, seemed to dim in respect for the quiet around him.

Turning toward the voice, Lostiriel's gaze falls upon Maglind and she nods. Her luminescent face is pale in the darkness and her grey-blue eyes peer out like twin beams, searching for some form of light. "Indeed, I am." She continues her gaze for a moment longer before looking back up again, "And I am looking for some stray lance of moonlight to fall on the shadowed ground before me, but it seems tangled in the leaves." This, for some peculiar reason, seems to disturb her. Her attention is then turned to Mithsul and she nods, "Well met."

Maglind looks up, into the translucent golden leaves. "The trees are dense here in Iavas," he answers mildly. "No enemy eye can pierce it; no light comes through. But the guards can see, and there are lamps."

The warden pauses, nodding to Mithsul. "Do you know the customs of the guard, Lostiriel?"

"Do not let the lack of the silvery gaze of Ithil set you ill at-ease, Lostiriel is it?" Mithsul's voice is still quiet, and might be considered soothing to some as his words filter through the air. "Some poets have been known to associate the brightest of dawns come after the darkest of nights." Smiling he dips his head toward the elleth slightly. "I am Mithsul of house Aderthad."

"Nay, I do not know the customs." Lostiriel's reply is soft, hardly more than a whisper. She returns her gaze to Maglind's face, her eyes growing more curious, as is their custom. Then, turning to Mithsul as he speaks, she nods.

"I am Listiriel, well met Mithsul. And I hope the poets are right." She smiles gently and pushes back her hood, setting free long waves of hair, and continues, "For if they are, the dawn should be bright indeed."

"He speaks truth," agrees Maglind, glance still fixed upon the bright leaves. "But in the darkest of night, the stars are still there."

He looks to the two. "I heard you were assigned to learn more about the Guard. Perhaps Mithsul, newly one, can tell you what he learned?"

A twitch of a brow is given before Mithsul responds toward Maglind with a simple "Of course Warden." Turning toward Lostiriel, his green eyed gaze landing directly upon the other edhel, he pauses visibly gathering his thoughts. "As you undoubtedly know, all of the citizens of Lothlorien are encouraged to defend our borders against foul creatures that wish us harm, even though they rarely can find our borders that is due to diligence of the border patrols. The order is a collection of guards that devote thier lives to the protection of our land. The Wardens and Marchwardens leading the defense of our forest." The sentinel pauses again, turning his gaze toward the north, into the forest before he finishes. "Sometimes we are called upon to provide a guard for the rare but necassary trips outside our lands." Turning back toward the Warden, his head leaned in a slight tilt to the right he speaks, "Have I covered the bare basics of what the Order is Warden?"

Nodding slowly, Lostiriel replies, "Yes, and it is a great comfort to know that they are still there, gleaming brightly in a dark sky." She pauses, falling silent for a moment, and then answers, "Indeed, I would greatly like to know more and would appreciate the information you have to offer, Mithsul." She listens, then, as Mithsul details the Guard. Lostiriel tilts her head to the side as she absorbs what is said, and when he is finished speaking, replies, "It is most noble, and all in Lothlorien feel its worthiness, as it is by the work of the Order that all are kept safe."

"Yes, Mithsul," answers Maglind softly. "Legarwin commands us, but Celeborn is our lord. Our foe is all evil, but we would rather protect Lorien and avoid contact than fight and lose.

"That is what we will follow. We will not give chase."