================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dawn < About 5:24 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 10 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Thu Aug 16 10:48:16 2007
=====================================================================
Rose Garden
You stand in a small rose garden dazzled in white, red, and yellow. Placed in an circular pattern about the garden, a walkway made up of small, uplifted ceramic tiles form rings of walking space surrounding a large golden mallorn planted in the center. Shade from its limbs splay outward over this walkspace to provide for a pleasant atmosphere. Here and there, benches, one with a lamp rising up out of the ground next to it, are placed for guests to enjoy the shade and the scenery.

To the south, a tall hedge hides the entrance to the shaded lawn. East, among a gnarly set of old oak trees, a small path leads to the Apothecary, while to the North another path leads to the Northern Gardens. To the West, a gate leads out to the Golden Roadway. Lastly, to the side, sparkling beneath a silver arch, a set of stairs can be seen leading to a talan up above. Reaching out to the bright sun, the flowers are open in full bloom.

Contents:
Galharth
Mithsul
Maglind
=====================================================================

The light of dawn blooms upon the Eastern Horizon, pouring forth colors as brilliant as the roses that bloom within the garden under the Healing Talan. A mist lingers over the lawn, drifting slowly southwards as if creeping back towards the river from wince it came. A cool breeze blows from the north, hinting of the coming days of winter. Gold lingers high above as the leaves of the mallorn dance upon the air. Birds sing in time to sweet elven voices that rise up with the growth of morning light. Though only dawn, it already shows to be a pleasant day.

"Careful Tailor," An Attendant says softly as she aids the crafter into the Garden. "We'll get you settled soon enough."

Furrowing his brow, Galharth leans heavily upon the delicate appearning Healer so to avoid bearing weight upon his right leg. "I appreciate the help," he says sincerely as he's lowered on to the ground. In a flurry of activity, pillows are fluffed and tucked against the crafters back and under his bandaged leg. "Now call when you wish to return," the Attendant says as she turns to move away.

A light tapping comes around the path, followed by the uneven gait of hobbling feet. Maglind breaks the morning mist, leaning heavily upon an unstretched longbow. He spots Galharth, and makes his way slowly, methodically toward the other.

"I can move around now," he says cheerfully, falling onto a nearby bench. "You wanted to see the sun rise?"

Settling back against the pillows, the clothier takes a deep clensing breath. Sitting among the mists, facing into the east, the light filtering into the garden is breathtaking. The sound of someone approaching brings forth a slight smile to Galharth's lips for it's pace and stride are known. "You can move around, but still not so at your normal grace." the Tailor replies with a slight chuckle. "And no, not so much that I wanted to see the sun rise, but more that I wanted to get out of the Healing Talan." Turning slightly to peer at the Warden, he chuckles. "Well enough to feel smothered, and yet injured enough to be in need. It's a fine line walked, and I find it easier in the Gardens."

Maglind waves a hand dismissively, peering about the garden. "I feel I've been a burden long enough. Tomorrow, if I am given leave, I will go back to the borders. The guard indeed has been increased."

"How is your leg, Galharth?" the warden asks, glancing briefly at the numerous pillows.

"It has?" The clothier perks with interest. "Certainly the Guard could do without additional work. Perhaps it will be only for a short time. Has your father said any more about the attacks?"

Shifting in his reclined position, Galharth shakes his head at the Warden. "The leg heals, and I still wait for a means to get back to mobility. I wonder if the Marchwarden will permit me to continue my training while I'm regaining strength in the leg." He tilts his head slightly. "Have you asked him about your own situation? Surely you'll need to work more with your longsword if we're to face beasts that have approached the Wood of late."

"Nothing more," replies Maglind, curving the longbow thoughtfully. "I do not plan to face the border with a longsword. Not this time. I will shoot from the trees."

"It was so close ... so large, and I could not strike its heel even without warning."

"We are all better served with your bow." Galharth says as he pokes absently at the bandage on his leg. "It may well be in my best interest to learn to use one myself." Glancing up to the Warden, he frowns as if struck with a thought. "Does it take long to gain skill with the bow?"

Shaking his head and dismissing thoughts of training, the clothier focuses on Maglinds last words. "Indeed it was close , and it moved fast. Just as it did during our last encounter." Taking a breath and releasing it, he leans back against the pillows. "It's frustrating to work so hard to be of help and then find yourself failing to even make a mark."

Maglind smiles faintly, at the memory of a child waving around a toy bow. "Indeed. A long time."

"We will have to change our plans when we go out again, I fear. There is still tree and cover to be had in the foothills. Perhaps we should embrace it even more than before?"

Chuckling softly, the Tailor reaches for a bag that has been left at his side. "Much like Rhibi then? Waving your bow from an early age. Growing with skill over time." Lifting the slender hook from the bag, he raises it. "And while I played from time to time, I found myself with things such as this to pass my time. How odd the paths our lives take, and how very different."

Pausing to withdraw a growing bolt of lace, the clothier pulls string and prepares to set himself to work. "Was your play always with the bow, or were there other dreams that captured your attention? Song? Art? Or perhaps the wonders of history?"

"Exactly like Rhibi," says Maglind, cringing at himself. "Perhaps worse. But my mother tamed me with song and art and history. We played the harp together and sang. But I cannot see her often, not now."

The warden glances to Galharth, pale eyes questioning. "What about you, Tailor? We have caused so much trouble, but I know nothing of you save that you make beautiful clothing."

"Now I see where your softspot is with the lad!" The clothier exclaims as laughter rings out in the Garden from the Warden's ommission. This laughter, however, falls silent with the mention of his mother. "Why?" Galharth asks, "I know your father serves upon the border, but where is your mother now?"

Taking a deep breath, the Tailor shrugs and looks down into his hands as he prepares the string to crochet. "There is nothing to me really. I feel myself to be one among many, with my only claim being a part of the whole." Looking up, he offers an almost sad smile. "To be something more, you set yourself apart and as such the world can be a lonely place. I am happy with being unimportantly known as the maker of clothing." Looking down, he snorts softly as he loops the string around the hook. "And we certainly don't make trouble, we're just making the world more interesting for everyone."

"One leaf among thousands is different," recites Maglind softly, pulling a leaf from the rosebushes. "But it is not lonely, is it?"

He splits it, curling it in one long hand. "My mother is well. Perhaps you have seen her in the weaver's talan. It is my fault that I spend too long in the guard and not in the city."

"Indeed, different and yet together. Diversity and harmony brings forth joy." Galharth says with a nod. "Yet it is the leaf along upon the branch, standing out alone that I fear to be."

Dropping the lace to his lap, the Tailor blinks several times as if coming to a strange realization. "Of course..... I know of her." the clothier says. Lifting the corner of his mouth in a half smile, he adds, "And it seems for someone such as myself who works in the same area as your mother, I too see little of her. Perhaps we've both been too occupied." Bending his head to look at the lace, he adds in a softer voice. "Certainly I'll seek out your mothers sympathetic ear when I wish to sing your praises."

"She will regale you with tales of my misbehavior," returns Maglind, glancing sidelong at the crafter. "As you wish. Her name is Tatharin."

Edging a little closer, the warden peers at the lace. "What are you making, Galharth? I hope it is not for trimming the guards' cloaks with."

Offering a mischevious grin, the Tailor nods. "I'll be sure to offer her both the time and the ear should she wish to tell me any tale. Good fun to be had, and all to be found in the Crafters Halls."

Lifting the lace, Galharth laughs. "Lace, pure and simple. It will appear on a ladies garment at some point, but for now I've nothing better to do with my time. No sense in wasting time that could be put forth into the creation of something beautiful."

"I see," replies Maglind, the faintest note of embarassment and despair in his voice. "Then I, too, will do something productive. If you need me, follow the sounds of my harp."

Chuckling softly, Galharth nods. "And should you need me, I'll be here. At least until I can gain mobility." Offering a smile to the Warden, the clothier lowers his head and sets himself to work, adding to the length of lace.

Muttering softly to himself, Maglind heaves himself up on his longbow and taps away, lost in the mist of roses.