================= Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Morning < About 9:55 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 25 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <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 Aug 21 12:18:29 2007
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Bakery
This archway opens onto a covered pathway that arcs around behind the massive mallorn holding the Hall of the Crafters. Finely worked trellis borders the path on either side and continues overtop, while thick but well-groomed vines form a dense ceiling. Away from the occasional fumes and vapors of the forges, the bakery exudes the dreamy, mellow aroma of breads and other baked fineries. A large clay hearth forms one wall of the small building, and the adjacent wall holds braziers of dully glowing coals for warming. Casks of flour, sugars, and other baking needs line the far wall as well as shelves here and there. Other shelves contain pans and long baking flats.

Contents:
Galharth
Ostiel
Maglind
Tauriel
Aeglirhaeron
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The light of mid morning filters into area reserved for baking. Freshly washed tools, pots, pans, and other articles of the baking craft sit in waiting for the next round of sumptious craftwork. Near the large clay hearth sits a rack filled with breads and pastries, each one sending forth a delicate aroma that sets adrift upon a light breeze. In the distance the bards sing softly, and yet that sound is drowned out by the persistent tapping of a hammer against steel.

With his entrance announced by the tapping of his cane, Galharth hobbles into the bakery and pauses. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and exhales lightly as if shaken at that moment by a sense of bliss. "Such wonders come from the hands of an artist," the Tailor mutters as he opens his eyes. Glancing around, a half smile appears upon his face and he hobbles forward towards the rack.

Not far on Galharth's heels comes Ostiel, Attendant O' Cuigrithweg, stepping lightly over the threshold with a long sigh of appreciation. Ah, the wonders of sweets and breads...there is little to compare. Galharth's presence is noted with a small smile, quiet, to his back, and moving past him to the counter, clears her throat with great purpose. An ebony-haired, briskly-moving edhel with nary but a dusting of powder on his perfectly-pressed apron holds up his index finger. "One moment, mellon."

"One moment? Nay, that makes the wait a moment too long." Galharth says with a frown. "Just one pastry? Perhaps counted as a sample for a Guild Master?" His words seem almost to beg rather than anything spoken with authority and he offers the dusty Baker wide eyes of pleading. "If not for me, then perhaps the Attendant?" He says sweeping his hand towards the lady.

Turning his full attention to Ostiel, the crafter's frown turns to one of joy. "Well met, lady. I hope this day sees you faring well."

"Aye," Ostiel returns the pleasant greeting, leaning her hip against the counter in a casual, relaxed gesture, "The same to you, Galharth...you are healing well?" Eyes keen and wise take in the ellon's condition, the way he moves, with concern and interest.

The frown that disappeared with the recognition of the elleth returns, and Galharth looks away, turning, as if to inspect the pastries. "I'm suspecting that there is a problem." He finally says after several long moments. His chin rises slightly as he inspects the top row of delicacies, and then falls as he turns back towards to the Attendant. "The wound has healed, and yet weakness remains within the bone and muscle. And pain...."

Taking several steps, still reliant upon his cane, he sighs. "There is a strange feel to the leg." Shrugging his shoulders, he looks away once more. "I thought to give it another week before seeking the opinions of the Healers. Perhaps you could make some time for me to examine the healed injury to see if something lingers?"

"Hmmm." Ostiel moves away from the counter and the baker behind it, who resumes his work, seeing that his attention is not required just yet. Smoothly she approaches the wounded Master. "That is possible yes..." For a long moment she thinks, worrying her lower lip. "I am hosting a dinner tonight...that is why I am here, to collect the desserts. You may join us, if you wish, and afterward I will check your leg's condition? The party is small," she amends, as if to reassure Galharth.

A brow lifts slightly, and the frown fades. "While I'd rather not intrude, I must admit, I'm tempted." Galharth says as the smile once more makes a reappearance. "Dinner and dessert can sway an ellon into most anything." Pausing the moment to take a breath, he nods. "I'd be glad to join, if you'll permit me to bring a bottle or two of wine."

Hobbling forward another step, and pausing to lean upon his cane, the Tailor eyes Ostiel. "Tell me, what house are you from? Lostiriel and I are doing a project to gather information on the Great Houses of Lorien, and we thought it would be interesting to speak to the various house members."

"I am of Raavindonserke," Ostiel replies with an air of suprise, as if she thought that Galharth was already privy to this information. How odd. With the natural calm of the Cuigrithweg that borders on unreadable, however, she pushes the incredulity aside in favor a warm, welcoming smile. "And you may indeed bring wine...I am certain your fellow guests will be most welcoming of any spirits available. They have enjoyed fine liquor for many a millienium."

A low humming drifts through the archway, light as air. Maglind garners odd looks as he steps through the crafters' halls, draped in an ornate scarlet cloak, swinging a woven basket. Lightly, he rounds the arch and pokes his head curiously into the bakery.

"Good, good," the Tailor mutters as he shifts his weight slightly so to rest his right leg. Looking down, Galharth furrows his brow slightly. "Raavindonserke," he says, pausing as if in throught over the meaning of the work he has just spoken. "Their symbol is the Lion, is it not? Is the Lion rearing, sitting, or standing?" He chuckles softly, and adds, "And what are their colors?"

Peering into the elleth's eyes he tilts his head, "Forgive me for the simplest of questions, but the gathering of information must start somehwere."

Just as he was to grow silent to allow the elleth to speak, another enters and draws the crafters attention. "Maglind, well met! How odd to see you in places as this."

The healer shrugs, seemingly uncaring. "You may ask me as many questions as you like, Galharth...I do not mind them. In truth, we do not have official colors, such as green for the Laiquendi. However, we do use a great deal of gold in our clothing, and there is always this somewhere." Turning to show Galharth her shoulder, she points at the embroidery depicting a rearing, gold lion, squarely stationed on the rose-colored seam.

Maglind appears. Ostiel turns back to her former position, sending a warm smile towards the Warden, for Galharth is speaking well enough to not need assistance. Therefore, she chooses a silent greeting.

"Hello," says Maglind brightly, waving his basket around. "My mother told me to pick up some pastries. Prancing around in a formal house cloak ..."

He peers at Galharth. "It's good to see you walking again."

"Gold is lovely, and fitting for a house that sets the Lion as it's symbol," Galharth says with a nod to Ostiel. Shifting his head slightly, he inspects the embroidery, "Nicely done work," he comments as he returns his gaze towards Maglind.

With a smile, the Tailor inspects the cloak. "A house of scarlet? Tell me Maglind, which house do you belong" Nodding towards Ostiel, he lifts a brow. "The Attendant here is of Raavindonserke, and her houses color is Gold."

Ostiel looks Maglind with a patient expression, a secret gleam in her eyes. However, she says nothing, merely crosses her arms. "Excuse me...I must speak with the baker." Stepping away from the two ellons, the healer glides back to the counter.

"The same," says Maglind softly, glancing at the healer with mild question in his eyes. "At times we include red in our clothes as well. The lion's blood."

Dangling his basket idly, he turns back to Galharth. "Why this all of a sudden? Are you preparing to join a House?"

Eyeing Ostiel curiously, he says nothing as she excuses herself to visit with the baker. Licking his lower lip, he catches sight of what looks to be a strawberry pastry. "The Strawberry looks good!" he calls out as he returns his attention to the Warden. Laughing, Galharth shakes his head. "Nay, it is not about my own house alliance, but a gathering of information on the Great houses of Lothlorien." the Tailor explains. "Much like the houses of Gondolin, they too have their history, colors, and symbols. Those of each house burns with pride of their family, and a record would be a good means to honor that pride."

"Perhaps," Ostiel calls back in reply to Galharth, even as she beckons the baker nearer, "But I must say that the lemon is excellent, mellon. Quite superb." She speaks to the baker in low tones for some moments, nods at times, frowning and shaking her head at others. Eventually it seems that they both come to a pleasant conclusion, for he grins abruptly, bows. "Of course, Ostiel. When will you return for them?"

"Near evening...I may send someone to retrieve them for me...perhaps Belation's young child."

"I see," says Maglind in reply. "But I have never entangled myself in house affairs."

He stoops over the counter, waving to the baker. "Sir. I hope the berry tart my mother asked for has not been waiting too long?"

Tauriel casually steps into the area. As usual, she is alone, and seemingly aimless in destination. Dispite her well known love of solitude, she smiles warmly at the sight of Ostiel, Maglind and Galharth. Approching the conversing trio without words, she plants herself directly next to Maglind and looks about the various delites displayed within the bakery...

A deeper chuckle is the response to Maglind's objections, "Need you mingle in the affairs to hold your head upwards with pride?" Galharth asks in a tone that hints of teasing. "A few eagerly dwell in politics and petty purpose, whilst we who are the lifeforce of Lorien care only for the tight bond of family and the pride born forth over the ages by that family." Sweeping a hand to the Attendant as she chats with the baker, he adds, "the luster of gold, ever strong and warm in its luster," he turns his free hand towards the red of Maglind's cloak, "And the red blood color bearing forth the heart of the lion who himself is a symbol ranked with honor and strength." He laughs again, "Who cares what house has the best tea parties, when things such as this are what matters." Pausing as the Warden sees to his tarts, he hobbles back slightly so to be able to see both. "Tell me, do either of you know if Raavindonserke has a house motto? A phrase in which its members live by?"

For her part, Ostiel shrugs, looking to Maglind. "There is none that I am aware of, Galharth...however, I can say that there is one thing we all share, and that is openness. Our history is one of adaptation, and it is reflected, even here in Lothlorien, a place of closure."

"Hello, Tauriel," whispers Maglind cheerfully, as he reaches to take a covered plate from the baker. "What have you ordered? The apple pie, perhaps? Or the cherry?"

Loading the treat into his basket, he turns and adds, "Aye, openness. Perhaps we are less hostile to outsiders, or we are more willing to treat with them. But for a single phrase, I do not know."

"Master Galharth! The squirrels got into the buttons!" cries out a young lad as he rushes into the Bakery. "Hurry! You must hurry! It's a terrible mess!"

Eyes grow wide on the clothier's face. Quickly glancing from Maglind to Ostiel, he frowns. "It's an emergency. Last time they got into the buttons it took us nearly a month to get it sorted out."

With that said, he hurries as best he can, hobbling away with his trusty cane. The last heard as the crafter disappears is *Tap* *Tap *Tap* as he rushes towards the disaster.

The young Elleth slowly turns her gaze up to Maglind and smiles brightly at him. There is little hurry in her movements or her response. "Nothing as of yet good Maglind.. The smell of something fresh guided me here." she says softly, flicking some hair behind her half-ear. It falls loose almost immidiately. "Conclude did you?, the nasty business with the trolls..."

Drifting through the archway, a single flower clasped in his hand, Aeglirhaeron looks around the bakery with acute interest, learning forward a little though his eyes didn't require it. An eager smile on his face melts away, to be replaced by an appraising glance at the nearest ovens. A brief wiff passes the final judgment. "They aren't in." Then he sniffs once more, and his ears visibly perking up, the carpenter waltzes closer to the nearest oven, waving his hand in the air as he wafts the invisible rivulets of aroma toward him. "Is that... no... a bit much yeast, but an interesting combination nonetheless."

Now that her order is completed, Ostiel turns back to the gather group, seemingly about to say something. Before a word can come out, however, the button drama commences, and she blinks in the aftermath. "Excuse me, mellon nins...I'm afraid I must give chase, for there is unfinished business to be conducted with the Master." Murmuring apologies, she leaves the bakery with just the teeniest bit of haste.

"No, it is not finished --"

Maglind whirls on one heel, scarlet cloak spinning behind him, as master and healer leave one after another. "Ah! May the squirrels have mercy!" he calls, somewhat teasingly. And he turns to Aeglirhaeron. "Ah ... hello. Were you looking for something? I'm afraid I just took the last berry tart..."

"Mmm?" Aeglirhaeron looks up from peering in the oven, and twirls the stem of the flower in between the fingertips of his left hand before a flash of white petals disappear down his sleeve. Then he walks over and shakes his head. "I was looking for my parents, but they do not appear to be here." When this does not seem sufficient, the ellon adds, "They are bakers." Then he laughs, bowing. "And I am Aeglirhaeron, carpenter's apprentice. Appreciator of all things sweet, or at least breaded." At that, he flashes a grin and winks, though afterward he is again calm. "Was the berry tart good?"

The young elleth does not react to the sudden departure of Ostiel and Galharth, her eyes remain squarely focused on Maglind. Bright expression sliding away as the ellon Maglind dismisses her. "I see..." she remarks hurtfully, her eyes darting downward. Taking a step back, she gets out of the way of teh conversation beginning..

"I don't know," answers Maglind, lifting a basket in his hand. "I haven't tasted any yet. Would you like some? Tauriel, you too?" He glances at the elleth, voice gentling. "Tauriel?"

Dark brown eyes darting up from the floor to the basket, the young elleth shakes her head. "No thank you good Maglind..." she responds respectfully, though it's obvious she is disturbed. Her cape falls upen as her arms cross with repressed anger. Her eyes dart to Aeglirhaeron and she offers the ellon the slightest of nods..

Aeglirhaeron shakes his head at first, but then relents. "I'll just have a small portion," he says, looking over to Tauriel and then back to Maglind. Whatever he perceives, the corners of his mouth settle down. "I'm not interrupting anything, I hope? Tauriel, is it?" Then he glances up at the vines and smiles, though it's a distant one, mostly in his eyes. Then he drifts back. "The berry tart will be particularly enticing, if the one who I suspect made it... made it."

"I trust the bakers," says the warden. Drawing from his sleeve a small eating-knife, he reaches under the basket and draws out three small slices. Maglind gestures to them, and takes one for himself.

The young elleth looks to Aeglirhaeron agitated, her jaw clinched and hands tightening. Taking deep breath, a forced smile is worn upon exhale. "Why thank you.. " she says with respect to the elders, her hand reaching for a slice. "You know I turned three hundred recently.." she nods repeatedly, trying to nail this fact home..

"And how little and yet how much the world can change in three hundred years. But then I cannot talk as if I really know, for I am scarce two hundred more than that." Aeglirhaeron is clearly taken aback by her manners, and takes the slice of berry tart offered to him. Breaking it in half, he sniffs. This calms him somewhat, and as he bites, he sighs and shuts his eyes, before slowly opening them. "A li... no, it is ... scrumptious." The word is deep in tone, every sound that can be rolled set on a full tumble. "Thank you, Malfl... no, apologies, Maglind."

Maglind smiles appreciatively. "You must be proud to have bakers for parents. I would live in bliss..."

"I wish you well, Tauriel. It is a glad time." This said, he pops the small slice delicately in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

"Good Maglind, much thanks.." she responds after a pause, her anger sliding away with a nibble of the tart. The young elleth stands pleasently, flicking at the top of her gown some crumbs fall to the floor..

"Oh, yes, it is wonderful as far as the tastes and the scents go." Waving his hand around once more, as if this should represent the whole of it, Aeglirhaeron brushes himself off as well at the prompting of the elleth, though it is not much required. "But I never was much interested in baking. Just the taste side of it, and I think my parents were originally a mite disheartened at that. Also, after a while anything less than exceptional becomes... normal... it's harder to satisfy expectations." Then he sighs. "Which is unfair to say, even for the morsel I just ate, but true."

"Just as a thousand bulls-eyes no longer thrill an archer. I understand," says Maglind, wiping his fingers on his cloak-hem. "Well, then, I suppose my mother will want some as well. I will be in the weaver's talan. Well met, Aeglirhaeron, Tauriel."

Taking the final bite from her berry tart, Tauriel rubs her hands together. "Very nice" she says with another polite smile, her hands folding on her stomach. With a deep breath, her eyes dart thoughtfully upwards. "Ahh.. Good Maglind, about the trolls I was hoping to speak with you?.." She asks softly, her eyes focusing on the ellon. Reaching upward, she flicks some loose hair behind her broken ear. "On that subject I've been thinking."

Aeglirhaeron nods to the apparent goodbye of Maglind. "Well met to you." His eyes do not look at him though, but rather at the broken ear, which he stares at aghast before he lets her continue her line of questioning, picking out a newly cooled loaf and taking it under his arm with a smile to the nearest worker.

Tossing the rich scarlet cloak back, Maglind glances over his shoulder. "Yes, Tauriel? There has been no sign of them."

Hands still folded at her stomach, Tauriel follows beside Maglind. Her dark eyes looking up enthusiastically to the ellon. "The catapult, retrieved was it? In rumor it was linked to these trolls." she says softly as her hair already falls loose on the left side..

After a murmured conversation with the apprentice baker, Aeglirhaeron laughs and taps his head, and the other elf does in return. Then the carpenter sits down in a corner and starts to eat the loaf, staring up at the ceiling as he ponders in silence.

"It was in retrieving it that we were attacked," replies Maglind pleasantly, walking toward the archway. "We will get it back, though there be enemies surrounding it. -- Good day, Tauriel."

A sigh, a flutter of garish red cloak, and the warden is gone.

The young elleth sighs as Maglind darts away. Expression falling to dissopointment, she lifts her hood and wraps her cape
around her. Looking to the ground she steps away..