================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dusk < About 7:17 PM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 28 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
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: Wed Aug 22 15:25:50 2007
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Vineyard
The rows of grapes you expect to find in a vineyard are not present here. Instead, most of the plants grow wild among the tall Mallorn trees, except in one small clearing at the far end. Here, newer-looking wooden rails form low trellises that a few vines clamber up and along. Unlike the somehow orderly tangle of grapes that twine about the enormous trees, these few rows have been carefully trained along the fencing.

Here and there, many elves are harvesting grapes for the winery to the north. Southwards, the road you're on runs off to the feet of a young mallorn. One elf farmer in particular stands nearby, working amidst the bountiful vines.

Contents:
Galharth
Earsul
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To the artists of the Galadhrim, this time of day is known as the Blessed Hour - the sun is low in the West, and as Anor nears the Undying Lands, his joy is made plain for Middle-earth to see, his light is at its most beautiful, slanting across the sky, giving hope to all but the evilest of hearts.

Earsul is no artist, but he can appreciate beauty as well as any, and this is indeed a beautiful sight. The vines of Lorien are turned gold in the sunset, and, laden as they are, it will not be long before they are turned to liquid gold by the vintners. Earsul walks amongst the rows of vines, talking quietly with the farmers. Stopping at one particularly fruitful bunch, he shoos away a spider, and samples one of the grapes.

Entering the Vinyard with his cane in hand, Galharth's pace maked by the use of his the long staff of wood. Pausing as he stands before the first row of neatly trimmed grapes, the clothier takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "It's sure to be a good crop this year," he mutters aloud as he slowly scans the rows that lay out before him.

Catching sight of Earsul, the crafter hobbles forth a few steps and raises his left hand. "Well met Earsul!" He calls out as he begins to move forward along the rows to catch up with the ellon. "What brings you to the fields of the crafters this day?" He calls out in a lower tone as he nears the other.

Pausing mid-chew, Earsul turns, a little surprised at being addressed. Pleasure is plain on his face as he looks upon the approaching tailor, but whether this is from the grape or from recognition, that is not so plain. Holding up a hand in greeting, he quickly swallows the rest of his mouthful and answers, "My friends at the winery have been good enough to promise me a larger portion of the crop this season - I come as often as I can to aid in its care, but it seems that our work is almost done."

Galharth laughs warmly at Earsul's words. "If you put forth such effort, you should apprentice yourself and gain fair credit for your efforts." Pausing his step, the Tailor turns and lifts several leaves to view the grapes hanging heavily upon the vine. "It looks to be a sweet crop this year." Turning his gaze to look upon the Prelate, he smiles, "Or so I'm told by the farmers, and so too from the wine makers. All I can judge is the final product."

"The final product is made much sweeter by having had a hand in it, my friend," Earsul replies, tenderly brushing some dust from a nearby vine. "But I do not seek credit; 'tis enough to see the enjoyment of others when they sample my work."

Earsul's words, while teasing in the start, bring the Master Tailor to silence with his final words. Crystal blue eyes flicker over the ellon's form and his brow furrows slightly. "And you? Do you enjoy the efforts as well?" Turning once more to the grapes his hand sweeps over the leaves and vines, "The working of the soil, the trimming of the vine, and finally the long work of harvesting?" Looking northward towards the Winery, his face smoothes slightly, "There is much to do, from the soil to the bottle, it's a valuable trade appreciated by many both within our realm and far beyond."

Looking back to the Prelate a brow rises. "It takes years to learn the craft, and without formal commitment, you already seem to have put forth effort." Tilting his head slightly, Galharth carefully eyes Earsul, "Were you aware we're in desperate need of crafters to work in both the vineyard and the winery? The need is great, but the staff is limited."

"Years?" Earsul's gaze flits from his friend's visage. He looks beyond the tailor, and, indeed, beyond his physical surroundings. "Aye, years seems about right," he says slowly, softly. Looking down to the vines once more, he nods, thinking on Galharth's words. "There is no work I love more, truth be told. Do not mistake me," he adds quickly, "I know very well the import of the Royal Court, and will give counsel, and what aid I can, whenever asked, but my heart is in the soil."

Chuckling softly, the clothier leans heavily upon his cane. "I too hold a love of my craft, and yet, like you I serve within the Royal Court." Leaning his head towards the Prelate he adds in a softer voice, "and we both know that the Court offers no full time tasks." Straightening slightly he looks around the vineyard. "It is truely relaxing out here, so I can certainly respect your love."

Shifting his position, Galharth slips his hand into a pocket of his robes and turnes back to Earsul. "My friend, I place this decision in your hand," He says as he withdraws something from the pocket of his robe. Offering his hand towards the ellon, a wooden ring sits upon his palm. "The symbol of the crafters flame, their fire and love of their craft. Take it if you will, and with it goes too the title of Apprentice Vintner."

Earsul takes the ring deftly between finger and thumb, holding it up against the last rays of the sun. "Would that you had brought some other token," he sighs quietly. He shakes his head, and replaces the wooden ring whence it came, on the Master's outstretched hand. "'Tis a fine piece of craftsmanship in itself; I am not the only edhel to love his work. But I am not a one for rings, mellon." Stooping, he picks a fallen leaf from the dirt, and runs it lightly through his fingers. "Call me Vintner if you will, there are some who already flatter me with the word. But not the ring."

With a hearty laugh, Galharth withdraws his hand and the ring. "I've a broach I can give you," the Master Tailor says with good humor. "I'll have it sent, and the choice is your to wear it or not. Word alone will pass around the wood, and you'll soon be the center of attention for the product you provide."

Turning the crafter hobbles away a few steps before turning back. "Welcome to the Gwaith-i-Thein Earsul, we are most pleased to have you counted in our numbers."