================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon < About 2:16 PM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 34 Firith <Fading>
Moon phase: Waxing 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: Fri Aug 24 13:45:24 2007
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Mar Vanwa Tyalieva
A large talan about the bole of the tree with a hardwood floor and sturdy walls (unlike most talan construction) that sport
shuttered fenestrations to let air in. The branches of the mallorn support the lofty, thatched ceiling and have been lit
with many lamps as well as golden banners to denote the season. Song and laughter fill the night as Galadhrim gather in
company. The soft lamplight fills the talan and spills outside, as if to compete with the stars. The tables are packed but
you can spot a free table so finding a seat is no problem among the empty tankards of drink.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Aeglirhaeron
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Whispery clouds hang over the wood as a gentle rain falls upon the thirsty foliage of Lothlorien. Light of early afternoon
accents the clouds, setting the sky into a lovely glow. The temperature is cool and pleasant. From the northwest a soft
breese blows, causing dampened leaves to dance and branches to sway. In time with the droplets of rain, the bards sing a
song of growth and the foliage seems to react pleasantly.

Pausing just inside the Mar, Galharth shakes his robes to send the droplets of water from his clothing onto the floor. While
still damp, he seems unbothered as he makes his way to a table. "Wine Siniathweg! Best to bring a bottle if yo please." The
tailor calls out to the edhel in charge.

Shortly after Galharth has entered, another set of steps comes thundering up the ladder, threatening to break it. Here is
Maglind, draped in his old and torn cloak, puddling rain-water on the polished floor (to Siniathweg's chagrin).

For a moment the ellon pauses, looking around the merry talan, and then he draws a deep breath and prepares to go back down,
in a hurry.

Sitting at one of the tables already, Aeglirhaeron sits back, nursing a quarter-full tankard as he stares through the
shutters to the rain falling. His feet tap to some invisible melody, to which his fingers rap the table in an obscure
harmony. Thus lost in thought, the calls for wine around him garner hardly any attention at all for the moment.

"Maglind!" Galharth calls out as he looks up from his table. "Certainly you aren't avoiding me!"

Reaching for his cane, with the clear intent to stand up, a passing elleth bumps into it and sends it skittering across the
floor. As the young lass utters her apologies, the Tailor watches as it comes to a halt at someones feet. Looking up, his
face fills with a pleasant surprise. "Aeglirhaeron! Would you mind bringing me my run away cane?" He calls out with a smile,
"While lost for a moment, it seemed to have the good sense to return to it's maker."

Maglind's gaze darts here, there, and is drawn back by Galharth's call. "I'm not," he replies hurriedly, tracking footprints
as he rushes over. He plants two clenched hands on Galharth's table: "Tauriel, the child with the broken ear. Have you seen
her? Has she left the city?"

Thump! Aeglirhaeron looks down at the cane that has hit his foot as it dies in its roll, half turning as it burns away the
last bits of momentum. Then he picks it up and raises a brow, inspecting it. "I'm not your master, my master is," the elf
chastizes the cane playfully, and then picks up his tankard in the other hand. Finally with both he walks over and sets the
cane leaning against the table again. "To have reached me, I think it's picked up some of the swift-moving attributes you
have. It wants to go as fast as you." He smiles and nods to Maglind, but sees his manner and tries to read his meaning from
his grip on the table.

Galharth turns towards Maglind and his brow furrows deeply. "Certainly she wasn't seriously going to venture out to do her
thing..." he lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers to emphasis his words, "....upon the remains of the catapult.

Turning to Aeglirhaeron, the Tailor reaches out to place a protective hand upon his cane. Chuckling softly, "It has served
me well, but perhaps it is looking for a rest." Pausing, he glances from the Carpenter to the Warden and then to the empty
seats at the table. "Why don't you both join me." Looking back to Maglind, he adds, "And worry not, for if Tauriel tries to
venture beyond the borders before you can catch her, there will certainly be other guards to hold her till you can set her
up in a room with a view."

"But there are many trees to slip between," replies Maglind, anxiety drawing lines in his face, "and their eyes are turned
outward, not in the forest itself."

The warden slips quietly into a chair, resting his head in both hands. "She thought the Lord Celeborn might be pleased.
Perhaps we should speak with him." A moment's glance is lent Aeglirhaeron, a brief nod given.

Aeglirhaeron takes a sip from his remaining wine and sets it down as he seats himself. Then he
listens to the talk about Tauriel. After a moment's silence, he replies, "She seems more sensible than that. From when I met
her, she was somewhat ... impulsive, but to suggest she would do such a thing on her own?" Even though his own doubt is
evident, he does soften his voice a little. "Have you been looking for her long?"

Galharth laughs and shakes his head. "Certainly, one counted among the wise would be pleased that a tender elleth of three
hundred would know more than he. Indeed, why would we even need the wise if we have the young and inexperienced."

Turning to the Carpenter, the Tailor shakes his head. "She implied that she'd do it herself." Sweeping his hand towards
Maglind, he adds, "Disregarding what Maglind, I, and several others have tried to do." Looking back to Maglind, he lifts a
brow, awaiting an answe to Aeglirhaerion's last question.

Maglind looks down at his hands and sighs. "I was just released from the healing talan," he admits. "They made me stay for
another night."

"But still," the warden says, raising his dripping head, "is it right to put her in the holding cell after the words she
said? They are words, after all, and she has done nothing yet. That is what I wanted to ask Lord Celeborn."

"Ah." As Galharth gives the brief explanation, the carpenter's head bows and he listens to the rest in thin-lipped silence.
Only after a question of judgment comes up does Aeglirhaeron speak. "That would merit some reason for consulting his wisdom.
I do not know how imminent her departure is, or what reaction locking her up would provoke, even if for her own safety."

A thoughtful look crosses over the Clothiers face as first Maglind speaks and then the Carpenter. "Unfortunately, as
crafters, we're not the best to ask such things." Galharth says, "Lord Celeborn placed such orders in place for cause, and
she has voiced intent to disobey." Shrugging his shoulders he pauses as his wine is delivered. Offering the waiter his
thanks, he lifts a glass to his lips. Taking a small sip, he peers up at the Warden. "I suppose, if she were to do herself
harm, and threaten the needs of the wood, you'd have no recourse. I suppose taking preemtive action would depend on how she
preceived your authority to do such things." Pausing again to take another sip, he twils the glass between his fingers as he
swallows. "Perhaps it would offer her evidence that serious matters are taken with serious measures."

"I don't know," mutters Maglind, running a hand through his wet hair. "But I hope she is still in the city. I am going to
find her, and stop her with words before I resort to power."

The warden stands up, nearly knocking his chair over in a hurry. "Thank you for your advice, Galharth, Aeglirhaeron. Good
day." And with that he rushesout.

Aeglirhaeron finishes off the tankard of wine and sets it aside, twirling the handle to point away from him. "It would
either be instructive of infuriating, those are the possibilities I see," he responds to Galharth's claim. "But my wine is
used up, and I am heading back to the workshop." He stands up and fixes his cloak, dry by now, around him. "Will you be
going my way?"

"Aye, it could indeed go either way. Unfortunately, it places Maglind into a position he would rather avoid entirely."
Galharth says with a shake of his head. Gripping his cane tightly, the clothier rises to his feet and sighs. "I suppose if
she's going to go after my catapult, I should try to seek her out myself. Maybe I can convince her of the folly where
Maglind could not." the Tailor says with a frown. Taking a few steps towards the exit, he nods. "I suppose the best place
for me to start looking is the gate, so I we can walk a while together." Taking a few more steps to the edge of the Talan,
he pauses and glances to the Carpenter. "Perhaps I can stop by the wood shop and see how things fare." And with those words,
the clothier disappears from the Mar.