================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon < About 3:17 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 18 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Waxing 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: Sat Sep 08 09:25:47 2007
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The mid afternoon light cascades down through the treetops of the Field Hospital, creating a glowing, if not magical setting within the hallowed shelter of Lothlorien's healers. No breeze blows, nay, not even a leaf moves as the Healers and Attendants move with purpose around. Several lay sleeping, as the injuries of late have been numerous, and it seems a sorrowful feeling lingers.

Sitting upon one cot, with his legs crossed before him, one patient sits staring at another. Galharth watches unmoving, and worry is clearly written upon his face.

Thorhur approaches the Field Hospital with great haste. His cloak trails along behind him, and he begins checking those in the beds for the one he seeks. However, upon catching sight of Galharth he stops and says, "Galharth? You are here too? My I did not realize the orcs' attacks were so aggresive!"

Turning towards the source of the voice, Galharth frowns. "So many attacks have come of late," the Tailor says softly as he returns his gaze to another cot. "Why did he go? Why was Maglind on the border once again?" he says with a strained voice. "Was he not already suffering.?" The more the crafter speaks, the more upset he sounds.

"Oh so you have heard," Thorhur says, his voice grim. He sits down on a cot and looks at Galharth. "I partially feel like that I could have done something if I had a sword of some kind. My arrows were not as effective as I had hoped, but they did enough to perhaps lessen the damage they could have done to Maglind."

Sweeping a hand to the bustling Healers and Attendants, and then turning to look upon the injured, the worry reflected in the Crafters eyes seems almost tangible. "Had I not heard, I would wonder at the increased activity." Galharth snaps, "Had I not seen the results, I would have had to be blind."

Suddenly, as if understanding the words Thorhur has spoken, the Tailor pales. "Tell me Maglind was not using his Longsword..... tell me this was not so...."

Drifting in from the west, her gait firm and once again smooth flowing carrying the Scholar from the outside to stand within the doorway. Golden locks are loose this afternoon, falling about her shoulders and down her back. "If your arrows were not effective perhaps you should seek practice at the ranges. Those monsters bleed just as well when an arrow skewers them as well as a sword." Calsir's words were solemn as her blue eyes lay upon each of the wounded. "The bow is not my calling, though few weeks back I too wished that I had spent more time upon the ranges." Still standing within the entrance the Dancer does not move, though her eyes study what the apprentices do carefully. "How are the two of you feeling?"

In another bed nearby, a patient stirs. One arm sticks out of the coverlet, curling tightly around laced bandages; Maglind trembles fitfully and tries to turn over. At his head is a naked longsword, glittering in the light, covered in black blood.

"I have been better," Thorhur replies to Calsir. He is just about to say something more when he sees Maglind stir, and rushin over he says, "Maglind? Tell me, how do you feel now?

"We all need practice," Mutters the Tailor, as he turns once more to look upon the new source of words. "Else we only give practice to the Healers." Reaching up a hand, he gently rubs his temples as if bothered by the thoughts now running through his head. "Few with skill, and many without proper armor." Glancing towards his friends cot, Galharth unfolds his legs and moves towards his friend. "Maglind..." he mutters softly.

Spying the Warden's weapon, the worry on the crafters face gives way to anger. "Is there no respect for the Warden?!" He growls out as a hand sweeps towards the stained weapon. "His weapon lies unattended in a place of healing, potentially damaging the weapon, and slowing his recovery in its nearness!" Placing a hand upon his face, covering either anger, pain, or perhaps both, he mutters into his hand. "His armor riddled with so many holes a gardener can now use it to water plants, and his weapon lies...... " His voice breaks as emotions take hold, and he pauses before he can continue. "Thorhur, can you not call up someone from the Guard to see to his things?"

"Galharth," Thorhur says calmly, softly to the clothier so that Maglind does not hear. "I understand that you are upset, but in this place of healing it is unwise to become angry. The patients need quiet and peace to heal. Maglind was brought in in a rush, for his injuries were very severe, and I am sure in all the confusion it did not occur to anyone to take his weapon and armor. I can remove his armor for now, but I promise you I will find a Guard as soon as I can."

Nodding, concern still deep within her eyes Calsir speaks softly. "Yes, someone should care for Maglind's belongings. For now I was just on my way to inspect the damage done in the fire. Perhaps a song as well as some help from crafters, when it is deemed safe to work, can repair most." That being said the dancer turns to leave the flet.

Holding out a shaking hand, Maglind tries to reach for the keen-edged blade, half-delirious and half-awake. A wound beneath the sheets complains and bursts its stitches, and the warden's arm falls. "Ow," he whispers, breathing lightly.

"Calm? Quiet? Peace?" Galharth growls forth as he turns his head slowly towards the Sentinel. "Clearly we have no peace, else we'd be meeting in more pleasant surroundings." His voice is low, but his expression and eyes reflect the anger, or perhaps frustration that rises up from deep within the crafter.

"And you, save from whatever help you might find to rid this place of Maglind's fouled weapons, are the last I'd wish to speak with." Holding his glance for a moment more, he turns back to watch his friend. As the Warden moves, so too does the crafter. "Be still my friend, you are in the Field Hospital. You are safe...." He whispers with a soft voice riddled with concern.

"Galharth, you are angry," Thorhur says, his voice rising a bit and his body tense. "You are angry that your friend was hurt. I am angry too, but that is what happened. Also, for whatever the reason is that you have suddenly turned bitter towards me and noted me as the last person you wish to speak with, I cannot say."

"'Grong of Braddur,'" Maglind breathes quietly, unconsciously biting his lip as his good hand presses upon a wound. "Did you shoot him?"

Flashing an angry look at Thorhur, Galharth says nothing. Indeed, does he even need to speak for certainly in that one look it is clear that the clothier has not forgotten the words spoken when they last gathered in the Healing Talan. When Maglind speaks, the Tailor's gaze soften as he looks to the Warden once more. "Worry not of the vile beasts upon the border, there are many there to stand strong whilst you heal."

"They fled before I had the chance to finish him off," Thorhur replies quietly, ignoring Galharth. "I urged Tiridor to tend to you while I went to seek a healer. You had fallen under the orc's blade, and while your wounds were serious I did not think them life threatening. Don't worry though. If he leaves that camp again he will be shot dead on contact."

Thorhur, now turning to Galharth, flashes another angry look at him and says, "If you are referring to the incident that took place here, then I am surprised. I would have thought that someone like you would have forgiven and forgotten the incident. Now, I feel it would be disrespectful to talk about it in front of Maglind, so if you wish to speak to me about it I would advise we leave the injured and find a private location. However, I have as much righ to visit Maglind as you do." Thorhur's eyes are blazing now. The calm he ha tried to use is gone.

Lostiriel's light footsteps herald her arrival, and her eyes instantly scan the others who are gathered. A slight smile crosses her features, and she greets them with a nod and a soft, "Well met." There is a slight ackwardness to her movements, for she moves somewhat stiffly, this caused by the soreness that is the lingering reminder of her injuries. Still, her eyes are bright and joyful, and these glance at her friends as she asks, "And how does the day find all of you?"

"Stop," murmurs Maglind, pulling the sheets tight around his body as he turns away. "Head hurts ... I'll clean the sword myself."

"Shut up, Thorhur." Galharth says flatly. "Speak to me no more. Instead, focus on what's important rather than attempting to play the fool by rattling off words that you clearly don't understand."

To Lostiriel, he shakes his head. "Blood continues to flow, Lostiriel, and the Warden here has given more than his fair share so to keep us all safe." Reaching forth, he places a hand upon Maglind's cot. "Be still my friend. Thorhur will find someone to see to your equipment. Focus now on yourself."

"Aye," Thorhur says quietly in a low growl, seething at Galharth. Without a goodbye or greeting to Lostiriel he storms from the Field Hospital, his normally pale face flushed and his hands clenched.

Slightly startled by the harsh words sent Thorhur's way, Lostiriel at first shifts uncomfotably, them moves out of the way as Thorhur storms past her. She watches him leave, then turnes back to look at Galharth with questions in her eyes. "Well..." she says, ackwardly. However, realizing what is said about Maglind, concern etches its way into her features and she looks upon him with compassion. "Oh, Maglind," she sighs, sympathy in her tone.

Shouting. Maglind's eyes flicker, pupils pale and contracted in the sun. The note of his fea quavers like a child about to cry, and subsides. "I hit him," he whispers, addressing Lostiriel absently. "The one that struck you."

Turning away before Thorhur's departure, the Tailor shrugs at Lostiriel's glance. "Differences," he mutters softly while focusing upon the Warden. Tilting his head to one side, the clothier almost seems lost as to what to do. "My friend, you'll extract your vengence another day, but only if you let yourself heal." Hesitantly reaching out to Maglind, as if afraid to touch him, he adds, "Shall we get you a healer? Can we help you in any way?"

A sigh escapes Lostiriel as she hears Maglind's words and she moves over to him, kneeling down next to him. Tears swim in her eyes, this startling her, and she blinks rapidly, trying to clear her gaze. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly whipes this away, reaching down to gently touch his hand. "Thank you, Maglind," is all she whispers, as she quietly sits next to him. Her eyes lift once more to Galharth, and there is worry in them, and it is clear that she looks to him in some hope that he will know what they can do.

"I'll be fine," Maglind replies half-heartedly, pulling away his bandaged hand. "They tried to burn the trees ... are the mellyrn all right?" Something strikes him suddenly, a slight touch to wounded spirit: "Calsir went alone. Will she be all right...?"

"She'll be find," Galharth says softly, "There are many upon the border now. My brother-in-law is among them. He would see to her safety, of that I'm sure."

Glancing to Lostiriel, his worry is clearly seen in his expression. "We can get you a drink if you wish, Maglind?" he says dropping his gaze towards his friend.

Not knowing what to do or what to say, Lostiriel merely rests beside Maglind, listening as Galharth reassures him. She nods in agreement, her gaze resting first upon Maglind, then upon Galharth. "Yes, Maglind, if you wish for a drink, or anything else, you must let us know." Then, sighing and shaking her head, she says to Galharth, "How quickly the days have grown dark."

Dark, and yet the afternoon light is glowing. "No..." Maglind hunches into his shoulders, hiding his body behind the pale sheets. "Just ... rest. And ... you too."

The warden wipes away a bit of blood from the corner of his lip, and closes his eyes.

With a furrowed brow, Galharth tugs lightly at the sheet to cover his friend further. "As you wish, Maglind, rest now, all is well and you are safe." Glancing towards Lostiriel, he shakes his head. "He worries about us, and yet we have seen nothing in comparison to the pains put upon the Warden. I worry more that he tries too hard so to keep us from facing the dangers that now walk our borders."

"Yes, Maglind, rest." Lostiriel's voice is calm and intended to be soothing. Standing, she moves toward Galharth and nods in agreement. "I agree. He has taken these pains upon himself in order to save others...and still, even in his pain and need for recovery, he worries." She pushes back a stand of hair and looks up into Galharth's eyes. "It is heart-wrenching to think that we may go about our daily activities because others secure our safety, and the burden of our safety weighs heavily upon their shoulders."

Maglind sleeps, caught in a net of dreams, hands twitching and expression changing impulsively as his world changes from one scene to another.

"Can we blame him for such dedication?" Galharth says as he draws back to fold his arms over his knees. "We who spend so little time upon the borders expect much from those who give their last drop of blood to see that we can move about without fear or concern." A look of saddness filles the Clothier's eyes as he watches Maglind twitch.

Looking away from the Warden and towards the Courier, he sighs. "I myself made the statement I'd steer clear of the borders. Was it that which drove the Warden to go forth whilst still wounded?"

"No, we can not blame them. They are compelled by a sense of duty that motivates them to sacrifice all..." Sadness fills Lostiriel's grey-blue eyes and she kneels down once more, her head lowering so that her chin rests on her drawn-up knees. She releases a slow sigh, filled with emotion, and repies to Galharth, "No, Galharth. I am sure that the statment you made, and that I also made, had little impact upon Maglind. Whether we stay clear of the border or not, he is compelled to go..." She lifts her eyes to meet Galharth's and there is a sorrowful expression in them. "It saddens me though, that I feel we can do so little."

"But can we do more than a little?" Galharth asks. "I was driven to take up a sword by a story told by the Ranger Henleg. His story told of the helpless made safe by the actions of those who took the effort to step forward in times of need." Sighing heavily, he looks to his friend. "Maglind took up his sword, for his injuries clearly prevented his use of the bow, yet...." he pauses his words as he looks to the ground. "My skill with a sword is far better than Maglind's, and yet where I hesitate from fear, he steps forward bravely." Looking up towards the Courier, guilt flickers in the Tailor's eyes. "Now I am at odds with myself. I feel ashamed."

Whatever words are spoken fall on deaf ears, as the warden continues to dream, drawing deep, sobbing breaths under his covers.

Reaching up to place a hand lightly on Galharth's shoulder, Lostiriel says softly, "There is no guilt to be had. I agree that the defense of Lorien ultimately rests upon the shoulders of all who live there. However, my skill is the least of all of us... However, I know that, if need be, even I would see that I did my part in defending our borders. The only thing left is to know when that time has come, and when the need has risen." Her lashes flutter slightly and she inhales sharply, then releases her breath as she says to Galharth, "I do not know that it is fear that stops you...or wisdom... But wisdom must also tell us when it is time to rise in defense, or leave it to those whose skills are better."

Wincing at the pain in his back, and glancing at Maglind, Galharth sighs. "Fear...." he mutters flatly, "Yep," he says after a moment, adding finally, ".....I'm sure it's fear."

Moving back onto his cot, he turns towards the Courier. "And you? When will you begin to train with a bow? Certainly it would offer less chance for you to ruin a dress in hand to hand combat."

With a long, harsh sigh, Maglind settles and throws himself into dreamless darkness: the afternoon fades, the bandages that drink his blood go thirsty, and the wounds begin to knit at the edges.

"Well, alright then, you're afraid. Very well." Lostiriel sighs, stretching a bit to ease the soreness of her limbs. "As for training with a bow, hopefully soon. I do want to protect my dress." She glances at Galharth briefly, then turns her attention to Maglind, watching as he sleeps.

A shadow of a smile shows upon the Tailor's lips. "Indeed, save the dresses, cloaks, and all other well crafted textiles. That reason alone is enough to take up or keep up training with a weapon."

A slight chuckle escapes Lostiriel and she nods. "I believe you are right." Then, remembering the scene which greeted her as she entered, Lostiriel looks up with a puzzled expression. "What kind if difference exists between you and Thorhur to illicit such anger?"

And as for well-crafted textiles -- the remains of Maglind's new cloak lie in a sorry heap by the sleeping warden's head.

"Our differences go back to an accusation he made, and his tendancy to lecture me on matters that he himself is but an amature." Galharth snorts softly as his gaze returns to the resting Guard. "He comes off sounding like a mocking bird." Taking a deep breath, he sighs softly. "Even with his lack of understanding as to what he says, I still wish to be of use to the Guard, even if it includes him."

"I see. Well...hopefully the two of you shall work out your differences. The last time I talked to Thorhur, I was talking to him about our project." A strange look comes into Lostiriel's eyes, and she looks down suddenly. "Well, anyway, I...I hope that, yes, that you find a way to be of use as well, and I am sure that you will."

"All would work out nicely if he would reserve his attempts to lecture me." Galharth says flatly. "He often fails to see that while I am not a Guard, I do hold some standing that is some limited manner might be offered some consideration. The Guards choose to ignore his behavior, but I will not have it forced upon me."

Again the Crafter sighs, and settles himself down upon his cot. Laying on his side, he holds his gaze upon the Courier. "I imagine being held here has not helped your progress. I know myself, it has slowed me down."

Nodding, Lostiriel answers, "Perhaps you are right. I do not not the situation very well..." Here she falters for a moment, then, shifting, looks up at Galharth and nods in agreement. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. It is quite difficult to make progress." She offers him a smile, toying with the ends of her hair. "But I hope that progress can be made again soon."

"Are you released from the care of the Healers yet?" Galharth asks softly, "You seem well enough to return to the city at the very least." His eyes flutter closed for a moment, before snapping open once more. "Or perhaps Calriel will visit, as her skills with Maglind helped him once before."

Pausing to yawn, the clothier glances briefly towards the resting Warden. "I can not bear to see a friend hurt as he is...." he mutters softly. "But perhaps it will inspire all to take up their training once more."

Maglind delves further into sleep, sprawling flat on his back. His arm is held close, like the wing of a broken bird, and beneath thick lashes the eyes are blindly unaware.

"Indeed, I believe that I am able to leave. I am greatly improved, " Lostiriel agrees, rising. She looks again to Maglind and nods, "Yes, it is hard to see him so gravely injured..." Her eyes linger there for a moment, the compassion clearly written on her face. "But if others are inspired, as you say, then at least some good will have come out of it. As for me, I think I shall walk a bit and stretch some of the soreness from my legs." So saying, Lostiriel begins slowly walking away.

Returning his gaze to the Courier, the Tailor nods. "Hopefully, I won't be here much longer Lostiriel." He mutters softly as his eyes droop half mast. "While you walk, I think I'll get a little rest.... Till then, be well." And with that, Galharth drifts off into his own healing sleep.