================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midday < About 12:25 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 31 Rhiw <Winter>
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: Wed Sep 12 16:28:28 2007
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If there were a way to see through the thick foliage and tarp above, the sun would be suspended nearly directly above. However, this is not so, and only a vague afterglow of the daylight filters down, illuminating the foliage even as it obscures it to untrained eyes. Sound does not travel far within or beyond the clearing, but yet it is clearer without all the echoes and reverberations one might get elsewhere.

Several bodies are sprawled out on the mats, some accompanied by healers that glide between them, with the apparent lack of urgency abundantly made up for in a patient, efficient diligence. Even as they work and observe, and visitors come and go, there is one direction that eyes are drawn toward more than any other, and that small groups, from time to time, head toward. That is outward toward the border.

Aeglirhaeron is sitting on the ground beside one of the mats carrying an injured elleth. The other is sleeping soundly, so the carpenter is humming and observing the body. Occasionally he turns to regard a healer passing by, watching their tools with apparent nonchalance.

Moving into the Field Hospital, the Guard Tolur stops as he steps inside the hallowed space. Peering from cot to cot, he seems to be searching for something, or perhaps someone. Biting his lower lip as he checks the last cot, he shakes his head. "How fair the Guard of Lothlorien?" he says softly to the few who seem awake. Again he scans the hospital, stopping as he sees the Crafter. Moving towards him, the Guard stops a few steps away. "Are you here to search for the Master Tailor?" he asks in a low voice.

If this is the home outside of home, then it is a small one. A patient prowls the narrow width between his cot and another's, while the guard in the other bed lies flat, watching him with sickly patience. To those who have been regular visitors, this is Norweg and his son Maglind. Upon seeing Tolur enter, both pairs of blue eyes turn keenly to the guard.

The crafter stops humming in his long, drawling lament as he is addressed directly and looks up. "Yes. I thought it better to wait here, though ideally he would have no occasion to be carried here." Aeglirhaeron then gets to his feet in recognition of the Guard, nodding slightly. "You've found me so specifically you must be bringing word of something. I am Aeglirhaeron. " He glances over the other's shoulder, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Norweg and Maglind. He nods in their direction. "You do not pass unacknowledged."

Glancing to Norweg, Tolur nods and keeps his gaze upon the elder Guard. "Those who replaced you on your talan, they reported hearing screams from the north." His eyes flicker from Norweg, to Maglind, and finally to Aeglirhaeron. "The scream was not from the beasts that prowl the night, but suggested to be of the firstborn." Frowning deeply he looks down. "Galharth is the only one missing."

Maglind closes his eyes. "Missing?" he asks weakly, bringing forth a bony hand to cover his face. "He wouldn't get lost."

Norweg looks to the other guard. "Did they check the area? Was there anything to tell?" Plopping down on the bed, he grits his teeth. "That tailor..."

His gaze drops to the forest floor on hearing this. A hand plays with his fingernails at his side. Otherwise, he is still for a few moments. Then he lifts his head and says, with a certain urgency, as if this is the only detail that matters, as if by saying it loudly and deeply enough the right answer will be guaranteed. "What of his cane? If he left nary a thing about all of a sudden, it'd be that. And if he didn't... then he might still be about?"

Turning his gaze towards Maglind, the Guard shakes his head. "He did in fact get lost, and Norweg here was among the last to see him. Patrols have searched, but it seems he's learned enough to cover his trail." Taking a deep breath, he sighs. "A patrol is to go out soon, but with the creatures that lure near the wood, we're limited in what we can do."

"He had no cane, he's been better. Not perfect, but enough so that he could go without the aid."

"Galharth's no Guard," mutters Maglind breathily. "He must have been chased. Troublemaker..."

Norweg tosses an uneasy glance at his son and turns to Tolur. "Has anyone watched the orcish camp?"

Aeglirhaeron nods at the information, his lips growing thin with disdain, though there is only a barest hint of impatience in his voice, a faint baritone trembling. "As soon is soon and not now, and I am of limited use actually patrolling, is there any way I can help in smoothing over or expediting preparations?" Then he glances over at Maglind, shaking his head ever so little.

It is then that the elves are joined by another fellow, though of different ilk, for stepping into the makeshift hospital comes Aragorn. Concern laces his furrowed brow as he looks about, and it is to Maglind that he gives his chief attention. Coming forth, meaning not to interrupt it seems, the Dunadan bows in greeting to the wounded edhel.

Pursing his lips and furrowing his brow, Tolur glares at Maglind. "No, he is no guard, but then much of our forces are volunteers. And advice Warden...." the Guard says pausing, "reserve such thoughts when around his sister." Turning to Norweg, Tolur nods. "The watch is doubled in that area. So far, nothing has been reported."

Turning to Aeglirhaeron, he tilts his head. "The Lady Mia suggested some aid transporting wounded from the north to the hospital. Would you volunteer for such? It is hard work, and often times saddening." Any further that might be said falls silent as the ellon turns to watch the approaching Aragorn.

Aeglirhaeron seems to fall into a stupor for a moment. His hazy eyes follow the man as he approaches, his eyebrows raising in surprise at his bowing, though he stirs from his thoughts then and looks back at Tulor. "My legs will bear the burden that other legs cannot," he says slowly, letting out a long sigh afterward. "My hands are uninspired, and this is the way to keep them unidle." Then the carpenter dusts himself off and wrinkles his forehead. "I assume the way will present itself north? I haven't much ventured that way."

"Nienna forbid that she would ever have to come /here/," replies Maglind quietly, sliding his arm back under the sheets that shroud him. The wounded Elf gazes up at the Dunadan questioningly. "Aragorn?"

Norweg says nothing, but begins to prepare to leave: sheets are folded, equipment gathered, healers evaded.

"Mellon," greets the Dunadan to the Warden, smiling despite the worry found in his gaze. "I came to see how you fare, after your hurried journey back to safety. It cannot have been comfortable for you, and I am grieved I could do little more to ease your pain at the time. Are you well, in any way?"

Turning to Aeglirhaeron, Tolur steps nearer. "We do need you mellon," the Guard says softly. Along the path and to the north, the wounded are brought in by other Guards." Looking around the Field Hospital, he frowns. "Or, you could remain here and give aid to the Healers, as weapons and armor need to be removed and cleaned well away from this place." Glancing to the Carpenter, he sighs. "I fear the needs are many."

Aeglirhaeron nods at the directions. The offer to clean weapons makes him turn the pale green of a stagnant pool. "No thanks. I will follow the path north. Thank you, and may you be well-girded and guarded from harm." He gives a hasty bow and without any further attentions flees north at a fleet run.

A soft presence draws near as Lostiriel moves toward those gathered, her normally smooth brow now creased with worry. Grey-blue eyes flicker to each individual, and a slight nod is offered in greeting. "Well met," she says, moving further into the gathering. She looks searchingly about her, hoping for some good news. Gaze falls upon Maglind and she smiles softly, asking, "Maglind, how are you?" She pauses, then continues in a strained voice, "And has anything been heard of Galharth?"

"I'll be leaving for my post." Gathering everything up in a hurry, Norweg scans the clearing for healers and hurries out the entrance to the west. To the borders.

"Better," answers Maglind, shyly smiling. "I have yet to thank you. And Galharth ..." at this his face darkens, drawn and haggard, and his gaze flicks nonchalantly to the side. "He ..."

"I heard," nods Aragorn quietly to Maglind's words, and a pained look passes his features. "Would that I had been at hand, perhaps I could have aided him. It seems I have offered little aid in turning these brutes away thus far. That I wish to change, and did hope to catch the noble Norweg ere he departed. Alas, I shall seek him later. But as to you, friend, can I do anything to ease the trouble of your injuries?"

To Tolur the Man smiles gravely and nods on, and he spares a glance to the newly entered Lostiriel also. "Well met, mellon," he greets her in recognition.

Shaking his head in response to Lostiriel's question, Tolur's eyes flicker towards Norweg as he leaves and he bows his head for private words. "I'll be shortly behind you," he mutters quietly. Looking to Aragorn and Maglind, concern reflects in the Guards expression. "Get well quickly Maglind, we could use you on the borders." he says to the Warden. Offering a glance to the Dunadan. "Alas, we could use the help of all." he says softly. With that the Guard turns and leaves, following Norweg towards the borders.

Finding that her question is mostly being ignored, Lostiriel's eyes fall and she sighs. "I am glad to hear that you are doing better, Maglind." She looks up only to watch Tolur depart, then looks away as her gaze grows distant. There is a faraway gleam in her eyes and her lips are pursed into a thin line, and she merely stands, saying nothing else.

But the question does not go unheard. There are deep shadows under Maglind's eyes, and his arm is shaking as he attempts to prop himself up. "Galharth is still missing," the warden attempts, plainly uncomfortable. "They are searching for him."

Dropping his head, he murmurs to Aragorn: "It still ... hurts. Very much. The attendants have always been somewhere else..."

This brings a deeper furrow to Aragorn's brow, and he sniffs to himself ere moving closer to the bed. "If you like, I can see what extra I can to their efforts? I have not the skill of your Lady or your Lords, but I may relieve some pain, nonetheless."

He turns to smile to Lostiriel, "And perhaps to you also, by the same token."

"Oh..." Lostiriel sighs, her only reply to Maglind's statement about Galharth. She nods, her face expressionless. She stands this way for a long moment, then offers a distracted smile to both Maglind and Aragorn. "Unfortunately I must beg my leave...be well Maglind, Aragorn." And swiftly she turns and walks away, her back straight and resolute as she departs.

There is barely a rustle in the leaves; less than that, to be honest. And an elven child - a slim youth - dances out of Lostiriel's way and around her. Interested eyes light on Aragorn and move past him to Maglind, and Rhibi edges closer.

Maglind nods, gently turning aside the sheets. "Do what you will, please, Aragorn."

The bandages are dried brown, stemming the blood of the wounds, but naught can be seen. One must cut them away, and that ... Maglind winces, coughing slightly into his fist.

And sorry though the task may be, Aragor nods his head and sets about it. He turns an amused glance upon Rhibi for a moment, grinning in recognition, ere he goes to work. Not a word escaped his lips as he tends to the Warden's wounds, and he seems wrapt in the duty wholly.

Aragorn tends to the injuries on Maglind.

The boy's eyes widen as he sees the bandages, and he eases closer still, until he is nearly hanging over the injured elf. But he keeps silent as Aragorn works, his gaze filled with admiration for the human's skill.

As the Dunadan works, Maglind stays silent, eyes narrowed and focused blindly on the pale sheets; drawing deep breaths. "Thank you," he manages.

The warden's senses are muted of late; he does not notice Rhibi until they are terribly close. "Rhibi!" he gasps, clutching his bare sides brokenly. "When did you..?"

"When did I what?" the youth asks. "I haven't done anything, really, I haven't." And a look of horror spreads over his face. "I ... I didn't do that to you, Maglind! Truly!" In his distress, he has lept to his feet, and now stands looking down, hazel-green eyes nearly brown.

"Do what?" The warden is utterly confused for a moment, staring dumbly at the boy. "Oh. No, no, Rhibi! I know ... who did this to me. It was an evil thing."

Maglind shudders at a burst stitch, beckoning to Rhibi with a pale hand. "Why are you here, Rhibi? I didn't know you were told about me." Fear seizes his voice and he quickly scans the other. "You're not wounded, are you?"