================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:26 PM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 58 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <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 Sep 21 17:29:01 2007
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Healing Talan
This hushed talan is a quiet place of healing for those Galadhrim injured in battle. White robed Quendi, one wearing a bracelet, easily walk about, tending to visitors, offering refreshments, and various other small jobs. Meanwhile patients lie on comfortable, sparkling pads, gazing out at a sweeping view of the wood. Sunlight streams though the leaves of the mellyrn, casting dancing shadows on the wooden floor. The air has a fresh, clean feeling. You feel better just resting here for a moment.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Ostiel
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A soft glow radiates from candle groupings set about the Healing Talan. Beyond the glow, an inky darkness blankets the land. For those in the Talan, the stars can not be seen. A soft breeze blows through the canopy in which the Healing talan sits, mingling the fragrance of flowers with the heady scents of healing herbs. A soft song fills the air, joining with the distant voices of the bards.

Laying in a cot, with several pillows propping him upright, Galharth sits staring out into the darkness. His form is pale and weak, but his eyes burn with a reborn fire. He is better, and clearly is on the road to recovery.

A shadow fills the talan opening, drawing and absorbing light to itself. It moves quietly, cloaked with muted steps, and the candles do not flicker as it passes them by. At the foot of the bed next to Galharth's, it pauses.

Maglind watches his friend, silently and without expression.

"They will return....." Galharth says in a crackled voice, dry and strained. He does not move, and his eyes continue to peer out into the darkness. "Two, united as one. And they are not alone." A moment passes, and finally, the Tailor looks towards the shadow. "When last I saw you, you were still recovering. You are better now, mellon?"

Maglind does not answer. He sits down on the other bed, gently smoothing the empty covers. "When last I saw you, you were badly hurt. Are you better now?" The voice does not waver.

"How better to answer a question, than with a question," Galharth says, his voice cracking once more on the words spoken. His gaze turns again to look towards the darkness of night, "You are here, so the borders must have calmed." Taking in a breath, he releases it slowly. "One could say, I am better."

"The borders have not calmed." Maglind looks away, fiddling with the hem of the sheet. "More blood has been shed, and there is more pain." He purses his lips tightly. "I'm glad you've awoken."

"I'm sorry," Galharth says softly as his head lowers and his gaze turns to his folded hands. "I do not know if I'll be of any use in the future, save for cloaks and clothing," The Tailor says as he looks up towards the blanket tented over his badly injured leg. "At this point, I suppose I should be grateful that I have a cane already. I suspect I'll need it."

Turning to look upon the Warden, Galharth tilts his head slightly. "If the borders are not calm, then tell me, have you come all this way to visit me? Or do you have duties in the city?"

"Do not be so certain." Ostiel floats by with wooden cup in hand, a cloud of soft jasmine lingering in her wake. "All things may heal in time." Her eyes dart to Maglind, but do not linger, instead follow the course of her path to a gold and aquamarine pitcher resting on a sideboard not far from the talan entrance. As the conversation continues, she silently tips fresh, cool water into the cup.

"Don't be sorry." Maglind's eyes flicker to Ostiel and back, and he shifts upon the bedside. "I came to visit you. And to lead supplies and bandages, and to request a healer's presence." One hand crumples the sheet; the warden's voice stays flat. "More have been gravely injured."

Crystal blue eyes flash towards the Attendant. "You seem so sure, Ostiel," Galharth says with hesitation that tells of his own lack of confidence. "Forgive my doubts, but until I can test my new limits....."

"They spoke of a return, Maglind." the Tailor says softly, "What was on the borders, they bragged that it was nothing compared to what is to come."

A thousand torches and a thousand barrels of pitch...

The warden shrugs it away, waving his hand dismissively. "Empty words. Pay them no heed, Galharth. Even if they come we will still stand."

Yet, worry wears his voice thin, and Maglind sighs softly.

"Of course we will," Ostiel is quick to confirm, though not in a rushed or placating tone. Indeed, she sounds rather confident, moving to a slumber figure in a bed near to the pair, curled up beneath a blanket from head to toe. Sitting on the bed beside the erstwhile edhel, the healer leans down, smiles slightly. "Come now, mellon. Arise and drink."

Frowning deeply, and furrowing his brow, Galharth looks to the Warden. "I was not but an object on the floor, tossed a disregarded as trash. When they spoke of the return, they spoke as would scouts." Holding his gaze a moment, exhaustion sets in and the tailor leans back against his pillows. "Then, what do I know, I am no guard."

Turning to watch Ostiel, he sighs. "If you are able Ostiel, I would be glad for a drink as well."

Maglind says nothing, but his gaze drags to the window and stays there, looking far, far away. One hand drums against the quiver ever-present at his side -- it is empty.

"Of course, Galharth," the Attendant is quick to reply, as the fever-cheeked elleth she tends accepts the cup, sipping slowly. Ostiel lingers by her side, but upon seeing that the patient can handle the task, stands and retrieves another cup to fill. This she does, and upon turning and seeing the drawn faces before her, decisively says, "Perhaps we should not discuss such matters here, in this place of tranquility." The glass is held out to Galharth. Standing there, Ostiel cannot help but gaze upon Maglind, her expression solemn. After a moment's hestitation, she lays a warm, healing hand upon his head. "Would you care for a drink as well, mellon?"

Accepting the glass, the Tailor brings the cool liquid to his parched lips. Carefully sipping, he drains the fluid with little hesitation. Coughing when he swallows too quickly, he lifts the back of his hand to wipe the moisture from his lips. "Thank you," Galharth says softly.

Lowering his gaze, he looks the picture of a much younger ellon who's been scolded. "Forgive me, Ostiel, the matter and memories weight upon me, and I can't seem to let them go."

Maglind startles, looking up at Ostiel curiously. "No," he answers nonchalantly. "Thank you, but I'm not thirsty."

"That is only natural, Galharth," Ostiel states calmly, releasing Maglind's hair and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "But in time, the pain will fade, as your concentration shifts to greater things. Happier things, I hope."

Coughing once more, Galharth leans back into his pillows. "I could use my crochet hooks," he mutters wistfully. "Or a journal." Frowning, his last words bring some realization to him. "I've lost my journal. And with it notes on several new project." Clearly this realization is distressing. Looking to Maglind, he looks hopeful, "Before you return to the border, would you mind stopping to visit your mother? She could give you my needles and some thread."

"Aye." Maglind nods once, eyes slipping halfheartedly to the sheets. "More work already? Are you embroidering sheets for the Healers?"

"That would be pleasant enough, the room upstairs is rather bare." Ostiel smiles, standing and moving back to the sipping elleth, as she beckons with weak hand.

With narrowed eyes and a gaze that hints of disbelief, Galharth glances first to Maglind, and then towards Ostiel. "I've asked for crochet hooks, not needles. Once simply can not improder with a hook." Again he peers at one and then the other. "Perhaps you each need to spend some time in the crafters halls to at least gain some insight into the tools of a trade."

"Nay, nay," says Maglind defensively, rising. "I can only hope to be a pincushion in the world of crafters, and these are my tools of trade." The quiver? The longbow? "Never fear, my mother will know which one you speak of."

Laughter spills from Ostiel's lips, startling a few, but as shocking as it may be, more than a few sigh deeply and smile, for the melodious sound is not one heard often as of late, espescially not here.

"One day Maglind, your pincushion career will go afoul." The Tailor mutters without disguising his worry. To the rest, he nods once, with the corner of his mouth rises at the mention of Maglind's mother. "She'll know," Galharth says softly, raised in mood by either the Warden's words or the Healers laughter. "I'd also like my cane. If you have the time to gather it for me."

"Only until I run out of pins," replies Maglind lightly, moving to the window. "And then I promise to make a beautiful pincushion, Galharth." Humor darkening to a bitter laugh, he says, "Aye, I know. Perhaps I'll send a courier."

Peering at Maglind from his reclined position, Galharth shakes his head slightly. "It's not you that supplies the pins Warden, but your Urukish opponents who seek to fill you with holes." Pausing, the Tailor closes his eyes for a moment. "A courier, yourself, or a Sentinel, it matters not. I'll appreciate the effort."

The soft clapping sound of bare-feet fills the healing talen, preceeding the arrival of Tauriel. Slowly stepping up the stairs, with a hand on the wall for support, the young elleth smiles at those within weakly. "Hello..." she greets at almost a whisper, her eyes darting downward. Coming to a pause at the top of the stairs, she stands dizzily, still wearing the same clothes from the previous evening. A form fitting green gown, with a light brown brown cape hanging from her shoulders. Only now, the shoulders are stained dark brown. Her hair is a mess and hangs down in complete disaray. Her skin is pale white. Though her face and skin are washed and blood free. Her ears however, are still a a mess, beyond the slashes and cuts upon them, the canals seem enlarged and filled with dried blood. Folding her hands in front, she looks on the pair within.

Behind the elleth comes the sound of rushing feet; a young attendant bears a bright lamp, and two apprentices are holding an empty stretcher. The attendant moves to lay a hand on Tauriel's shoulder. Voices float in. "Tauriel! You must not overexert yourself. Let us carry you in so you will be more comfortable."

Within the peaceful talan, Maglind looks upon the bloodied elleth like a child observing a bad memory or a nightmare. The color drains from his face, and suddenly he clings to a bedpost.

Nodding towards the new arrival in acknowledgement, the Tailor leans back against his pillows to rest. With narrowed eyes, he silently observes the strange elleth. Confusion flickers over his expression as he clearly can not place what is off about her appearance. "Have you fallen while harvesting your fungus, Tauriel?" he asks. As a pair of apprentices enter on the tail of his question, Galharth frowns, but movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention. "Maglind?" he asks softly as he takes note of the ellons pale expression.

"Tauriel!" Shouts a second healer, appearing behind the elleth. Only noticing the healer, when his hand falls on her shoulder, the dazed elleth allows herself to be set down on the cot. Once on the small bed, the healer presses down on her shoulders forcing her to lay. She moans deeply as her head hits the pillow, a pained tear drips down the edge of her eye down her face. "She is still in a daze..." the healer remarks as he examines the young elleth, his eyes darting up to the pair already within. "When she snaps out of it, less moble she will be. ". Reaching down the healer removes the elleth's stained cape and rolls it up in his hands. "She is not responding to communication, we must hope this is due to her current state, not any ear trauma.. Though.. I fear the worst.." he adds, tilting the elleth's head. Leaining forward he examines her ear canals. Any onlookers would be horrified by the terrible cuts within... Tauriel herself, tenses in extreme pain as the healer pokes around.. "Not good..."

From his own vantage point, Galharth can see nothing of what is happening to Tauriel. "It's the fungus, isn't it?" he asks, turning to look at Maglind. "Did she fall harvesting it? Or did it make her ill?"

Maglind shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut as if he could block out the scene. "She was attacked. She wandered too far out, and met the one who calls himself King. Galharth... what should I do now?"

Examining Tauriel carefully, the healer in attendance sits on the edge of her cot. Leaning forward, he carefully tilts her head and examines her closely. "Calm down Tauriel.. I know this hurts." he says softly as he brushes away one of the elleth's hands. Her bare toes clutch at the bed benieth her as the docter prods.. A brief scream is let forth, though it does not phase the healer. Obviously accostomed to anguish. She writhes in agony. The first healer sits down on the cot as well and places his arm over her legs. Effectively holding her down.. "Calm down Tauriel.." They both mutter again.

"Do? Maybe teach others to pick up a bow.... " Galharth says softly, "Have your commanders said nothing? Surely that is who might direct the actions of a Guard." Sighing heavily as the ellon snuggles deeper into his pillows. His eyes flicker slightly in exhaustion, moving slightly as the elleth calls out in pain, but the Tailor drifts off to sleep as his own injuries require sleep.