================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Morning < About 11:19 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 61 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>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Sat Sep 22 21:46:29 2007
=====================================================================
Rose Garden
You stand in a small rose garden dazzled in white, red, and yellow. Placed in an circular pattern about the garden, a walkway made up of small, uplifted ceramic tiles form rings of walking space surrounding a large golden mallorn planted in the center. Shade from its limbs splay outward over this walkspace to provide for a pleasant atmosphere. Here and there, benches, one with a lamp rising up out of the ground next to it, are placed for guests to enjoy the shade and the scenery.

To the south, a tall hedge hides the entrance to the shaded lawn. East, among a gnarly set of old oak trees, a small path leads to the Apothecary, while to the North another path leads to the Northern Gardens. To the West, a gate leads out to the Golden Roadway. Lastly, to the side, sparkling beneath a silver arch, a set of stairs can be seen leading to a talan up above. Reaching out to the bright sun, the flowers are open in full bloom.

Contents:
Galharth
Angroch
=====================================================================

Bathed in golden light reflected from the mallorns, a lone human male, quite tall for his race, sits upon a bench. He sits relaxed, his elbows on his knees. Light filtering through the leaves above dances upon him, and he glances up for a moment, then to the south, bringing grey eyes to rest on the plentiful color provided by the flowers around him.

He leans back and shrugs his shoulders, his thick coat--quite appropriate for this time of year around his regular haunts--seems a bit too much, though he does not move to take it off.

"Now hold still," A soft feminine voice sounds from the Talan above, "We'll have you down and settled in just a few moments."

The reply is muffled and the sound of movement breaks the silence of the Garden. Moments pass, and if anyone were to look up, they would take note of several edhel moving another in a simple sling as they move him down from the treetops into the gardens below.

"It's sure to be a lovely day, I'm sure the outting will do you good." The elleth's voice says as the group makes it to the ground. "Move him over here, she instructs the others, "The view is good and there's room for visitors."

"Seems that someone awaits?" Galharth says as the healers set him up with pillows and blankets for a days outting in the Garden. "Well met friend." he says as the healers nod to the Human and step away.

The human stands at the sound of the healers and watches the events as the injured Elf is placed upon the ground. He runs a hand through his hair, unruly locks unable to be tamed.

"Wll met, Sir," the man says, "Forgive me if I interrupt the fair beauty of the garden, but since my arrival I have, despite myself, been unable to supp enough on its pure elegance."

He takes a few steps forward, his coat flowing gently in the breeze, the leather supple with age and wear, tattered seams begging repair, "I am Angroch son of Angbrog, though throughout the West I am known as the Iron Horse."

Pausing to look around the garden, the Tailor takes in the undeniable beauty that meets each glance he makes. "It is alluring, of that I can not deny." He comments as his crystal blue eyes turn towards the human. "Angroch, son of Angbrog, are you of Aragorn's peoples?" Galharth asks with a soft innocence to his voice. "Forgive the question if your relationship to him is known, or at least obvious due to your unmolested presence in these lands, but I am a simple crafter who has little contact with any but my people."

Settling into the pillows that prop him into a seated postion, he offers the human a curious gaze. "You mention the west, and being known as Iron horse. Is this a name to insult or give forth honor? I am only known as Galharth."

Coming further forward, Angroch reaches out one of his hands and runs it along the flower petals, the softness of the flower rubbing against his contrasting palms. He glances from the flower to Galharth, then laughs softly.

"I must admit, dear sir, I have to date not been asked if the epithet so readily placed upon me was insult or honor. My father was a trainer of horses, and though I hated the beasts--and I may add they are inclined to have a natural hatred towards me, regardless of breed, I learned to be around them. Never have I felt insulted at the name those not of my people called me--the Iron Horse--but ironic, perhaps. I spent much of my childhood among the Elves of Imladris, and, of course, my very name, Angroch, in that tongue, is literally Iron Horse."

He pauses and glances behind him for a moment, a subtle breeze licking at the leaves of rose and mallorn. His attention returns to Galharth, "As for Aragorn, aye, we are kin, and to this place I have come to meet with him. Though the miles are long, I protest not," he says, raising his arms wide, "For this is my first trip to Lothlorien, and it does not disappoint."

With a glance towards the lawn, and then an upturned gaze through the shadows of his lashes, the Tailor lifts the corners of his mouth into a weak smile. "I've heard it said that Lothlorien is the most beautiful of all elven realms, so indeed, it does not surprise me that you find no disappointment." Looking up now, the crafter's crystal blue gaze looks directly upon the human. "Long will be the days before you grow weary of it's unique nature."

Taking a deep breath and laying back against the comforts of his pillows, a soft chuckle escapes the Tailor's lips. "I suppose your name could be considered both, for iron is strong and steady to the point in whick all rely upon it, and yet to too could be considered stubbornly rigid." Haulting his words, the ellon shakes his head. "From the little I know of your people, I'd guess it was a compliment, and with that, I too will honor it."

The smile begun, fades at the mention of Aragorn. "I think you'd not find him in the city, as he's made a pledge to rid us of a threat." Tilting his head, Galharth inspects the human carefully before continuing his words, "He strikes me as one who give no word but that which he will keep."

The Iron Horse comes to a bench near where Galharth sits and rests himself, gathering the folds of his coat as he sits. He listens to the Elf's words and nods, "Aye, I find the beauty here unique, and yet, strangely, as welcoming as any home might be to a road-weary man such as myself. Imladris has its own beauty, and, indeed, the Shire, land of halflings in which I spend much time, has a cozy feel to itself, but here is unlike any yet mine eyes have fallen."

He glances to the right heel of his boot, which appears to just be coming loose from the leather, then, "I thank you for your honor in the name given to me by those not of my people. I have never yet taken offense to it. As for My Lord Aragorn, what you say rings so true, he is a man of his word, and, dare I say, I am as well, as one of his captains. What trouble there may be, as with Aragorn's, my sword and fist are Lorien's as well."

The grey eyes, like storm clouds reflecting the color of the garden come to Galharth, "Pray tell, My Lord, does your injury stem from the troubles of which you speak?"

The Tailor seems to consider the human's words in silence which draws out for several long moments. When he finally speaks, he does so whilst looking north. "Halflings?" he asks with a curious note. "Long has it been since they left their home to our north. I had thought them faded from this world." Falling silent for the next moment the crafter suddenly chuckles to himself. "Welcome news you bring. That which is presumed lost might indeed only have moved to safter ground."

The smile that had appeared grows flat, as the clothier peers intently at the human. "The sword and fist you offer, might well be accepted as there is a coming storm," Pausing to swallow, his gaze turns towards the east. "Bearly four weeks past I did indeed find the troubles of which I speak. Uruk of Mordain and Moria both felt sure of my captivity to speak of coming plans." Looking now towards the human, a frown is evident upon the ellon's face. "I've heard with my own ears that evil is soon to return in greater numbers."

Nodding, the Iron Horse leans forward, the mention of the Halflings obviously lifting his spirits, "Aye, they dwell in a land west of Imlandris, past Amon Sul. I have heard tales of when the dwelt in a land north of Lorien by the Gladden Fields, but I thought it folklore. They are kind folk, and care not for troubles of the world, spending much of their worries on things such as ale, foof and pipeweed. I admit, when my boots lead me to their land, I find myself happy and the worry melting away."

Then, as if the exact opposite, his smile fades, his steely gaze returning, Mordain and Morian orc together? Greatly unfortunate tidings these are. I care not for such news at all. If evil is to return, I am glad Aragorn is here, for his tactical skill is matched by none I have met."

"nay, not forlklore, but long enough to the path that it could be called as such." Galharth says softly as his eyes droop in wearliness. "Forgive me," he mutters softly, I am in great need of rest, and for the moment I can not ignore that need."

Smiling weakly, he adds, "I should like to speak more, later." as he fades off into a healing rest.