================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:52 AM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 3 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <HIDDEN>
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: Thu Sep 27 10:17:25 2007
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Golden Roadway - Northeastern Arc - Courtyard
You stand in a long open air courtyard that interrupts the Golden Roadway. The
main body of the yard stretches out before you for about a hundred yards. In the
center is a marvelous shimmering fountain carved from the purest white marble in
the shape of a swan. Here and there, layed out in geometric patterns, are low
rows of hedges and riffled through bushes.
Along the west edge of the yard lies the entrance to Lorien's Theater, an
arching silver gate covered with twisting vines and satin white roses. Nearby, a
marble stairway climbs the hill. To the east lies the stairs that lead down to a
grove, sacred and beloved. The soft glow of a thousand stars is the only light
on the quiet courtyard.
Contents:
Galharth
Earsul
Mia
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Anor's warmth shines down upon the wood, from it's highest point in the day.
Delicate rays of golden light sweep downwards to gently carress the thick canopy
of a protected realm. A cool breeze blows from the north, bringing forth crisp
clean air of winter from the lands that lay beyond the border. Sweet elven song
mingles with the delicate fragrances of the still blooming flowers of the many
gardens within the city.
Wandering along the courtyard, manuvering his staff in time with his step, the
Tailor Galharth is clearly putting forth great effort to regain strength in his
leg. Stepping poorly on a flaw in the path, he mutters under his breath as he
nearly stumbles.
Mia rests on the edge of the fountain, her feet tucked beneath her as she peers
down into the water. Her eyes are vague and unfocused, dancing along on the
rippling surface, her mouth turned down slightly at the edges. She is silent,
unmoving, more placid than the reflective mirror now showing the surrounding
trees and elleth in perfect detail. But there is something below the surface,
that much is clearly apparent, some thing that consumes so much of her thoughts
that Galharth's sudden sound startles her visibly. Her head whips up, and as she
spies the tailor, her forhead creases in a small V just between her brows.
The northern breeze does not only bring wintry air to this court; voices, too,
drift upon its wafting airs. "My thanks once again, old friend, I think this is
just what we need." "I hope so! Our hopes go with you!" Clear, bright laughter
follows this rejoinder, and following the laughter comes Earsul, stepping around
the corner into the long courtyard. The wind, becoming gusty, buffets his cloak
around his legs, and he pulls his hood up as he walks.
Taking a deep breath, the Tailor sighs heavily as he looks up while turning
towards the fountain. Good sense prevails, and his face reflects embarrassment
for the outburst. "Forgive me, mellon," he says with a half smile. "Grace
abandons me, and of late I find that patience is quick to depart as well."
Glancing to the wall of the fountain, he moves closer. "Would you mind if I
share your resting spot?" He asks Mia.
With his slight turn in his direction as he speaks, Galharth catches sight of
another wandering through. "Well met, mellon," he says, catching sight of the
edhel before he buries his face and form in the folds of his cloak and hood.
Looking upwards slightly as the breeze catches his own hair and clothing, he
welcomes the gust of air. "Lovely day, is it not?"
"I'm hardly one to comment on either grace," Mia replies, "or decorum, so there
is nothing to forgive. And seeing as how I am but one smallish-sized elleth, and
the fountain is rather large, then there is not much stopping you from sitting
here even should I deny you, personally. Regardless, I do not protest."
Earsul's arrival is met with a nod, and not much more as the elleth falls silent
and peers, once more, into the pool."
Scarcely is the hood up than Earsul pulls it down again. Peripheral vision
restored, he spots several small groups of elves dotted around the court, yet
none seem to be looking his way. Whence came the greeting, he wonders? Was it
even meant for him? Then, looking ahead, he recognises the two by the fountain.
Slowing his brisk pace to a normal walk, he alters course in that direction, but
says nothing, in case the greeting was not, after all, sent his way.
"A bit of protest, or a well placed remark leading to a broiling conversation
might be more what I expected." Galharth says softly as he takes the last few
steps to sit upon the fountain wall. "Are you well my friend? Or has something
doused your fire?" he adds as he dips his hand into the water and playfully
flicks the elleth with the dampness that clings to his fingertips.
Turning as movement catches his eye, the Craftmaster offers Earsul a smile.
Sweeping his damp hand towards the fountains edge, he seems to be offering a
seat. "There's plenty of room, mellon, do join us."
Mia lifts her hand to deflect the flicked doplets, but there is no accompanying
laughter. Instead, she looks at the tailor with eyebrow raised, irony in her
tone, "Am /I/ well?" She nods, incredulous, "Compared to some, I am very well.
Obviously not you, as you seem to be... I don't know. How are you? Walking and
breathing, which is good, but..." She trails off, shakes her head and looks to
Earsul. "Room to spare, even."
Earsul smiles. "My journey is hardly begun, yet I am loath to begrudge a rest
amongst excellent company." Placing a small wooden box on the fountain's broad
brim, he seats himself happily beside Mia. Then, sensing the somewhat sombre
mood, his smile dims. "All is well, mellyn? Galharth, your leg heals?"
The reponse received from the lady is polite, and ordered, and clearly from the
Tailors shocked expression, a response far from expectations. At first his mouth
opens, and then snaps shut, but his eyes remain wide with concern. "Who are
you?" Galharth finally asks, stumbling over his own words, "And what have you
done with my friend?"
Shaking his head, he looks from Mia to Earsul, "My leg heals, and is no worse or
better than one can expect given what happened. I am rather pleased that I still
have a leg considering the efforts taken to remove it from my body." Looking
back to Mia, he nods in her direction, "But this....." he says, pausing as if to
figure out his words, "One does not flick water at certain people and then
expect to not gain some amusing response."
Mia sighs, her shoulders drooping. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but
stops.
She opens her mouth again, and again stops.
Finally, she rises and, with an apologetic look to Earsul, she turns an even
more mournful look to Galharth. "I'm sorry, and you are correct. I am not myself
of late, and you are... healing well." She smiles wanly. "I am very happy to see
that, and you owe much to the Lady for your swift recovery. It seems that she
handled your healing better than I, as I find myself.... weary." Again with the
wan smile. "So for now, if you two will excuse me and forgive my rude and abrupt
departure, I think I need to rest."
With that, she turns and wanders almost aimlessly from the courtyard.
A jaw that hangs open can not hope to relay any form of speech, and thus is the
case for the Tailor as he watches Mia depart. With his mouth still open, he
turns towards Earsul, and he lightly shakes his head as he puts forth the effort
to shut his mouth. "It was not you, mellon. But clearly something troubles Mia."
Galharth finally manages to say.
"She was unable to heal your leg herself?" Earsul asks, musing on Mia's last
words. "It is never easy to be reminded of a challenge one could not overcome.
Her faith in herself is shaken, perhaps." The Counsel shakes his head, and there
is sadness in his voice. "Would that she recovers it soon; the Wood is less when
she is so quiet."
Leaning his staff against the fountain edge, Galharth folds his hands together
on his lap. Staring down at his fingers, the ellon frowns slightly. "It was more
than a leg I fear." He says softly, "I'd retreated by the time help had come to
me." Lifting a hand, he flutters his fingers aside his head as if the action
would bring forth a clearer meaning to his word, "Inside," he mutters.
Looking up towards the other, he shrugs a shoulder. "She has the confidence,
skill, and all that might be needed to heal one in the state I was in, but...."
He pauses again and looks down. "but, I was apparently resistent. It took the
combined efforts of many to bring me out."
The breeze is still strong, but it is not the mountain air that chills Earsul.
Galharth's words are heavy, and they seem to hang in the air between the two
elves, resistant to the pull of the wind. "Ah, I did not know it was such a
serious matter," Earsul says eventually. "I am not surprised that Mia was
unsuccessful. If, as you say, it took many skilled in the arts, then your fea
must have been far indeed on Mandos' road. She should bear no shame in this,
rather respect, for even having the courage to venture after you alone."
A pause, and then he continues, "Aye, there are those who would have felt it
best to let you go, to the happiness that lies at the end of that road. But I am
glad that they did not," he adds, with the ghost of a smile.
Taking a breath and blowing air from the corner of his mouth, causing the
fluttering of silvery hair at his temple, the Tailor nods his head. "Certainly,
I find many thanks in the rising of Anor each day since," Galharth says with
firmness. "It saddens me to see Mia as she is, for should anyone ask I'd freely
tell them that it was my own fears that brought me to such a point." Looking up
towards the Vintner.... for indeed that is how the Craftmaster views Earsul,
dispite his place in the Royal Court.....he offers the shadow of a smile. "It
seems I must find a way to speak with her. I don't suppose you have a few spare
bottles of wine that might serve to soften such a talk?"
"For such a matter, I would give you my very best vintage," Earsul replies.
"Healing has many aspects; I like to think that wine would not be out of place
amongst Mia's many potions."
A genuine smile blooms on the Tailor's lips. "I'd not argue with that, for too
many herald the pleasures and gifts of a liquid treasure that begins life as a
nurtured vine." Looking in the direction in which the lady had taken, he shakes
his head. "For such a vintage, I'd trade for with a new robe. Something stately
made so that all might look upon you for your wisedom." Again he looks to Earsul
and lifts a brow, "I just realized something, mellon. In the tasks you've taken
in life, where one might not trust a politician, they would indeed trust their
winemaker. I'm impressed!"
"Your skills are great indeed, my friend, if you can make such a robe," Earsul
laughs. "Obviously, I would be happy to receive anything you care to make, but
be under no obligation. This is a serious matter, and I am glad to do what I can
to help." He pauses, and he speaks next, his tone is grave. "You raise another
serious matter, though. People think of me as a.. politician?" His face is
serious, but Earsul cannot keep a mirthful twinkle from his eyes.
"Is this not how folks view all within the Royal Court?" Galharth asks, with his
smile remaining firmly upon his lips. Unfolding his hands and placing them on
the wall of the fountain, he turns to look at the water. "I'll be glad to make
you a new robe, as it means a great deal to me to ease a dear friend's woes."
Looking up from the water he tilts his head. "Tell me, what color brings you the
most confidence?"
Earsul laughs, the sound coming easy from his lips, and dispelling the sombre
mood. "I had not expected to be facing such philosophical questions today," he
grins. "I do not oft clothe myself in colourful garb," he admits, looking down
at his raiment. "But.. perhaps something in green and gold, that would remind me
of the mallorn leaf, and instil some peace."
"The inquisition continues!" cries Earsul with mock indignation. "Ah, sometimes
I forget that you are more than a tailor," he adds with a smile. "Nay, alas,
good Prefect, I know nothing. Nothing official, at least. The Wood whispers to
me of a visit to Lord Elrond's house, but the Wood has been known to err."
A laughs comes forth as the Tailor opens his hand to release the last drops of
water. "I am sorry, mellon, but you made me think. For me to think is to speak,
or worse, to act." Resting his hand upon the fountain wall he looks along the
path. "Rhibi mentioned something about a trip to Imladhrim, but then again he
also mentioned a trip south to play in the snow with Lord Celeborn and Lady
Galadriel." Another soft chuckle escapes his lips as his gaze returns to Earsul.
"Would you go if such a trip were announced," holding his hand up, he waves off
protest, "I ask only if I've not reached my quota for questions this day."
"If I was asked, of course I would go," Earsul replies easily. "My service is
sworn to the Lord and Lady, I am theirs to bid. Whether I would request the
trip..." he trails off. "I cannot say. I have made the journey through the
mountains many times, and it has never been an easy one." The Counsel smiles,
and adds, "But playing in a snowfield with the Lord and Lady, on the other hand,
would be high on my list of trips to take."
"Then speak with the Lady and lend your aid for the snow outting," Galharth says
with a chuckle as he reaches for his staff. With a slight groan from the effort,
the Tailor hoists himself to his feet. "I'm sure the Lady would appreciate
having an extra set of hands to curb young Rhibi's adventurous spirit." Taking a
few steps to begin his journey anew, he pauses and looks to Earsul. "And should
you be asked to head north towards Imladhrim, do think of me as a possible
companion. I've never been there, and would very much like to see it." Looking
back along the path, the craftmaster continues along the path, slowly fading
from sight as he goes.