================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Morning < About 8:46 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 34 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>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Sun Oct 07 20:55:42 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
Ostiel
Pelliwen
=====================================================================

The light of early morning shines down throught he canopy of Lothlorien, bringing forth highlights to the golden crowns of the Mellyrn. With the light comes a soft breeze from the east. The wind carries delicate scents of spring blossoming far outside this protected realm. It is a pleasant day, and the roses are in bloom, for the mystical power of the Lady keep them ever in bloom....

Moving slowly into the Rose Garden, the Tailor Galharth hums a happy tune. The sound he makes is almost in time with the lovely song of the bards that sing in the distance. Pausing before a red rose bush, the craftmaster bends down to inspect a perfect bloom. "It never ceases to amaze me," he mutters aloud.

"Such an exquisite piece of life, so small, and yet so large in the eye." Ostiel pauses in digging up dead roots in a plot nearby to look over at Galharth, smiling warmly. "There can never be enough roses."

Into the garden, looking less-road weary whence last seen by elf eyes comes the tall ranger known as the Iron Horse of the North. Rather than striding, he walks slowly, taking his time. His hands are clenched behind him, his bootsteps soft on the earth, making nary a sound but the softest thump, as though an acorn has fallen from the lowest branch of a young tree.

He pauses, hearing voices, and looks, seeing a known and unknown firstborn. "Mae Govannen," he starts, comin g forward, "My Lord Galharth, how fare thee?"

Peering over a bush, the Tailor catches sight of the Attendant Ostiel. "Well met, mellon," Galharth says with a grin. "How have you been these past days?" Catching sight of her work, his grin fades, "Are you busy? I would not like to disturb you if you are."

The sound of another, clearly not firstborn from the sound, catches the Tailor's attention and he turns. "Angroch? Well met indeed!" he says with the grin once more returning, "Aragorn mentioned that he and his folk were to leave soon, and I was sure I'd not have the chance to see any of you again for some time."

"Nay," Ostiel responds, smiling in greeting to Angroch, "I will be finished soon enough. Then we shall talk." That said, she goes back to her gardening.

The human stops, glancing over towards the gardening elf before bringing grey eyes to the Tailor, "Aye, so it seems we should be leaving soon. More's the pity. I have grown quite fond of your land."

He looks around the garden, as though taking it in for the first time, "Quite fond, indeed. It should be quite regretful to leave, alas I must, for my boots have many miles before them, and time spend within fair Lorien but delay the inevitable>

"Has something happened to the south?" Galharth asks, clearly consumed with curiosity. "Or is this a regular route inspected by your folk?: Leaving Ostiel to her work, the Tailor steps away from her work area. As he draws closer to the human, his crystal blue eyes sweep over the Ranger as if to inspect his attire. "Is there anything I can do you for you or Aragorn before you both leave?" he asks softly as he focuses his eyes upon the human's face.

A smile creases the face of Angroch, the lines of his face deep, though mirthful, "You mean so as to practice your craft, mellon?" He glances at himself, wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin, now, though he carries in the nook of his arm his leather coat, the tails of which are tattered and mud-caked from the road.

A beat, then, holding forth the coat, "The weather is warming, and my recent trip north has left my favorite coat much the worse for wear. As you offer, I should like the hems fixed and, if you could do something about these ragged edges, I would be in your debt."

"As for the south," the ranger says, "Naught has crossed my years for trouble southwards. I spent many summers in the land of the Rohirrim when I was young, and merely yearn to be once again among the horse masters."

"My craft, or any other that we perform within Lothlorien." Galharth says firmly, "A Craftmaster does have some say." Pausing with his mouth partially open in converstation, the Tailor inspects the Iron Horses attire, from head to toe.

"There is no debt, nor will there ever be," the crafter says flatly, "That which the crafters of Lothlorien give are yours to keep."

Shaking his head the crafter hobbles his way to a nearby bench to rest. "Rohirrim," he mutters as if it were an insult. "I wonder if it is the horses themselves that draw your attention.

A soft, spring breeze licks across the leaves of the Rose Garden and ripples through Angroch's hair. He runs one hand through it, though it is a fruitless gesture, for his hair does as it pleases.

The Iron Horse follows Galharth to the bench and sits upon the grass. He watches the elf, "Then I offer you my thanks, not only for your tailoring, but also for the company."

The ranger takes in a deep breath of the cool, refreshing spring air. After gently releasing it, he speaks, low, and with a soft chuckle, "Ah, the Rohirrim have their ways, and oft they appear even rude. As for the horses, nay. I hate the beasts, and they me. Short were the times when I was a child being raised around horses when I was not suffering a bite of some sort. Yet my memories of my father and mother lay upon parts of the Riddermark, and I should want to see them again."

"They did indeed seem rude," Galharth says quickly, as if the memory still lingers. "But I imagine most if not all of their reception was based upon a never ending moment of expectation for the time that will come during an attack."

Serious words fall towards humorous, and the crafter chuckles softly. "Or perhaps I and Rhibi managed to do everything wrong during our encounter. If not for Maglind, we'd both likely be dead."

Leaning back on his hands, sitting upon the cool earth, Angroch laughs softly, "Your situation sounds similar to many coming across the riders of Rohan. It is no small wonder the firstborn of Lorien trust not those of my kind. Many do not set a very good example, though perhaps it comes from distrust."

Shaking his head, as though the humor from the conversation seems to slip away from his last statement. "I, for one, then am glad Maglind accompanied you in your meeting with the Rohirrim."

"Indeed, am not unique in this world," Galharth says as he takes a step towards the ladder into the Healing talan. "And as far as Maglin, I stand beside you in the thanks I give." Pausing his step, the Tailor looks to the Ranger and smiles. "Should I mss you for whatever reason, be safe in your journies my friend.' With that the ellon moves up the ladder, disappearing quickly inside the Healing Talan.

The soft sounds of the flute preceed the arrival of Pelliwen. Always she is playing her instrument. All day, all night. Wondering about Lothlorien, happy in her solitude. This has been the case for many years, and usually she can be recognised by her tone alone, as she is more often heard than seen. Emerginging from the southern hedges, the elleth steps toward the rose garden, her slender fingers darting about as she plays an energetic tune. Although well played, the tone of the wooden flute is lacking to some. It is dull, hollow and vaguely out of key with itself. Upon casual inspection It is obvious that the flute is not perticularly well constructed. For not only is it not perfectly straight, as it appears to have been intended, it is rough around the edges. Nevertheless, the elleth strolls ino the rose garden. Dressed in browns, her cloak catching the wind as she walks. Paying little attention to those withen, she slowly progreses near as she plays with all her energy.

Watching the Tailor leave, Angroch says, "I thank you for your kinds words, and your company, mellon."

Turning, the human cocks his head hearing the sound of the flute wisp through the leaves of the rose bushes. He turns his eyes to fall upon the elleth entering the garden. He does not greet her with words, but watches, the left side of his mouth turning up in smile.

Pelliwen, rarely greets anyone, as she is always wrapped up completely in her own thoughts. And only in the rarest occasions does she engage in conversation. Usually this young silvan will arrive and exit, with only the memory of her music left behind to prove she was ever there. However, when a bearded human turns to look upon her, the playing abruptly stops, and she is immediately brought to a pause. With a half-step taken backwards, the elleth's head cocks thoughtfully while here eyes dart up and down the seated being. Not a word is spoken as she decides what to make of this event...

For a long moment, the human sits, his eyes watching the firstborn watch him. His slight smile remains, both on his lips and in his eyes. At last he stands, easily lifting himself to his feet. He pulls down his tunic and pats off his palms.

Another moment passes before he speaks, his voice soft, though slightly raspy, not unlike a low wind though the needles of a fir tree, "Mae Govannen."

Drawing her crude wooden flute close to her body, the elleth continues to thoughtfully look over the human with an expression of great curiostiy. Her green eyes taking in every detail. When the human speaks, her head bobs abruptly while fingers clutch at her flute nerviously. Taking another half-step backward, the elleth offers the slightest of smiles. "Hello..." she replys at a near whisper.

"I will not harm you, nor would I ever harm any of the firstborn," he says, voice just loud enough to carry to the elleth's ears. "I am Angroch son of Angbrog, ranger of the North and elf friend. I have been in Lorien for many weeks now, and have returned from a scouting trip north with Tolur and Maglind, ensuring the security of Lorien's borders. You have no need to fear me."

He looks down at himself and laughs, "Save my appearance, of course. I could use a bath. I appologize."

It is obvious that the silvan has not encountered many non elves, for she displays an obvious mix of fear and immense curiosity. "I... Am Pelliwen.." she replays softly, without movement. Still clutching her flute close to her heart, her green eyes look over the human thoughtfully.

A slight step forward the human takes, though his path is not direct, but slightly at an angle, so his path leads towards a blooming rose. However, as he steps, he makes no noise. He glances at the roses and runs one hand over the velvet petals, feeling the organic beauty within.

"Well met, Pelliwen," he says, his Sindarin fluent. "Please, let me not interrupt your flute-playing, unless you should wish conversation."

"You have travelled a great distance..." she states softly, her eyes following the human as moves about. Body absolutely still, she does not take another step back, though she continues to twittle nerviously with her flute.

"Not an uncommon thing," Angroch says, bringing his look from the blooming roses to the elleth, "And certainly not an unfortunate thing. My boots have taken me far, though never before have mine eyes seen this so fair land called Lorien. Fortunate I was to have seen the golden leaves of the mellyrn fall, and blessed to see spring come."

The elleth's brow furrows, her hands still figiting with her flute. "I assume you will be staying then. Such a waste it would be to continue to travel such long distances, seeing that your life is so short..." Pelliwen states innocently, her inquiring eyes still darting all over the human. "You smell funny..."

Laugher emits from the human and he shakes his head, "You have obviously not met any of my kin. While our lives are short to the firstborn, we live much longer than most men."

His laugh fades, though his smile does not, "Still, staying would be nice, but I am to travel south soon. I should not want to stay so long as to make the entirety of Lorien smell, as you say, funny."

Reaching up the elleth flicks a loose strand of her otherwise perfect auburn hair behind an ear, her eyes never leaving the human. "I was not to speak with them previously, too young. My father would not have it. Now I do as I please.." she says softly, still speaking at almost a whisper. Likely not realising the human ear is not as acute as the elven. Her head continues to tilt thoughtfully as the human moves and speaks.