================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Dawn
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 62 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 18 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3042>
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RL time: Thu Nov 22 15:14:53 2007
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Anduin Vale, North of Lorien
The foothills have begun to give way beneath you, the ground more level and smooth to the east, upon the plains of the Anduin river. There are trees here, but it is difficult to see much during the night. The Misty Mountains still seem to make their presence felt to your west but appear now as mere shadows and nothing more. It feels as if this area is free from any danger imaginable, as the unrelenting heat gives way to the refreshing breezes brought by the onset of darkness.

Rain pours down from the night sky, drenching all around you. The nighttime summer air is hot and muggy around you. The moon is new.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
Iaelen
Lostiriel
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Dawn creeps forth from the east. With the coming light, the stars begin to fade into the lightening sky. From the south, a warm breeze blows, brining the scent of the golden wood to it's sons and daughters who await for the Guards so that news can be shared. Birds and small animals come forth from their rest, carrying a playful sound into a setting that is hushed with tension.

Galharth stands on the border of the camp, staring intently towards the North. His expression is neutral, without hint of his feelings or thoughts. His hair flickers in the breeze, offering the only movement visible from this edhel.

Something comes forth from the North. It is the sound of hooves, of jingling harness and clattering arrows, and an impatient whinny.

An answer to Galharth's stare, he might be. A noble harbinger of news, Maglind is not. The silver shape of a swift horse overcomes the plains, and a figure clings to its back. Bouncing, wobbling, a shock of golden hair -- it is the Warden.

At the first sound of approach, the Tailor's head turns to watch. As the mounted figure draws near, Galharth lifts his chin slightly. "Maglind," he says in a low voice. It is not a greeting of friendship so often given between these two, but one that hints of something unsaid. "I've been waiting for your return," he adds as he steps forth.

Iaelen stands not far off, brushing the soft sable coat of his steed, nose pressed into the warm hide, shoulders heaving in a silent sigh. He seems lost in inner wanderings, thought taking precedence over the outer world. At the approach of the Scout, however, the healer's head snaps up, interest immediately narrowing and focusing.

Moving forward from the camp to stand next to Galharth, Lostiriel is beckoned by the sound of a horse and, gazing into the growing light, catches the sight of Maglind's approach. Her gaze is sharp and there is an air of solemnity emanating from the Courier as she waits, standing still as the breeze stirs the long strands of her hair. She glances toward Galharth for a moment, then to Iaelen, and finally turns back toward Maglind, quietly watching as he draws near.

"Galharth," calls Maglind as he attempts to dismount before the steed has thundered to a stop. He comes before the craftsmaster, one foot in the stirrup and one on the ground. "I saw tracks coming south. What has happened?"

"The Noldo Gildor rests within our camp," Galharth says as he steps even nearer to the Warden. "He brings with him news of great urgency." Drawing close to the Warden, the Tailor glances back towards the camp a moment before returning is attention to the Guard. "The high pass is blocked by a fortress built by Orc and other such things. Apparently folks from the Valley and that of Beorning have attempted to clear the pass without sucess. They seek help from Lothlorien." He says in a quiet voice. Bending his head, he adds. "I will be returning to Lothlorien to bring the Lord and Lady news, and shall bring both Lostiriel and Pelliwen back with me. Gildor now waits for you to decide if you shall continue north to aid their cause or if you will return home with me."

Maglind pauses in unsuccesfully tethering Celegbellas; his eyes widen in shock. "A fortress? But how?" He is at a loss for words.

"I see," he says at last, running a hand over his face. "I would be too eager to go north, but I do not know what a few more arrows will do. And you too would be left without the guard on your trip home.

"What would you advise, Galharth?" he asks quietly.

Listening to the exchange between Galharth and Maglind, Lostiriel silently looks outward, her gaze stretching over the land unfolding before her. Lines of worry work themselves into her brow and a sigh escapes her as she ponders what is being said, but still she is silent, waiting to hear Galharth's response.

"If I may..." Iaelen approaches with calm step, though his expression is troubled. "You speak wisely, Maglind, with logic and truth. Though the chances of attack this close to Lothlorien are slim, it is best to take precautions. However, I have been thinking, and," he frowns, tucks his cloak more tightly about his body, "What if one stayed to travel back to the Wood, and one went on ahead, in preparation for the arriving of greater troups? One of our people would be enough to make assessments of the situation, so that when reinforcements arrive, they will be better informed as to how to lend assistance. Two are better than one, surely, but the option is still present." Sighing, he looks to Galharth, Lostiriel, and back again to Maglind. "Granted, it seems risky, but all things should be taken into account."

"Anything more you'd have to speak with Gildor, for I can only relay what little I have." Galharth says softly in response to Maglind's questions. "I can not decide for the Guards, as you know your own counsel, but I can not with a clear mind bring inexperienced folks into a place where I know a battle awaits us. The Attendant Iaelen has chosen to travel with you whatever your choice might be, so I do not speak for him." A stern look crosses over his face as Iaelen speaks, and he frowns. "Many a time I've been mentioned as foolish," he pauses to glance to Lostiriel before continuing, "but this is not so. We're not far from the border, and my sword can provide the safety for those I'll escort home. You know my skill Warden, and while I am no Guard, you know I can protect adequately. So I say, worry not Maglind, if the Guard are to travel north we will return safely."

"I know your skill," Maglind replies.

"I will continue north with the Noldo, then, with any who will come with me. If we are to scout, and send reinforcements later," he says, distractedly patting the silvery horse's mane, "we must travel quietly. Might I send the horses back with you, Galharth?"

"Well," Lostiriel finally says, breaking her silence. "What is it that you propose Galharth? That Maglind make his decision, and Pelliwen and I journey back with you?" It is a nuetral question, and she ignores the glance thrown in her direction. She pauses for a moment and, after hearing Maglind's decision, drops her gaze for a moment before turning back to Galharth.

Iaelen is not entirely happy to be ignored, mouth pinching, but he holds his peace, nodding in regard to Maglind's decision. Now he strides back to his horse, picking up his bags.

"We three, will return to Lorien, Lostiriel, and report the news of the Fortress to the Lord and Lady." Galharth says firmly, "Our experiences are not of a trained Guard, and while I can protect and face threat with a good amount of skill, my place is to defer to those more knowledgeable in the ways of war."

"Glancing towards the Attendant in time to catch the pinched expression. With curiosity, a brow lifts. "Iaelen? It is my assumption that you intend to follow through and go northwards with the Guards?"

"I am sorry that this trip has begun thus," murmurs the warden, turning to Lostiriel. "If there were more time and less urgency, I would have taken the southern gap."

Maglind begins to sort through his saddlebags, tossing the unneeded in a pile on the ground.

"Yes," Iaelen calls softly, also lightening the load in his bags. "I hope there are enough supplies," he whispers to himself, securing the two fabric carryalls onto his back.

The Courier's expression is veiled as Galharth speaks and a tiny, nearly imperceptible sigh escapes her. She turns away and begins to head back toward camp, but is stayed for a moment by Maglind's words. "I am sorry as well, Maglind." She offers him a smile, and says, "I wish you well in your endeavor." Then, glancing to Galharth and then to Iaelen, she wanders toward camp, her steps slow.

"Nay, Maglind, it is just as I thought. We can not ignore a request for help. To divert along another path is not a decision of our choosing." Galharth says with a slowly exhaled breath of air. "Perhaps the Lord and Lady will send us along the Redhorn pass to send word of the Fortress and those of the Valley trapped to the east, but we'll not know until we bring the news home."

Watching Lostiriel return to camp, the crafter shakes his head. "She is disappointed. She put much into this trip and prepared well." Glancing towards Maglind, he shrugs his shoulders. "I'd have wished to see her complete this mission. Perhaps she'll have another chance if a messenger is needed to cross over the southern pass."

"There will be other trips to Imladris, if we finish this well," Maglind replies, shouldering a lighter pack. "But I, too, am disappointed."

"Where is the Noldo?" the warden asks, glancing at the camp. "If he is not resting, I should like to speak with him."

The Tailor sweeps his hand towards the camp. "He waits," Galharth says. Pausing a moment, the crafter looks towards the Warden. "Be careful my friend," he says softly before he turns and heads to prepare the Courier and the Learner for their return to Lothlorien.