================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Morning < About 10:48 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 45 Ethuil <Spring>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Mon Feb 26 12:16:21 2007
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Pasture
Looking around, you see something which stands out from all the forests: open space! Nestled here within these woods lies a large open meadow - obviously a pasture - ringed on all sides by the towering mallyrn of the surrounding forests. A surprisingly wide variety of domesticated animals wander freely about the field - mostly sheep and goats and small kine grazing in scattered groups across the meadow, and sleek horses trotting proudly about the area. Several dogs run about the field, but they seem more intent on romping than on herding the animals, which seem well content to stop of their own accord at the treeline, or to rest under the shade of the few oak trees scattered in the otherwise open land of the pasture. A few elven shepherds also wander about tending the animals, but like the dogs they seem to have little real work to do.

Looking eastward, you notice that the mallyrn aren't quite as thick as in the other directions. Peering closely between the trunks, you spot the sheen of the mighty Anduin river flowing sluggishly by, and can see flattened tracks where the animals have gone down to the river's edge to drink.

Participants:
Galharth
Tiridor
Silvarion
Mia
Losse (Galadriel)
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A warm breeze blows across the open field, south of Caras Galadhon. With it comes the heady scents of soil, grasses, and
animal kind. While the fragrance is not as enticing as the delicate blossoms, it has an appeal unique and to many
satisfying. Here, spring offers new sights, as new life appears in the faces of small lambs, and cheerful piglets. In the
distance, a small chocolate colored dog yaps intently as he herds a group of particularly playful lambs as they attempt to
leave the pasture. At the edge of the pasture, opposite the dog, an ellon chuckles as he watches the antics.

From the forest west comes a figure, calmly striding with the grace of his people evident in every movement of every part of
his body. Tiridor strolls in, seemingly without a care in the world, but his clothes reveal that he might have been in the
wild for a while, there are mudstains on his clothes.

Abruptly the lambs shy back from the mellyrn, as a tall figure steps out from amongst the tall trunks to stand at the edge
of the field. Deciding that there are better venues for their mischief, the little lambs scamper off across the verdant
grass, leaving the dog to peer at the new arrival and bark uncertainly.

Hooded and cloaked he is, though not clad in the habits of the Galadhrim; bold scarlet is his cloak, and he stands out
against the greens, greys and gold of the lawn and trees like a lamp in the nighttime. He stands watching the sheep, and the
antics of the youngest among them, silently. He does not yet appear to have noticed any Galadhrim in the area; or if he has,
there is no indication of it. The dog, losing interest in the silent arrival, turns and scurries off after more
entertainment.

Galharth's chuckle falls silent as the lambs scatter. At first it appears as if the dog might have excelled at job, but the
emerging figure heralds otherwise. Before a decision can be made as to what to do, another from the city arrives. "Well met,
melon," he whispers to Tiridor, as he continues to stare at the hooded figure. "Do you see our friend across the pasture?"

The Crafter watches as the dog loose interest, and with the animal's reaction, concern lifts. He lifts his hand and calls
out a greeting, "Well met, stranger! What brings you to our humble pasture!"

"A visitor, no doubt." answers Tiridor, with casualilty in his voice. Nothing new here, it seems to say. "I wondered when I
would meet some of them." He gazes away towards the hooded figure, and offers a welcoming smile. "Clearly one of the
high-borne." he whispers to Galharth. "judging from the stature and the boldness of his dress, would you not agree?"

Turning to the west when he is called to by Galharth, the figure in red raises a hand after a moment, returning the
greeting. He begins walking toward the pair of Galadhrim, tossing back his hood as he crosses the sundrenched pasture. "Hail
and good day to you, folk of Lothlorien. Fair and wondrous are the woods of Alatariel, yet sometimes time flows a little
thickly between their branches. These 'humble' pastures are a welcome respite to visitors, who want a little sunshine and
open air."

You say, "From the hood, I can tell not from where he hails, but the design of the cloak is of interest," the Clothier says
softly to Tiridor.

As the visitor reveals himself, clearly as a friend, Galharth offers a smile, and he too steps forward into the pasture. "I
am Galharth, but I've not had the pleasure to meet you before this day." His tone is friendly, and his posture is at ease as
he speaks, but his eyes flickering over the young animals at play speak of some level of caution. "Visitors are somewhat
rare, or at least they are in my own experience, so I find myself curiously asking many questions that might offend or seem
distrustful. I ask you please to not be offended by one not usually privileged to meet outsiders."

A pair of playful horses prance and chase each other around the field.

"Visitors to Lothlorien do seem to be a rarity," agrees the newcomer. "And travellers from Lothlorien even mroeso. A great
pity for all, yet I suppose such precautions are necessary in the East."

Nodding to the pair, the visitor says, "A pleasure indeed to meet you as well; I am Silvarion. I have visited your land
before, though admittedly rarely. It is always a welcome point of safety and rest when in Rhovanion, and such are few enough
indeed." After a moment, he adds with a laugh, "And fear not that your questions should offend; I have a thicker skin than
you might think."

You say, "If you have visited before, then I welcome you back, Silvarion." Galharth says with a slight coloring to his
cheeks. "And however thick your skin is, I am glad you understand. I'm a clothier by trade, and I can't imagine that is a
profession often called upon to greet visitors with any frequency."

Glancing towards Tiridor, and then back towards the visitor, he lifts a brow. "Tell me, have you reached the city gates yet,
or are you newly arrived within our land?"

A newly arrived woman from the forest path does not mask her surprise to find so many in her usually quiet retreat. She is
slight and wispy and not afraid to wear Time as openly as she wears her cloak, but she carries her years elegantly. She
shows no apprehension in spite of the foreigner - nor do the animals show any apprehension for her. Indeed, one of the
piglets trots towards her in jolly fashion and she reaches for a satchel which hangs beneath her cloak.

"I would guess it differently, Galharth. The world outside is not a friendly one, and there are plenty of possibilities to
have your garnments torn." He winks to the clothier. "And, besides, for someone who loves beauty as much as our people, what
more joy could it be than to bring something exotic home from a long travel?"a

Light as a breeze, and delicious as the warm scent of budding jasmine; with dancing steps (how else should one avoid the
messy piles littering the pasture? and barefoot, no less), Mia steps out from the dense woods and into the dazzling
sunlight. Pausing to lift her face to the sky, lips drawn back in a wide grin, she takes in a deep breath and spreads her
arms wide to the sun. It is just a momentary distraction, though, interrupted by the lowing of an animal across the field,
and so she continues with the task she has set for herself this day.

A basket, low along the edges and without a handle, is tucked between the crook of her elbow and her waist and,
periodically, the maiden stops to bend and pick something from the fertile ground and examine it before placing it in the
container. She is alone for now, absorbed in her duties and ignorant of the others who gather, but her path brings her
ever-closer, and she is destined to join their circle.

Silvarion shakes his head, eyes darting curiously toward the newcomers. "No, I have not yet gone to the City. It is such a
beautiful sight in the twilight, when silver lights are kindled amid the golden trees... I thought perhaps to tarry here,
and approach it again in the evening. Since I sent no word hence of my coming, I keep no one waiting due to the delay."

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, the visitor glances about with eyes sparkling in amusement, as he continues, "Perhaps I sent
no word, but by the sudden activity in this pasture... Perhaps you or your wardens have done so? It is said that no step is
taken in Alatariel's woods that is not watched, and mine would be no exception."

To Tiridor's words, Galharth laughs. "Your words ring true, mellon. Of late, there has been an odd increase in the
replacement of our visitor's cloaks."

"His laughter falls silent as Silvarion points out the increased activity, and his brow furrows slightly. "It would not
surprise me to learn that the Wardens have been tracking you from the very instant you entered our realm." With a slight
shrug of his shoulders, he adds, "Clearly from their absence, they deemed you as friend."

Glancing towards the new arrivals, the Clothier calls out, "Come welcome a visitor, my friends! Come meet Silvarion!"

"The wardens of our realms knows everything that happens." Tiridor says, and there is evident pride in these words. "Every
leaf rustling is noticed. Thus we are safe here."

He offers a polite smile to the visitor. "On the other hand, I doubt that they deem one of our own keen necessary to watch
more carefully. So you would, as you undoubtedly know, feel like home here, in every sense of the word. But we would be glad
to know beforehand would you wish to leave, so we would easy your way and our security, I am sure you understand. My name is
Tiridor, by the way."

Losse does approach the group, but whether it is her own volition or Galharth's invitation that propels her is not clear.
The piglet follow, little piggy snout pointed at the bag she carries. "Silvarion?" says the woman, "The name is not
unfamiliar to my tongue, though a yen or more it may have been and I stopped keeping a count long ago." Her gaze is not
unkind, but full of inquiry, as old women often are. "I am Losse of Dinlom. Can you tell us, sir, from whence you have come
and how long was your road?" At last the woman takes notice of her loyal follower and reaches into her satchel to produce a
handful of sweet grains for the piglet.

Mia picks something up off the ground, examines it closely, and then drops it with a grimace and shudder. Reaching down, she
begins to furiously wipe her hand amid a patch of grass just as a familiar voice breaks the silence and reminds her that
others DO exist. Almost guiltily, she glances over to where Galharth stands with others, and rises to approach. She is about
to push her hair back from her face, but stops to look at the offensive hand with disgust, and decides simply to cover the
distance with curly tendrils in her eyes.

"More than the wardens of your realm protect it, I think," murmurs Silvarion quietly. "Yet you are right to praise their
vigilance, Tiridor."

The old elf turns his attention to Losse, curious about one who knows of him. "It is my pleasure to meet you then, Losse of
Dinlom, though if we have met 'ere now, my memory is indeed failing me; I too will claim infirmity of age, perhaps, for I
feel certain I would otherwise remember a meeting with you." He falls silent, however, distracted by Mia and whatever it is
that she has found upon the ground.

After offering an amuzed gaze to the amorous piglet, Galharth glances towards Mia as she rises. Catching sight of her
expression as she looks to her hand, he quickly fishes into the pockets of his robe for a soft white cloth. "Forever and a
day, you've always got the badges of your labors upon your hands and upon your lovely dresses," the clothier mutters as he
offers the cloth to Mia. With his words, he offers a friendly smile and a tilt of his head. "It's been a while my friend, we
should meet soon to discuss a few things," he adds in a softer tone.

Turning towards Silvarion, he nods in agreement regarding the protection received from those outside the borders, but he
adds nothing.

A flock of starlings bursts from the trees and wheels about the field, finally disappearing over the treeline to the north.

Tiridor grins as he sees Mia. "But our friend here, she is always encumbered in her work, in a way that we should all
admire." he says.

"I am not sure if we have met in those times my duties have called me beyond our borders, to our kin in Imladris or among
the Ndaedheldrim." he adds towards Silvarion. "But I can swear I have heard this name somewhere also."

Mia takes the offered cloth and sighs, "You act as though you aren't thrilled with the challenges I set for you. Besides,
for one who toils among the flowers, it simply wouldn't do to dress in anything but the most succulent of colors." She
shakes the hair from her face with a grin, "I can't be outdone by a daffodil."

At Galharth's muttered comment, a small V forms on her forehead between her eyes, and so it is with a pensive expression
that she turns to the visitor and Tiridor. "I am admirable, that is for certain," she says with irony and a soft chuckle,
"Would that everyone thought as you do, Tiridor. Perhaps my path would have been a different one. One less...." She lifts
the previously offensive hand and flutters the fingers, "Anyway, where are my manners?"

"Curious," murmurs the old Noldo. "Perhaps from prior visits, few as they have been, I have been remarked. Or perhaps from
those few Galadhrim I have seen abroad... I remember fondly a meeting with Althea some years ago, and intended to pay a
visit upon her while I am here."

The thoughtful look falls away from Silvarion's face, and he smiles broadly at Mia and her self-effacing levity. "What have
we here? A flower from the gardens of the Lady herself, sprung to life and walking like a waken tree? For certainly we have
here the very image of a lily, the scent of a dozen roses, and the soft radience of a thousand tulips." Pausing, he adds
with a mischievous wink, "Or... At least... A gardener."

Losse assumes a skeptical expression at Silvarion's somewhat overwrought greeting to Mia. Having sent the piglet on his way
with a wedge of apple, she dusts her own pale hands off and crosses her arms. Then, she leans towards Tiridor in an aside
and whispers, "He has chosen the proper one for the buttering up if he is looking for a tea time with the Lady."

"You describe me so well, but for modesty's sake I simply go by Mia," she responds. "And is it really so suprising that you
would be remembered? There are few within Lothlorien who could not recall in detail each and every guest we have had within
their lifetime, as their numbers are so few and their arrival is so heralded."

It is Galharth's turn to fall speechless as first Mia's words and then to Silvarion's wit dominate the moment. Catching
sight of Losse lean towards Tiridor to whisper, his brow lifts with curiosity.

A smile from Tiridor is followed with a reply, "I would suppose so. Or possibly it is a simple assessment of his true
opinion. What will come of it, I am anxious to see." He looks over to Mia, curious to catch the reaction the spoken words
receives.

"Perhaps that is so," answers Silvarion simply. "I know less of Lothlorien than I do of the lands to the West. It is indeed
private, a modern 'fenced land' as Doriath of old. Communion is perhaps easier in Eriador; for all its perils, there are no
threats such as those you face here."

Looking toward the other Galadhrim, noting their quietly amused comments without hearing what they are, the old Noldo leans
forward and murmurs quietly to Mia, "Methinks your compatriots consider my interest suspect... Perhaps they think I am some
wandering vagabond, come to woo the local women and vanish, like some troubadour out of the old stories of Men. I doubt my
lady wife would be amused, however!"

Silvarion's gallant reponse draws a smile from the older woman. Satisfied that their visitor's presence is innocent enough,
Losse's mind is turned again to the task which she came here for. She strolls off towards the river and sends out a gentle
and melodious whistle which sends several of animals scampering after her.

"On the lands of the West or any lands for that matter, I'd be glad to hear any tales that you might wish to share,"
Galharth says quickly, revealing a growing interest in the world beyond the borders of his home.

As Silvarion leans to Mia, his gaze turns to watch as Losse wanders off towards the river. By the time his gaze returns to
the others present, what might have been said privately is now past.

There is a sparked interest in the face of Tiridor that he can not hide. "Please, do tell a tale, one perhaps of your
journeys?" he suggests. "For truely, it sounds as though they have been extensive."

Mia gives a slight shake of her head, "I think, perhaps, you have it wrong: It is they who are interested, as one might be
for an exotic tree or flower. Think nothing more than that, as I am sure that there is nothing more to it." But as Losse
walks away, her face falls. "Or not."

"As for feeling threatened, well... it really must be some time since your last visit. We are a haven in a struggling world;
a place for peace, rest, and reflection amid threatening darkness." She smiles ruefully, "We are very well protected from
that which might threaten us, at a cost that most of us live quite happily with." She looks to Galharth, her gaze tinged
with concern, and then to Tiridor, whom she simply shakes her head at and chuckles. "Though for some, seeing the world
beyond our borders is too great of a temptation."

Torn between the pleas of Tiridor and Galharth, and the caution expressed by Mia, Silvarion hesitates for a long moment.
"The lands of Lindon and Imladris are secure too, though they indeed retain an 'openness' that is not found in Lothlorien. I
merely meant that, in light of its location and relative isolation amid a world of perils, perhaps its extra caution is
understandable."

Looking up at the sky, and the wide open spaces visible here without the closeness of the trees, he seems unusually
reluctant to speak. "I would not unbidden fan the flames of curiosity of the Galadhrim; perhaps the next time my name is
known ahead of me, it will be a warning to the Wardens to turn be back at the borders of the woods. Yet neither can I refuse
so simple a request from my hosts, and one I can indeed sympathize with."

Looking over at the pair of inquisitive elves, the old Noldo says, "I know not what tales might amuse or entertain you. I am
no great singer, and most of my tales would stir you rather to sorrow than laughter. Yet in my time, I have seen the wonders
of the open land. Great cities of Elves, then Men. Deep halls of the Dwarves... Tall ships of the Mariners. Vast forests,
swift rivers, high mountains and rolling plains. Grinding ice in the north... And the edges of the burning lands to the
south. Few lands, however, are or were more lovely than Lothlorien."

"There is no harm in tales," Galharth says defensively to Mia. "I consider my trade to be one of art, and while there is
much beauty surrounding us and inspiration can well be found upon the edge of a meadow, I know there is more. I've come to
discover that my skills in creation have expanded greatly since hearing the tales from afar."

Turning to the elven visitor, he holds his head high. "When you've the time, I would hear any and all that you have to tell.
Hold back nothing, beautiful or of horrors, it all can be turned into art."

"I would here your stories as well." Tiridor concurrs. "Not only for the pure pleasure of the activity, of course, but also
because it is always good to know what goes on around the world, even if we would be better of not seeing too much of it."
Tiridor grins. He knows that he has more reluctance to see the world than many non-galadhrim, he would never dream to admit
anything negative about it. And his work has forced him outside the borders more than most in this land.

"But for now", he says, looking up the sky to get an approximation of the time, "I have myself a wife I need to see. So if
you would all excuse my lack of courtesy." He bows gracefully, and starts to move towards the city.

Silvarion laughs abruptly, dispelling his own somber mood, and says in reply, "Indeed, noble Galharth, you echo the very
sentiment of the One; perhaps, then, I can find some tales to tell... Of the world as it is, perhaps; the beauty of Lindon
may be unknown to you. Or, perhaps, the world as it was; of Nargothrond before its fall, and the beauty of the Queen Melian.
Not all tales are sad ones, though many end that way."

At Tiridor's words, however, Silvarion nods abruptly and says, "Indeed, dusk comes upon us all too soon, and I should begin
my trek toward your City. I suppose I ought also to pay my respects to your Lord and Lady. I hope to see you all anon."

"I meant no harm," Mia says to Galharth, "Nor did I mean to keep our guest from telling a tale or two. But I will not lie,
it relieves me that you are interested in his stories only for arts' sake, as I would be beside myself if I lost my friend
and keenest ally to wanderlust."

As the sun sets and the others speak of leaving, Mia nods. "Good eve, Tiridor, Silvarion..." She smiles to the visitor and
briefly curtsies, "Do not be suprised to find that the Lady already knows of your arrival, and should be expecting you
before long. Would that I could accompany you, but I have business to attend to here, and much to discuss, I am sure." She
looks to Galharth and raises her eyebrows briefly.

"Your path is short, though, and you should find yourself at the gates of the city soon. And worry not that you might
stray." Looking up into the trees at the edge of the pasture, she grins, "You will never be alone."

Without another word, she turns and walks a short distance away, there to wait for Galharth to join her.