1/30/2008

Sacred Grove

Standing atop a hill in this tranquil glade are two magnificent trees, both resembling the surrounding mellyrn, but each distinctly different. The first is completely silver in color, glowing bark and leaves both. Its twin, likewise, is entirely a golden color, including its shimmering bark, and when touched by the sun it illuminates the entire area with soft golden light. Clusters of small cairns rest at the base of the trees that encircle the meadow. An aura of overwhelming peace and tranquility emanates throughout the Sacred Grove; so much so that even the song of the birds that dwell here is subtle and languid.

Contents:

Istaril

Maglind

Nalas




Darkness is a pale thing here, shot through with silver and starlight. Gentle breezes stream amongst the mallyrn boughs, a music as gentle and endless as the melodies of the sea. Within the trees nightingales sing, their voices laden with glorious joys and secret sorrows.

Before the silver tree, an image of Telperion that once blossomed in deathless Valinor, there stands a maiden. Black tresses flow down her back, her skin white in the argent light - awed she stands, and in wonder. A song wends from her lips to melt with that of the nightingales. It may be that she weaves into Elven words their memories, for it is of Luthien she sings, the Tinuviel, most beloved her people.

Thus does Nalas appear, a figure tall and changeless as the trees.

Drawn by the starlight as it casts its light upon the golden canopy of Lothlorien, the Tailor wanders the city, deep in thought. Passing the sacred grove, a song touches upon Galharth's senses and he pauses. Peering into the Grove, he listens for several moments. "You have a lovely voice," he mutters softly as he moves closer.

The dying notes of Nalas' song hang shivering in the air and she turns to look behind her, whither Galharth has come. Her bright eyes are wide and startled, as a deer caught sleeping in the thicket. But soon she smiles and dips her head in thanks, long hair spilling like shadows about her.

"For what cause is the city in such a stir? Rumour flies like larks in summer, and I know not which to hearken to." A smile is flashed, fleeting, though warm.

"There are many things, and many causes to stir the city," Galharth says as he approaches the elleth. His right hand reaches up to touch upon his injured left cradled in a pure white sling. "But I think perhaps you speak of the latest incident within the crafters workshops."

Looking down upon his bandaged hand, the Tailor pauses only a moment before looking back up into the elleth's fair face. "There was an accident at the forges, and we now bring forth discussions as to the safety of the flames within the confines of the city." Pausing slightly, the crafter tilts his head and narrows his gaze. "I know you not, lady." he says softly, "I am Galharth, a Master Tailor within the wood."

Nalas laughs at this, tilting her head back as she does - pure is her gladness in this, swollowing whatever grief had tempered her shining countenance. "I am Nalas, though none may say that I have mastered aught. The forest is my joy, and the starlight."

Her head is canted, curious but unworried, "Of the fires you speak? And an accident?" Now her gaze slips down and lights upon Galharth's hand. Thoughtless and innocent as a child she reaches out for it, to hold in gentle commiseration, if such is permitted. "Aiya! Your poor hand! I hope it does not hurt overmuch...?" Dismayed is she, moved from one thing to another as easily as a bird flies upon a soft wind, each emotion keen and true in spite of the speed of its coming or going.

A young elf walks in from the west. He is appears to be in deep thought as he mouths words for which there is no sound. He is staring at the ground and wlking slowly towards the others in the grove. Orodrhandir looks up quickly and is surprised to see others there. His face quickly turns into a warm smile as he notices the craftmaster.

Looking at the bandaged hand of Galharth, Orod says, " I see Istaril has taken care of that burn. I trust that you are feeling well." Then noticing the elleth standing next to Galharth Orod turns his attention to the fair maiden. His eyes sparkle with the enthusiasm and wonder of a young elf of the Galadhrim. "I apologize my lady. I hope I am not interrupting anything. I am Orodrhandir." With that said Orod bows slightly in the direction of Nalas. As Orod raises his eyes to meet Nalas' she is greeted by a broad smile.

"The forest and stars are both worthy of attention, for I myself ind the stars to be an inspriation like no other." The Tailor says while offering a smile to the elleth. Lifting a hand to her concerns for his hand, Galharth shakes his head. "Worry not over my injury, for the healers have seen to my needs." Pausing a moment to look down at his hand, his gaze lingers only a short time before returning to the raven haired elleth.

At the sound of anothers voice, the crafter turns. "Indeed she did," he replies with a half smile. "Though it took some convincing to do so in the manner that was needed at the time." Pausing only a moment more, he adds, "And thank you Orodrhandir, I do feel better."