11/30/2007

Lawn
Here the stairway through the mellyrn meets the top of a mighty hill, opening out into the middle of a great lawn filled with blue and yellow flowers. At the center of the lawn stands a great shimmering fountain which falls into a basin of silver. From the basin flows a white stream of water out into a small brook, which then trickles away down the hill. Further north there stands a mallorn tree of such magnificent height that it seems to reach even to the clouds. A path paved with white pebbles curves around the hilltop, leading west and east from the stairs.

Contents:
Galharth
Rhibi

A thin slivered moon shimmers in the dancing waters of the fountain, and sprays its light across the dreaming lawn. Leaves rustle quietly in a small breeze; almost one could hear the words they speak. Listen closely. And a faint haunting melody rises towards the stars.

Rhibi is lying on his back, arms and legs and hair flung out across the grass, and staring up at the night-time sky. Every now and then, carried by the playful wind, a few droplets of water land on his face, but he doesn't move or blink.

With his staff in hand, the Tailor Galharth moves as a swift pace south from the Great tree. In his hand he holds a small journal. Reading the journal as he walks, the Crafter occasionally looks up to keep his path straight and clear of hazards. Looking up as he nears the fountain, he catches sight of Rhibi. Smiling, the ellon closes the journal and slows his pace till he comes to a halt by the younger edhel. "Ah, Rhibi, well met." He says, still smiling, "I've been looking for you."

The youth blinks, and his eyes refocus. For a minute, he looks at Galharth rather blankly, as if he has no idea who the other elf is, then he leaps up. "Galharth! I have been watching the stars! What are you reading? Is it very interesting?"

Glancing at the closed journal for a brief moment, the Tailor quickly looks back towards the youth. "It's a check list. One hastily done I might add." Galharth says as he tucks the small book into a large pouch hanging from his waist. "If you'll recall, we were on our way to Imladhrim, and turned back only a short distance from the border. Well....." he says, pausing a moment to draw in a breath. "We've been sent forth again along a different path to bring reports of the Highpass Fortress to Lord Elrond."

Rhibi's eyes widen, then widen still farther. "And I am coming with you!" he cries joyously. "I must go and get my bow at once, and many arrows, and have you gotten all the things on your List? Who else is going? Shall we meet many orcs? I shall slay them all!"

Lifting a hand and patting the air as if pushing back the youth's enthusiasm, the Tailor chuckles softly. "Indeed, I wish for you to come with me as those who might be available for escort are being deployed to Beorning. It is a serious matter Rhibi, as the party will be, Lostiriel, myself, and two Guards, with you being one of the Guards." Galharth says. Again he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly as he turns towards the northwest. "We're travelling by horse, and we're to leave in the morning." Looking back at Rhibi, a brow lifts slightly. "It is my great hope to meet no Uruk, but we must prepare for the worst. Can you be ready in such a short time?"

The young elf dons a mantle of great seriousness. "Of course, I can," he says confidently. "Who is the other guard? You and Lostiriel must do just as we say, so that we can keep you safe. Have you leathers to wear? Remember, we must go very quietly. Would it not be better to walk? We can be quieter that way, and I can walk faster than a horse!" It might be comical, save that he is so greatly in earnest.

"No Rhibi, this group is being led by me, and the Guards fall under my command." Galharth says with a strange firmness, most unlike other excursions beyond the border. Any hint of a smile fades, and the Tailor seems almost ready to defend his words. "The decision to travel by horse has been made, for they run faster and longer than I myself can run." Shifting his weight slightly against his staff, the Craftmaster peers intently at the youth. "Again I say this is a serious matter, we'll have little time for playfulness on the journey. Can you manage this my friend?"

A sudden scowl descends on the youth's face, and then clears into a sunny smile. And, equally, firmly, he replies, "I shall do all that you say except if we are attacked. Then you must do as we say. You are /not/ a guard." And a bit indignantly, "Of course I can!"

Silence is the response that follows Rhibi's words, and it is finally broken with a shake of the Tailors head. "Alas, there is no compromise and it seems my mind is to be changed. I would take you, but I'll not take this mission if there is to be conflict if the worst occurs. I am no Guard, but I am competent of command on this matter."

Long distance to Celeborn: Galharth nods. Not really into it, but Loth wanted RP. I was going to take him to Rivendell as one of the Guard, but I've changed my mind as he's insisting that I have to listen to him if we're attacked. I'm so not in the mood for this.

Rhibi's face falls, and he looks down. Then he looks back up, squaring his shoulders. "Then you must find someone else," he says unhappily. A minute's silence, broken only by the laughing fountain. Then words burst out, "But how can you expect your guards to keep you safe, if you don't do as they tell you in a battle? I have been told that over and over and over, all of my life, and I am not incompetent or unable to defend myself. You might just as well go alone!" Then a sudden flash of thought crosses his face and he adds bitterly, "I see. You do not trust me." He turns away, stiffly, and over his shoulder repeats his first words, "You must find someone else."

Again silence is the immediate response to Rhibi's words, but it is clear from the Tailor's expression that there is no quarter to be given. "I am sorry you feel that way Rhibi, but I can certainly understand your decision." Galharth says softly. Leaning his head slightly against his staff, he offers the younger edhel a weak smile. "Good commanders do not pour forth unfounded accusations, nor do they voice worries over trust. Your time will come my friend, but that time is not now."

With that, the Tailor turns and retreats to the North, clearly intent upon completing his tasks before leaving.