3/4/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:09 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 6 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Full <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 19 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3043>
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RL time: Tue Mar 04 18:03:12 2008
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Falls of Nimrodel
A careful ear would fancy to hear a voice singing, mingled with the sound of falling water. Here the cold, clear stream of the Nimrodel cascades over a stone outcrop into a shining pool: the mellyrn cluster around it, and the water is overhung by silver branches that bow closer to listen. Their great grey trunks are of mighty girth, their height cannot be guessed; their lowest leaves are dappled with spray and silver foam.

The gathering of trees abates only to the east. There the boles part, and the stream rushes down between them.

A well-concealed hithlain ladder hangs near the trunk of one of the mellyrn, some distance above the ground. It looks possible to climb up to it.

Contents:
Galharth
Varya
Maglind


Darkness blankets the land at the midnight hour. Thick clouds hange low over the treetops, blocking the field of stars. The trickle of water brings forth a mystical sound in the night, seemingly telling a tale of old with each droplet of water from the nearby falls. An intermittent breeze tosses the summer leaves, adding to the musical sound of the water. On this night, while sight might bring forth a sense of gloom, the sounds are soothing.

Moving carefully along the waters edge, the Tailor Galharth seems to be searching for something. A sound is heard to the south, and he pauses to glance over his shoulder. Peering into the darkness with narrowed eyes, he remains alert for several long moments before turning his attention back to the water.

There is a moving shape behind the sheet of falling water, and it grows clearer, elven features appear. A pale-haired ellon, stripped to ghostly white, moves slowly and gingerly to the pool's side, using the stone outcroppings as a support. Stooping, he dips a stained cloth into Nimrodel's song: once, twice.

And yet at this midnight hour, the Tailor is not the only one who stalks the banks of the Nimrodel, though he -- and Maglind -- is unique in treading upon the ground. As concealed in secrecy as it is, the hithlain ladder cannot hide the descent of a figure. Cloaked in the hues of shadowy underbrush and the pitch of the night, Varya carefully, slowly descends.

"Hello?" Galharth calls out to the moving shadows and light. As the Tailor speaks, his hand reaches for the hilt of his longsword. Frowning now, he looks around the riverside in the deep darkness void of starlight that might assure sight. Catching a glimpse of white, he steps forward. "Who's there?"

The ellon by the pool startles, throwing the white rag in the air and nearly slipping on the wet stone. "It's me," he says, straining to see in the darkness. "Oh, no. So you've found me, Galharth."

The descent of the marchwarden is unnoticed as Maglind feels about for the dropped bandage.

A sigh of relief escapes the Tailor's lips at hearing the Wardens words. "Maglind...." he says aloud. "How could I not search for you after hearing the news of your encounter?" Moving closer to the white of Maglind's clothing that seems to glow in the night, Galharth pauses by the pool. "It seems the news is grossly exagerated." He comments while carefully inspecting his friends form. "Are you injured?"

"They are only bumps and scratches," the warden says confidently, but he touches his neck very carefully. "I thought it well to borrow some bandages and tend to myself, rather than turn myself in to the healers." His mouth creases into a line of worry, though Galharth cannot see it. "The clothes..."

The ladder stills its awkward rustlings as the call of the Tailor and appropriate replies of Maglind interrupt the melody of Nimrodel. Varya looks downwards, poised upon a rung, listening.

He continues further downwards, no more giving much heed to stealth, as evidenced by the resumption of the rumble of rope upon trunk. He drops the last bit, and turns to face the two. Brows are furrowed slightly inwards, marking expression as concerned, but not overly so.

Snorting softly, the Tailor shakes his head. "News had reached the city that you'd been stabbed." he says while turning to the sound of the rope upon the trunk. "The Lady Galadriel interrupted a fitting so to go and see to your injuries. Imagine everyone's surprise to find that you'd not even come to the healers." Shaking his head, he says, "Don't be surprised if Nioniel comes hunting for you to discuss your clothes. She's kindly agreed to do the repairs from your attack."

When Varya comes into sight, Galharth nods. "Well met, Varya. T'is good to see you again." Glancing back to Maglind, he adds, "You both need a lesson in working less and enjoying good company more."

"I stabbed it -- the sentinels have large mouths," Maglind mumbles, making his way slowly around the pool. "I will gladly be hunted -- it is embarrassing to walk about in an under-tunic.

"Marchwarden," he calls, wringing out the bandage in his hand.

"Do not chide him over-much, Galharth," intones Varya, a melancholic warmth in his voice as he speaks, "as if every time the guard received a wound they trekked back to Caras Galadhon ..." a pause, pensive, "they would sooner die of the walk than wound. But, good eve and well met."

"I would have done the same," offers he to Maglind, a wry smile accompanying the comment. He steps closer to the two, though. "You are well?"

"I like the fussings of the Healers no more than any Guard," Galharth says, "But the news surprised me as our days of being injured each time we face Orc is long past. This thought has recently been enforced when I myself took down one of our visitors without taking even a bruise. The news yesterday gave me pause to wonder." Lifting a brow and inspecting the Warden once more, his gaze settles on Maglind's face. "Where is the rest of your clothing?" he asks.

"Each situation is different, Galharth," interjects Varya, "and I, for one, am not going to question the course of action that Maglind took. If you are able to evade injury when you are interfering with the uncouth visitors, so be it. The guard will be glad. But if it does not turn so, then the only thing one can do is learn from the situation."

"Well enough. He had an axe, Galharth," Maglind says, wrapping his arm tightly, "and I a dagger. The clothes are drying within the cave now; I had tried to wash them, making the tears worse."

"Washing in the dark will tend to do that to clothes, especially when they have been rent by axe," muses Varya, giving Maglind a quick up and down, inspective look. "An axe? And you a dagger?"

He shakes his head.


(Fade To Black)