4/6/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon < About 3:11 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 30 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <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: Sat Apr 05 23:03:51 2008
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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.

Contents:

Nioniel


The early afternoon sunshine beams happily down upon the wide, verdant pasture. With all the joyful prancing and playing of the various animals that make their home here, you would think that no one could avoid joining them in their happiness. However, there is a single elleth, clad in dark blue who stands out among them. Her countenance seems to be about as blue as her gown as she drops down onto the remains of a tree trunk to sit a while.

The seamstress, Nioniel seems more than a little agitated, drawing her hair back and busying herself in re-braiding it as she takes a breather. She looks as though she has walked far, and to no purpose.

Entering the pasture with an open journal in hand, the Tailor seems almost oblivious to the world around him. Stopping along the meadow's edge he looks up to scan the field as if looking for someone. When his eyes fall upon the Seamstress, he smiles. "Well met, Nioniel!" He calls out, moving so to join the Journeyelf. "While my own duties are varied as Craftsmaster, I have to admit that I just didn't expect to see you here in the pastures." Galharth says warmly, "Tell me, what brings you here."

Normally, the sight of Lorien's master tailor would lighten Nioniel's countenance on any occasion. However, today as she is greeted by Galharth so warmly, she flips the finished braid over her shoulder to tie it and only smiles weakly in return - if not a tad stiffly: "Seek and ye shall find - I believe the saying goes, Galharth. But I assure you I have not found what I have been seeking - I cannot find Maglind to give him the news of rangers soon to be upon us. I've been looking for him all day to no avail...and so when I found myself here, I sat down to rest."

She pauses and looks away toward the woods before glancing back at the tailor: "What brings you here, then?"

Lifting a hand from the journal, he flutters his fingers towards the tree canopies above. "He's probably hiding somewhere along the border so that none, not even the squirrels can find him." Galharth says flippantly. "Perhaps the Loremaster or the Commander would know of his whereabouts, for I'm certainly last on the list of knowing the Marchwarden's secrets."

Perhaps it is anger which flashes suddenly in Nioniel's eyes ... it's a rare sight, to be sure. But a spark seems to rise in the deep blue as she gazes keenly at the tailor, speaking so flippantly. After a moment's pause she looks away, "I do not appreciate being sent on a fool's errand." she says simply at first, trying to withhold more - but out it comes like a flood: "Hiding is he? Yes, that's reason enough for me not being able to find him. But it's you I have to thank for it, or so I understand. I have met many today in the wood who spoke of your spat by the river!"

"Oh?" Galharth asks as his composure ices over. "Certainly you do not speak of the task to inform the Marchwarden of upcoming visitors, for that task intends to potentially save lives. A life is far from foolish." Lifting his chin ever so slightly, the Craftsmaster narrows one eye while lifting the brow of his other. "And now I'm to blame for the Marchwarden not having the sense to come out when folk seek to provide him news?"

At the mention of the spat, a frown appears upon the cool expression held by the Craftsmaster. "What occured upon the rivers edge is personal in nature and does /not/ impact my choosing you to seek the Marchwarden." Galharth says with a slight hint of anger. "If you're unwilling to complete a task requested by a visitor, then I'll be glad to release you from it, and complete it myself."

Cringing a little as Galharth gives her a thorough tongue-lashing, the elleth seems to have difficulty in forcing herself not to drop her gaze away from the tailor remorsefully for not minding her own business. However, the sudden threat to complete the task himself seems to raise her ire once again and she stands erect ... really coming no where near his own height, and tries to look bold.

"You ought to be seeking Maglind out yourself, but not for this task! Anything that drives a wedge between two friends as close as you Must be wrong. If you cannot see that... then you are not the elf I thought you were."

She pauses and trembles a little before continuing, "I look up to you, you know - try to emulate you, even. But now ... &qquot; her voice fails her and she sits down weakly once more.

With the Seamstresses words, the Tailor tucks the journal into a pouch at his waist, then crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest. "Follow your own path Nioniel, for my own is riddled with poor choices and assumptions that later proved me the fool." Galharth says flatly. His frown is deep, and his gaze looks long past the Seamstress. "The wedge as you say was driven, and it was not of my doing. Even when faced with the hurt I felt, Maglind further deepened the pain by saying I should forget the times shared as brothers.... for indeed they were not moments of friends, but rather his duty." Shaking his head, he turns away. "The matter is well beyond my control, so do not demand something of me that I can not provide."

Silent and solemn, Nioniel listens to Galharth's speech, but she does not remain so for long. Still, this time as she speaks up, her voice sounds almost pained - as if choking back tears: "Friendship does not mean lack of fights. However much you may love someone, you will disagree and fall out eventually - but that doesn't mean an end to the friendship - unless you /want/ it to be so."

The seamstress pauses and rises shakily to her feet once more. Softly she comes over to where Galharth has turned so she might still speak to him from the front. Her eyes are sympathetic now, instead of angry, "I'm just sure that if Maglind said something so hurtful, it was only in anger. We often don't mean what we say when we're angry and hurting, ourselves."

"I did nothing," Galharth says as he hangs his head, "How often did I tell one and all that Maglind deserved a promotion, for indeed, in my eyes he held great skills that others would do well to follow, and yet..." he says, pausing his words as if to gain some measure of control. "And yet, when the time came and he gained the promotion, he held that news to himself, even when I mentioned speaking directly to the Commander and the Lord on his behalf." Looking up, crystal blue eyes peer directly at the Seamstress. "Is this friendship?"

Taking a step back towards the path, he sighs. "I have been made the fool, and mocked at the discovery. Would you have me make a greater fool of myself when in fact the matter lies in Maglinds hands."

The seamstress listens carefully, and respectfully to all Galharth might say, and her expression turns from pain to mostly sadness, "I cannot speak for what passed between yourselves as being friendship; and I cannot speak for Maglind's actions. But I do know this... "she sighs and looks up at the sky as if fighting back tears before saying more, "One torn page out of a hundred in a marvelous story does not mean the book should be burned. Pages can be mended... but mark me: you cannot put back things as they were out of ashes. Don't let the fire destroy something so precious."

"Indeed friendships can be mended, but as it took both parties to voice the pain and anger, so too would it take two to mend." Galharth says faltly, "And Maglind has made it more than clear that all that was is to be forgotten." With that said, the Craftsmaster hurrys off so to avoid any further discussion on the matter.