====== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> =======
IC time is: Midnight < About 1:46 AM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 32 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 19 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3043>


Elendor - Sunday, April 06, 2008, 1:37 PM

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The Gates of Caras Galadhon
You stand now in the narrow corridor between the overlapping arms of the high green wall. Tall and strong and hung with many lamps, the great gates stand before you protecting this sole passage into the great forested city beyond. On the gate, the many lamps are lit, bathing the night bridge in a soft light. Atop the wall, sentries patrol their stations armed with bows of yew and shouldering quivers of grey feathered arrows. To the southwest, a white bridge arches across the misty fosse that encircles the walls.

Contents:
Galharth
Thorhur
Elven Sentries
Mallorn sapling


Ithil's light has all but gone from sight, plunging the world into darkness. The stars are the only sources of light this evening, their pale lights flickering on and off like candles. The trees stand like pillars in the darkness, their branches reaching out like arms.

Like a wraith, a figure moves in and out of the trees near the Gates of the City, his footsteps soft on the wet ground. His hood covers his head, his face hidden within the folds of his cloak. He walks slowly, deliberately, and when he finally reaches the Gates, he stops and simply stands still.

Glowing under the starlight, the silver haired Tailor follows the hooded edhel towards the gates. Pausing his step at the figures stop, Galharth steps around him. "Pardon, mellon, I've news for the Lord and Lady," he says in a soft voice that seems a melody in the night air.

Taking off his hood, the Sentinel sighs, but offers a smile to the one who speaks. "The hour is late, Galharth, even for the elves. The world is in darkness, and it is the time of day when nothing stirs. What news have you, if I dare inquire?" he asks with furrowed brow but glowing grin.

Halting his own step, the Tailor turns to look upon the Sentinel. "Late indeed, but not so for a busy Crafter. Now is the time that seems the most productive for one such as I." he replies. Glancing to the south, and then northwards to the high point of the great tree, Galharth speaks. "We've visitors. Mithdrandir, the Ranger Henleg, have both arrived upon the back of a Great Eagle," he says, turning to look at Thorhur. "Mithrandir asked that I announce this news to Galadriel and Celeborn."

"Ah," Thorhur says, nodding with a look of anxiety in his eyes, "Well, it is always a joy to see Mithrandir, when his news is not ill." Looking past Galharth, the Sentinel looks at the ground and says a bit sheepishly, "I...I could not help...help hearing of the quarrel you are having with Maglind."

Facing the Tailor now, he says, "Now, I will not say whose side I am on, and who I think is right, because it is not my place to say so. However...Aluirwen is devastated by it. She feels that she is to blame. Is she really to blame Galharth?" he asks, however afraid of what the answer might be.

"I've seen him over the years, but there was never an opportunity to speak with him." Galharth says with a shrug. "It was only by chance that I was in the Eagle's shelter when...." Pausing his words, anger flushes the Craftsmasters expression. "He who is to blame cares not, and indeed voices disregard for the past." Throwing up his hands in frustration, the Tailor turns. "Aluirwen is not to blame, so clearly, she and all others who seem concerned by the matter should dismiss it from their thoughts. I've spoken of my hurt, Maglind has spoken of his disregard, and there is nothing more to be said."

Thorhur nods sadly, and sighs. "I will not argue with you further Craftsmaster, but if I may add one thing..." trailing off, he looks to the sky, then seems to chant, "It doesn't take strength to keep a friendship. It takes strength to let go of one...and once you've let go of it, it's hard to grab onto once more."

"You clearly speak to the wrong person," Galharth says flatly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I am the fool who thought their was a friendship. Maglind clearly straightened me out on that matter." Sighing softly, he adds, "I am only sorry that Aluirwen feels any measure of blame. I shall go to speak with her to offer what little comfort I can."

For a moment, Thorhur's eyes flash with anger, and before he can calm himself, he says loudly and firmly, "No friendship? You two were the best of friends for the longest time! You two did everything together, you were inseperable! How could you forget about all you two have been through?" Softening, he adds, "Galharth...you are letting your pride and haughtiness cloud your judgement. Think to yourself: Is what you are doing right?"

Anger meets anger. "Forget? How can I forget? Simple, Maglind told me to do just that!" Galharth snaps with a flared temper. "Had there been friendship, he would have apologized for the hurt he caused."

Unfolding his arms, he sweeps a hand towards the Sentinel. "Pride is no issue in this matter. I'd give it all and then some for the comfort of knowing that any effort he might put forth came from the warmth of caring rather than duty as he now claims." Something glistens in the corner of the Tailor's eye, and he quickly turns to offer the Sentinel his back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a number of tasks that require my attention."

"Thorhur sighs and turns to Galharth with a look of mixed pity and regret. "Go find Maglind, then. Friendship is more important than duty. Find him, and...and renew the legendary friendship you guys have shared, for many have suffered due to this." Pausing, he sighs then continues, "I will not speak a word of this to anyone if that is your wish."

Taking a step towards the gate, the Tailor pauses to listen to Thorhur's words. No words does he speak, for indeed it might not be possible. Shielded from view with his back to the Sentinel, a steady stream of tears flow down the craftsmasters face. Instead, he lowers his head and proceeds through the gates, caring litte of who might view the strange sight he presents at the midnight hour. In a moment, he is gone.