4/7/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon < About 4:52 PM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
ZC date is: 34 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: New <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: Mon Apr 07 07:37:26 2008
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The Mirror of Galadriel
Deep and green, the walls of this small enfolding dell rise steeply on either
side. The silver stream turns south here, flowing through the hollow and beside
a wide silver basin set on a low branching pedestal. Scattered through the soft
green grass are white lorelli, the elven dream-flowers. Their fragrence lends a
faint strange perfumed tang to the air; those who are not careful find
themselves feeling rather tired... On the ground nearby, sits an ewer of silver.
Contents:
Galadriel
Warm rays of golden light trickle down through the thick canopy of mellyrn high
overhead. Delicate whisps of mist dance in an almost circular motion, rising up
from the southward bound stream. A delicate floral scent mingles with the
moisture, creating a taste of time unmoving.
Wandering within the garden, the silver haired figure of the Craftsmaster seems
almost distracted. Runing his hand along the edge of the Lady's mirror, Galharth
moves to the streams edge. There he sits and sighs as he tucks his hand into his
pocket to withdraw a delicate bauble. Holding it up a moment in a ray of light
it starbursts with golden color. Tilting his head as he considers the necklace,
he frowns slightly before drawing the treasure back into his pocket.
Following one of the rays into the hollow, Galadriel arrives from the garden
above. Her gaze is upon the ground at her feet as her fingers reach out to trail
along the greenery as she passes. When she raises her golden-wreathed head at
last, her eyes come immediately to rest upon Galharth, showing no surprise at
seeing him there. Though she does not smile yet, there is kindness in her
expression. "Good day," she says.
Looking up from his thoughts, the Craftsmaster smiles. "Well met, Lady
Galadriel." Galharth says as he shifts slightly to rise to his feet. "I carry a
message to you, though strangely my path was drawn to rest a moment within your
glade." Glancing around, the delicate peaceful atmosphere brings forth a
momentary relaxex expression. Returning his gaze towards the Lady, he takes a
step closer to the mirror. "We've visitors within the wood. An Eagle landed
within the Shelters nest and there upon his back rode Mithrandir and the Ranger
Henleg." Smiling as if with some private joke, he continues. "The old one asked
I bring news of his arrival, but I told him you and the Lord would likely know."
Galadriel mirrors the smile of the tailor now. "Indeed, for as I mark the
arrival of every sparrow, an eagle can hardly slip by. Especially one with such
a cargo. In fact, I had meant to meet them myself, but I was unable. My thanks
to you for standing in my stead...had Mithrandir any particular message to
convey?"
"There were two messages," Galharth says as his expression takes upon a more
serious expression. "First, a message to our borders sending word that more
Rangers would be soon arriving, and second..." he says, pausing his words as he
slips his hands inside the pockets of his outer robe. "Second, he said that he
and the Rangers are here seeking a strange creature that may be lurking nearby."
The soft sound of metal brushing against metal whispers sweetly in the silence
of the glade, but in a moment it is gone as the Tailor withdraws his hands from
his pocket. "Mithrandir asked if we'd heard strange sounds or seen strange
sights, but other than the latest news of border activity, I could tell him
nothing."
Galadriel begins to respond, but then presses her lips together again, halting
whatever she might have said. The metallic whispers fill the space for a moment
and the Lady turns her head as if to watch the noise waft away beyond the
hollow. At last, she turns to look at Galharth again, "What a curious question.
The world is full of strange sounds and sights - I must press the old man to be
more specific." She sets her lips - a thin veil against whatever it is she is
really thinking about, "Did he speak to how long he plans to stay?" Her eyes
move, almost imperceptibly, to the mirror before returning to the Craftmaster.
"He said nothing of specifics, nor about the length of stay," Galharth says with
a slight shrug of one shoulder. "He did however mention that he would be
speaking with you regarding the matter."
looking down, he reaches out a hand, extending a single finger to touch the edge
of the Lady's mirror. "I did not press him." The Craftsmaster says softly, "I am
a Tailor, and the matter in which he spoke is far and beyond matters that are
suppose to concern me." Chuckling softly, he looks up and adds, "I did arrange
to have a new robe made for him, and to see to repairs of the clothing worn by
all in his party."
"And," replies the Lady of the Wood, having done with talk of a bearded old man,
"what matters do concern you of late, humble tailor." It is a remark made to
mirror his own comment; without teasing, but sincere interest. She watches his
hand upon the edge of the mirror.
"I do not know," the Craftsmaster says softly. Looking up, he offers an almost
shy glance towards the Lady, before lowering his gaze to the thick grass
surrounding the mirror. "I suppose you've heard mention of the disagreement
between myself and the Marchwarden. It is settled, but it has left me with some
measure of indecision." Shrugging his shoulders, his hands dip once more into
his pockets. "T'was a difficult thing for the time I felt that the Marchwarded
did not trust me, and it's brought me to consider choices made." Looking up, he
offers a weak smile. "I consider something now that might be accomplished alone.
What, I can not say yet, but it shadows my thoughts."
From the Garden, a dark figure approaches the Mirror. He wears his hood up,
hiding his face from view, and keeps his cloak wrapped tightly around himself.
His staff taps the ground with soft thuds, and he moves lightly. When he comes
upon the two, he does not speak. Instead he steps back and for the moment stays
out of the conversation.
Galadriel gives Galharth a nod to express her understanding, "It seems a
reasonable thing. If you fear that another's trust in you might be shaken, the
best thing that can be done is to renew your own trust in yourself. Then, it
will be easier to ask it of others..." The Lady turns her head to observe the
arrival of another. She gives Thorhur (for it is hard for a hood to hide
anyone's identity from Galadriel) a somewhat quizzical expression, but also a
welcoming nod, before returning her attention to the tailor.
"Again you prove yourself wise and knowing." Galharth says with a smile.
Following the Lady's gaze, the smile held by the Craftsmaster fades. "Well met,"
he calls out as his hand again slips into his pocket to finger the hidden
bauble. The sound of metal again drifts into the air, adding an almost musical
note to the conversation.
Stepping into the light, Thorhur removes his hood. "Forgive me," he says softly,
his eyes upon the Lady, "I didn't realize there were others here...I hope I am
not interupting." To Galharth, he offers a happy gaze and nods. "Well met
Galharth! How...I mean...did you talk to Maglind?" he asks sheepishly, moving
his gaze to the ground.
Looking between the two ellon, Galadriel replies to Thorhur's initial question
without reaction to the latter, "Nay, no interuption. Galharth was just relaying
to me some news, and I suppose it is time I acted upon said news. It is the job
of every good hostess to see that her visitors are comfortable and well fed."
She smiles wanly, then begins to turn toward the upper garden, gathering her
skirts in her hands, "But I suspect I shall be speaking with you both again
soon."
The Tailor's eyes narrow, and a flicker of anger touches upon his cheeks at
Thorhur's words, but he holds his tongue as the Lady departs. When the last
tendril of her presence fades, Galharth turns towards the Sentinel. "Indeed I
did, and despite rumors of my enormous pride and ego being the block to
reconciliation, it bore no influence over our discussion. It is, and always was
a private matter." Removing his hands from his pockets, the Craftsmaster reaches
out to lean on the Lady's mirror. "Still, you're opinion of me, and the opinion
of others have set me along a path which I hope will end with my understanding
what it is that others such as you see."
Thorhur nods at the Tailors words. "To that I can offer no words of advice nor
comfort, other than to remind you that you also possess good qualities and that
there are those who think well of you." Sighing, the Sentinel can think of
nothing further to say, so he studies the Craftsmaster with a questioning gaze.
"That's the point Thorhur! Offer no further advice!" Galharth snaps with a slap
upon the side of the mirror. "The Lady, one who lived three ages hesitates to
offer advice with her great experience and knowledge, and you, who has yet to
see the full measure of an age are quick to judge and offer your opinions."
Drawing his hands back from the mirror to form tight fists, the Craftsmaster
takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "Nothing further is to be said on
the matter." He says flatly. Turning and moving towards the stream, he lowers
himself to sit beside the stream. Turning his head to look into the water, he
clearly changes the subject with effort. "I have told Galadriel of Mithrandir's
visit, and Maglind now sends word of additional Rangers coming to the border.
The old one suggested that he might speak with guards regarding the matter for
which he visits. Perhaps you might make yourself available to him."
Thorhur, looking saddened by his words, does not answer immediately. Then,
without moving, his eyes scan the trees, then come to rest upon the mirror.
Seemingly with great effort, he replies, "Of course I would love to offer my
assistance in any way. My leg is considerably better, so travelling should not
be of any problem, if indeed they are in need of travellers. However, if it is a
matter of border security, I can be there in an instant."
Again a flicker of anger sweeps over the Craftsmasters face, but it fades
quickly. "I am but a Tailor, and I call none to the border so that is not for me
to speak about." Looking towards the south, Galharth's brow furrows slightly.
"And regarding travels, as I've said to the Lady, it will be a matter I will be
embracing alone."
Thorhur nods but says nothing further regarding the matter. Instead, he sits
upon the ground and tries to switch to yet a different matter. For a while, he
is silent, listening to the wind in the trees, and the sounds of distant voices.
Finally, he speaks, "So...are you busy with much crafting?"
Laughter rings out in the Glade. "I am the Craftsmaster, Thorhur. Of course I'm
busy with matters of Crafting." Looking up from the waters, towards the
Sentinel, he smiles. "I have heard of your promotion in the Bards.
Congratuations. Between that and the appointment of the new Loremaster, I
suspect good things are to come from the Songwrights."
Thorhur blushes slightly and smiles. "Thank you. It was a great pleasure, as was
Aluirwen's promotion. As the Bards become more skilled, hopefully...well, maybe
there will be more song festivals and such in the weeks to come. Why not let all
the Wood show off their Bardic sides?" he adds with a wink.
Shaking his head, the Craftsmaster offers a genuine smile. "I have no skill in
the Bardic sense." he says with good humor, "I channel all my skill with song
into the creation of crafts. It is remarkably different in nature, yet also
quite similar." The rise and fall of a shoulder comes as the Tailor looks back
into the stream. "It's not something I'd perform in company."
Thorhur smiles. "'Tis the opposite with me I am afraid. The best thing I have
ever made that might even be considered a craft was a piece of wood carved into
the bird...although it resembled a dog more than anything. I'd much rather
sing...but I suppose it's merely a preference." For a moment he is silent, then
he speaks up once more. "Did Mithrandir hint as to what he has visited us for?"
"Preference has little to do with the ways of a crafter, as the song made is not
for the pleasures of others." Galharth says, lowering his gaze to the water at
the mention of the visitors. "He hinted of a strange creature in which he and
the Rangers follow. I know little more than that. He is to speak with the Lord
and Lady and the Guards on the matter." Again the Craftsmasters hand slips into
his pocket. A moment later he with draws a golden trinket suspended upon a
sparkling chain. Absently, he draws the chain through his fingers as he looks
towards the water. "I've little involvement with the matter, but I will be
seeing him at some point to make a new robe."
Thorhur chuckles. "The one and only time I have met him, his robes were pretty
torn. Not only were they the color of a sky when it is raining, they were torn
in so places that it reminded me of a rag one would use to clean with..." the
Sentinel laughs for a while, then slowly this fades as he ponders. "Strange
creature...hopefully nothing more than a strange orc...."
"Who knows what he means, the ways of the wizards and wise are well beyond me."
Galharth says as he dips the necklace pendant into the water. It's golden hue
glistens in light and water, and draws the Craftsmasters attention as if he were
a crow. Sighing softly, he sits straighter and pockets the necklace. "Alas, my
duty to deliver the message is done. I suppose it's time to return to my tasks."
Rising to his feet, he brushes off his robes. "It was a pleasure speaking with
you again Thorhur, perhaps I'll manage some time so to enjoy one of your Bardic
efforts." Taking a step as to leave the glade, he pauses. "Should you find
yourself with our visitors, please extent a hello to the Ranger Henleg. I'm
rather fond of him."
Thorhur also comes to his feet and smiles. "That I can do, Galharth. Farewell
then."