4/12/2008

================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Twilight < About 8:42 PM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 50 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Full <HIDDEN>
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 12 08:54:20 2008
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Mar Vanwa Tyalieva
A large talan about the bole of the tree with a hardwood floor and sturdy walls (unlike most talan construction) that sport shuttered fenestrations to let air in. The branches of the mallorn support the lofty, thatched ceiling and have been lit with many lamps as well as golden banners to denote the season. Song and laughter fill the night as Galadhrim gather in company. The soft lamplight fills the talan and spills outside, as if to compete with the stars. The tables are packed but you can spot a free table so finding a seat is no problem among the empty tankards of drink.

Contents:
Galharth
Gildor
Ostiel


Twilight spreads across the broad horizon surrounding Caras Galadhon, penetrating through the mallorns with shots of golden pink and vivid amethyst. The rowdy youth of Lothlorien have left the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva in favor of other amusements, and now the older patrons have come to sit quietly, nursing their wine. A server calmly washes the tables, while another delivers drink to the small gathering of patrons. Siniathweg bustles to prepare for the nighttime crowd, a blur of ellon sweeping from one side of the room to the next.

Ostiel sits alone at a small table in the back, a streak of light highlighting the grain of her table. Otherwise she is shadow, holding a goblet of white wine between her thumb and forefinger, restful eyes and manner causing few heads to turn in her direction.

Entering the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva, Galharth wanders around the tables, liesurely looking for a place to sit. As he draws near the back, he notices Ostiel. The corner of his mouth lifts sligthly, almost smiling, and he moves towards the Attendant. "May I join you?" the Tailor asks softly.

"Galharth," Ostiel murmurs, looking up at the Tailor with a warm smile, "You need never ask. Of course you may." She stands and moves her chair over, making enough room for Galharth to place another chair. "How have you been?"

Pulling a chair near the table, Galharth lowers himself to sit at the table. "It's always best to ask, even when reasonably sure there will be acceptance." He says with a smile. Settling himself at the table, the Tailor rests his elbows on the table as he looks to the lady. "I am well," he answers, "And you? How are you and that ellon that you've been seen with so much of late?"

Ostiel's cheeks flood with color, and she coughs softly, taking a small sip of her wine. "Surely you know Iaelen? He traveled with you not long ago." There is a slight pause, in which the healer frowns, fingers creating little swirls on the tabletop. "I truly do not know what to do about him. He is very persistent, and so sure of what he wants. I, in contrast, am not at all certain, though I do care for him. I'm just not certain that I love him yet," She concludes bluntly, shaking her head.

As the Attendant speaks, Galharth looks to the tabletop, silently considering her words. "We are not humans who grow to love mates as time passes." he says after a moments pause. "Long have you known Iaelen, and it seems clear to me that you do not have that same attraction that drives him."

A finger moves over the tabletop, much like Ostiel's own does a short distance away. Slowly, as if considering his words, he traces a pattern of the wood grain. "I do not believe you two to be a match, for from an outsiders point of view he does not seem to compliment your fea as he should."

Ostiel frowns, swirling her goblet mercilessly in circles. "Then you believe that our feelings do not change and shift...certainly that cannot be so? Perhaps some things simply take time?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, searching for something, though it is not clear what. Maybe agreement, maybe the opposite.

Looking up, the Tailor shrugs ones shoulders. "I can not say with any certainty what guides our feelings, but I do know that both sides of a whole must surely compliment eachother." Folding his arms flat atop the table he tilts his head slightly as he peers at Ostiel. "Ask yourself, mellon, do you find yourself at ease with Iaelen's pursuit?"

Leaning back, Galharth looks towards the bar and holds a hand up to signal a desire for red wine. When he turns back, his smile is one of warmth. "Alas, perhaps I should hold my tongue. The matter is yours, but know you have a friend to listen."

"Nay," Ostiel whispers after a moment's hesitation, bringing the goblet to her lips, "I am not, but neither do I wish to harm him. We have spoken on the subject, many times, but he is so 'convinced' that we are meant for each other...but as I said, I lack his surety. Alas," she suddenly chuckles, patting Galharth's hand firmly, "Mellon, I did not mean to be melancholy. Let us talk of other things. Thank you for your advice, I shall consider it carefully."

Bending his head, and looking upwards with mischeif dancing in his eyes, "Do that, mellon, for us a lifetime is to the end of days and that is a very long time to commit when it is only to prevent hurting anothers feelings." It seems that timing is perfect and the ordered wine is delivered at just that instance. "Ah, thank you!" Galharth says to the waiter as a large bottle and pair of glasses is left. "Would you care for some?" He asks.

Ostiel leans over and lifts the bottle, peering into the liquid depths with a faint smile. "Perhaps. Do you drink this wine often?" She set the bottle back down.

"Not often." Galharth says as he retrieves the bottle after the Attendants inspection, "I have few moments of leisure which allow me to indulge." Pouring a glass and then a second, he lightly lifts one glass and sits it before Ostiel. After sitting the bottle down, the clothier lifts his own glass. "To a rare moment of relaxation," he says holding the glass up in salute.

"Not as often as he should." Is the reply from the doorway as Niinaeth enters. She carries in her hand a small scrap of parchment, scribbled and writ upon on every available space. She smiles a smile of taunting as she passes the paper off to Siniathweg before returning to Ostiel and Galharth, "For the life of me I can not seem to keep Henleg provided with enough to drink. I considering the notion he is secreting it away."

"Edain," Ostiel smirks, lifting the newly-poured wine and delicately inhaling the fruity scent, "Hopefully he is not prone to...what do they call it...addition? Nay, that is not right." She pushes the glass away and takes a sip from her own, the clear liquid nearly gone.

"Edain," Ostiel smirks, lifting the newly-poured wine and delicately inhaling the fruity scent, "Hopefully he is not prone to...what do they call it...addition? Nay, that is not right." She pushes the glass away and takes a sip from her own, the clear liquid nearly gone.

"Your opinion, Niinaeth," Galharth mutters as the glass of wine is pressed to his lips. Chuckling softly as Henleg is discussed, he looks from one to the other, and shakes his head. "I'd say he emerses himself fully into life, enjoying the pleasures with equal vigor in which he has to face the ill." The Tailor says as he sips at his wine. Lifting the half full glass and peering at the crystal red liquid highlighted by candlelight, he seems quite serious with his words. "Is our wine not a treasure, filled with the sweetness of memory and life?" Pausing, he glances to Niinaeth, "Can you blame him for enjoying such a thing?"

"Nay not such is possible. Blame one for having the benifit of knowing what the difference between what is good and what is beyond greatness?" Considering the full comment a moment, she draws her brows together in thought, "Long have I known him and as such I can say, Lorien is meet for him with the same longing and love as ones own home. The wine, it is sweet yet it brings to mind more than a mere taste."

Sensing that perhaps her companions are not in a playful mood, Ostiel leans back in her chair silently, placing down her empty goblet and lifting the new wine to her lips. Carefully does she sip, taking her time, watching both Niinaeth and Galharth with quiet intensity. Though her manner is casual, the gleam in the healer's eyes confirms that she is listening very closely, and following every word.

The Tailor's smile fades slightly, and his gaze turns to Niinaeth. "Then what Niinaeth? What is it that brings forth the Rangers desire for the wine?" Sipping his own glass, draining it with one final swallow, he sits it down before him. "Perhaps a memory of a time long past, of love and longing? I call him friend, so I'd be glad to do what I can to help, if help is what is needed."

"Tis truth you speak my friend." Slowly with purpose Niinaeth draws and sits near the pair, leaning in to whisper words not to be known widly, "He was, treated a bit harshly here he says. It somewhat took the edge off his feeling of home. One must remember, his people do not truly have a home such as we do. They travel a difficult road, taking with them bits and pieces of places they would include in their dreams of their desired home. Such as he has found here."

With a quick look over her shoulder, her voice faulters as it lowers, "He lost his home, so to speak, with the passing of his wife. He now in my opinion searches and gathers those pieces again for his children."

"An honorable pursuit," Ostiel offers, fingers curling about her wine like elegant claws. "Perhaps wine is a security to him, pleasure along a barren road, where little offers anything with lasting warmth. Wine may be temporary, but not so long as you supply him with it."

The Tailor's expression pinches slightly, and he audibly groans. "Did he happen to mention the affiliation of these folk who mistreated a guest in this land?" he asks, "For to be honest there are a few sects of our people not.... fond of visitors or humans."

Reaching forth, he pours another glass of wine, and as he returns the bottle to the table he looks to Ostiel, and nods an agreement to her words. Turning back to the Minister, he adds, "The particulars of his life hold no influence over me, for the man himself has earned by respect and loyalty for actions seen with my own eyes." Pausing to sip his wine, he looks to the east, "When a human shows a willingness to give his or her life as the Rangers have, then perhaps it is our place to remind our discriminating residents that they need to adapt."

Niinaeth shakes her head and replies, "Nay, he is an honorable man as such he will not speak the names of the offenders. He of all people fully understands their reasons. This is their home. Humans being ill news can not be met with joy."

"Tis regretful, but tis true," Ostiel whispers, pushing herself to her feet, "But I must away, alas, for there is work to be done, even on a fair evening such as this. It was a pleasure Galharth, Niinaeth." Leaving her goblets for the server to collect, she wanders out into the open air, pursuing her tasks with a high head, but seemingly wan spirit.

"Be well Ostiel," Galharth says as the Attendant leaves. As he lifts his glass, a new voice interrupts. "Craftsmaster?" A delicately musical voice says, interrupting the conversation at the table. "The Bakers are in need of you, sir. There was a problem with the ovens."

Nodding to the elleth, he sighs. "I fear, I have to go. Perhaps we'll meet again later, Niinaeth." With that the Tailor rises from the table and departs, leaving the bottle behind.