================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Before Dawn < About 4:36 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 63 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Thu Mar 22 10:12:12 2007
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Lawn
Here the stairway through the mellyrn meets the top of a mighty hill, opening out into the middle of a great lawn filled
with blue and yellow flowers. At the center of the lawn stands a great shimmering fountain which falls into a basin of
silver. From the basin flows a white stream of water out into a small brook, which then trickles away down the hill. Further
north there stands a mallorn tree of such magnificent height that it seems to reach even to the clouds. A path paved with
white pebbles curves around the hilltop, leading west and east from the stairs.

Contents:
Galharth
Falamir
Annaiel
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In the hours of twilight, as night transforms into day, a gentle stillness sweeps over the land. It is as if the world holds
it's breath in anticipation. Dew hangs heavy on both leaves and grass, and the sweet scent of flowers fills the air. Water
dances from the fountain, adding a sound to the lawn that is not unlike a gentle rain. Few wander the lawn at this hour, and
the few who are present seem to cluster in whispered conversation.

On this morn, the Clothier Galharth enters this tranquil scene. As his foot touches upon the grass, he takes a deep breath
and exhales slowly, expressing his appreciation for what is found.

The fountain plays host to the guest of the Galadhrim. And like so many of the Elven folk gathered here, the fountain and
Falamir are engaged in a quiet conversation. Kneeling before the silver fountain, the Elf's fingers play with gentle
familiarity in the water. And as the fountain is thus caressed, his whispered memories recalled for Falamir, recounted with
sighs and longing. Now and again the Elf gives answer, in a voice as lyrical as spring rain, his tongue that of the ancient
kingdom of the Falas, though roughly intelligible to any speaker of Sindarin. His agreement and shared sorrow is thus
conveyed to the fountain, mixed with remembrances of fair Ivrin and swift-flowing Sirion, and tales told by Belegaer under
starlight.

A sound catches the Clothier's ear, and he turns his attention to it's source. He watches for a moment with a blank
expression. When the moment passes, and there seems a slight pause in the visitors song, Galharth takes a step towards the
fountain. "Well met, Falamir. I hope your visit is proving to be a good one."

His conversation suffering an interruption, though by no means an unwelcome one, Falamir turns to Galharth with a smile.
"Good indeed. I daresay the Galadhrim far exceed the men of Bree in welcome. And in discourse." With a soft laugh, the
Mithlondrhim rises, drying his hands discreetly on the hem of his tunic. "The Lady Galadriel holds her lands finely. I
wonder sometimes if it is Lothlorien I see, or Doriath."

A smile lights upon Galharth's lips, which reflects as a proud sparkle within his eyes. "The Lady does indeed keep all in
gentle preservation, keeping the memory of old alive." Stepping closer to the fountain and the visitor from afar, the
Clothier lowers his voice. "While I've never seen anything beyond my home, from the few human visitors I've seen it
surprises me not that this elven haven exceeds that of man." Tilting his head slighly, in clear interest for the topic of
man, he adds in a softer tone, "You've visited nearly all the lands of men, have you not? What can you tell me of them?
Namely, what might interest a crafter such as myself......anything?"

Falamir smiles a moment in thought before answering, "They build less with stone the Elves of Imladris and Mithlond are
wont. But their buildings of wood are rougher, with thought given mainly to function, and little at all to form. Their
stonework and jewellery is likewise crude. Their jewellery is scarce...even those accounted wealthy among men own little."

"And their fabrics?" Galharth asks with clear interest, "While I can not imagine that it'd compare to elven quality, I would
still expect to find something of interest."

A sudden silence follows the questions asked, and with a shake of his head, the Clothier laughs aloud. "How silly my
curiosity is. Yet I can't seem to contain it. It is perhaps a longing to see that which has never been seen because it might
contain some undisclosed beauty. Perhaps in stead of seeking information about the humans, I should instead seek information
about the firstborn dwelling so far to the west." Smiling, and lifting a brow, he asks, "Have many visited Mithlondhrim
lands? Other than to sail west that is?"

Falamir laughs, and though he hears out both questions, it is the former he addresses first. "You are right. In quality,
imagination, and beauty there is little comparison. But there is some quaint charm in their clothing. They use linen, and
leather. There are not often many patterns, though that varies, and in Eriador at least the colours are often muted. Like
their dwellings, it is functional."

A quirked head now, "No. Few visit Mithlond. But it is not that they are unwelcome. It is out of the way, and leads nowhere
but to the West." There is a moment of silent thought, and after a space, Falamir's eyes are turned questioningly on
Galharth. "But I return to Mithlond presently. And I shall pass through the Beorning lands, Imladris, Bree, and the Shire on
the journey. That, surely, might quench your curiosity? If you wish it, and if you Lady allows, I should not mind a
companion. And if you will, we may take the eastern way on return, and those pass through the lands of the Rohirrim. They,
of all the men of the northern lands, are most like the Edain of old. Save the Dunedain, of course."

Falling silent, and looking to the west, not in the longing gaze often refflected upon those who might long to sail, but
instead, a gaze of wonder and interest. "Strangely, I find myself interested, if only to see what might or could be
remembered in that which I fashion." Galharth says carefully, "Alas, I feel that I'd have to consult the Lady Galadriel, to
assure that she'd find no objection to my setting out to gather a different perspective on my craft."

Shaking his head, as if he himself can not believe that he had spoken, he adds, "If you've no objections, I'd even like to
ask if the Lady Mia could join us."

Falamir can't seem to help but laugh at this, and shake his head. "I understand that it is far best to ask the Lady. But, my
friend, you speak with such reluctance! Such a longing to travel is rare among the Galadhrim, I admit, but it is not
shameful. You are not the first, nor, I wager, will you be the last. But, pray, does the Lady Mia wish travel for travel's
sake, or does she mean to make her last journey?"

"Mia sail?" Galharth says bursting out with an unrestrained laugh. "Not likely her or me for that matter."

Shaking his head, he draws his hands behind his back, and looks into the water, a posture that lends to a measure of
embarrassment. "My reluctance isn't due to a lack of interest, for I would truely enjoy seeing textiles and findings from
the world over, if only to inspire my own crafting." A slight color rises upon his cheeks and she continues to look into the
water. "My reluctance is primarily due to my lack of experience with my sword. I fear I remain a danger to myself, and
perhaps others who might not be intended to be injured. I'm learning, but it's taking a little time."

Falamir also laughs, though at what it's not particularly clear. "I am glad to hear she will not sail." A moment's pause,
filled with the Elf's silent laughter. "And as to your sword...I believe the lady Annaiel and I can guard you well enough.
And the Lady Mia, she is quite skilled, is she not? With...a staff, was it?"

"Annaiel? I've not met her. Is she visiting Lothlorien as well?" Galharth asks with interest. "Is she from your lands as
well?"

And for the remainder of Falamir's words, the Clothier shakes his head. "I fear that Mia could drive off hoards with
attitude and glares alone. I know this is how I've felt when I've attempted to scold her for a rip or stain to a gown."

"Then there is naught to fear. As to Annaiel, she is indeed here. But she hails from Imladris. You must meet - she might
assuage your curiosity somewhat." Falamir's smile is vaguely mysterious, and he turns back to the fountain. "To have lived
so long and never seen the Sea. How do you stand it?"

"Alas, the more I speak with outsiders, the more curious I get. Odd as it may sound, in my mind, there exists a lace or
button unknown to me, but that finding could be used to create some as yet unconceived article of beauty." Shrugging his
shoulders, his gaze turns to the eastern sky. "How can I stand never seeing the sea? It falls into what I've been saying.
I've heard it's description as a great beauty, and it's not that I dispute what is said, but does it compare to Lothlorien
as sunset? I suppose we each hold our homes and the lands surrounding as places that others must crave."

Anything more that might have been said, falls silent at the woman's arrival. Galharth's eyes grow wide as he looks the lady
up and down. "Um, well met and welcome." the Clothier says, as if uncertain as to how or what to address the new visitor. "I
am Galharth."

Stepping back, Falamir greets Annaiel with a smile both fond and uncertain. "Galharth, Annaiel of the Dunedain. Annaiel," He
gives the lady a bow of his head, "Galharth, a tailor of the Galadhrim." Beyond this, he appears content to allow the
relationship to sort itself out.

The gentle motherlike gaze settles upon Galharth, ere she sweeps a bow to him. Annaiel then lifts out of it, her glance
spared for a moment to rest upon Falamir. "It seems I have interrupted something, perhaps rather important." She smiles
warmly as blue-grey eyes flit back to the Galadhrim, "It is a pleasure, Galharth, but please, do continue. I would never
wish to intrude or keep you from words." She indicates with a sweep of her hand before she moves to take a step back.

"Of your people, of whom I've met, I can honestly say that your clothing outshine either of them. Perhaps it is a male trait
of your people?" Galharth says, speaking with a passion for his craft. "Though your clothing is perhaps better in perhaps
shape than those I've seen from the Rangers, I envision a gown of sapphire blue to offset your eyes, or perhaps a bold
burgundy to...." his words falter, and he smiles, "Forgive me, I can not help myself when it comes to cloth and dress."

Bowing his head, he touches his hand to his heart and sweeps it outwards. "It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Annaiel of the
Dunedain, and worry not about interrupting, our discussion I'm sure has room for another."

A brow raises and Anna laughs slightly, "Do not worry, it means I yet able to be saved from the road's dirt if you can see
what you just said." Smirking slightly, she gazes towards her silent companion for but a brief moment. "In Elrond's home, I
have adorned such dresses, but perhaps I will ask you to make me one that I might remember my time here. Your land's or
quite different from those of your kin."

"So I am told by all that visit Lothlorien." Galharth says with a sincere smile. "And I'd be glad to make a gown, if only
because I made cloaks for your kindred when they came to visit." Glancing to the water, to Falamir, and then to the Lady, he
lifts a brow. "We were discussing the possibility of joining you two to Mithlondhrim, and back. He mentioned that you have
the skill with a blade that is well tuned enough to protect one such as myself who heralds no notable ability. Did it take
you long to horn your skills?"

Unconsciously she touches the sword at her side in thought and thus dips her head. "It did take me a while, though I have my
father to thank for teaching me the footholds. It took the stealing away of my son to force me to learn further. And now,
since I have seen the trials of the road, I have decided to stay and protect it as I may. So yes, I do have skill, perhaps
not as good as others, but well enough. My true skill is in healing." Her smile is gentle and warm and indeed she has the
look of her like that of a mother.

"Ah," the Clothier says with understanding, "It was a story told to me by Henleg that has inspired me to avoid being taken
unprepared. I'm sure you could understand my desires to avoid this better than most." At the mention of the Lady's greater
skill, a brow lifts. "It sounds as if you and the Lady Mia, a suggested companion, hold similar experiences. I would think
you both would have much to speak about." Glancing from Elf to Human, he bows his head and offers a smile. "If you'll
forgive me, I think it might be a good time to go search for Mia, to discuss the possibility of a trip."