================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Morning < About 10:20 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 66 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: Full <VISIBLE>
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: Fri Mar 23 12:06:53 2007
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Open Talan
Here the ladder meets its first broad flet before continuing upwards through the overhanging boughs. The talan here is large and flat, supported around the trunk in a circle on six sturdy branches. Cushioned chairs sit arranged beside a sideboard filled with all manner of bread and fruit and cheese and drinks for guests. The platform is surrounded by leaves save to the southwest, where a rope bridge slips between the branches.

All about, you see intermittent flashes of silver from the undersides of leaves stirred in the wind. Sunlight feels its way along the tree's spreading crown, softened by its journey in the boughs.

Contents:
Galharth
Galadriel
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Anor's light shines softly down upon the Galadhrim lands, bringing it's golden light to compliment the gentle shades of Lothlorien's unique forest. Sweet scents of thriving gardens, and joyous sound of elven song mingle, almost as if dancing together in unison, upon a gentle westward breeze.

It is with this background that the Clothier Galharth enters the open talan, crossing the flet to sit upon a cushioned chair. As he sits, he draws a simply wrapped package tightly to his chest. Releasing a sigh, he closes his eyes for a moment, closing out images of the bountiful feast that lay upon the nearby sideboard. Clearly, something weighs upon his mind.

A sweet perfume, reminiscient of jasmine, slowly makes its way into the other scents that creep and recede so gently here like waves upon a lakeshore. The trilling notes of a small songbird swoop down from above, like a tiny little herald, then disappear. If Galharth were to open his eyes, he would look upon the Lady Galadriel, pouring herself a cup of tea.

As if awoken by the songbird, or enticed into attention by a delicate accent to an already pleasant fragrance within the air, Galharth opens his eyes. Framed by light, or perhaps guilty of being the source of inspiring light, the sight that greets the ellon is one sought for by many an artist over countless lifetimes.

After gentle shake of his head to clear his thoughts, and the Clothier rises, shifting his package into position before him. "Pardon me, Lady Galadriel." He calls out softly so not to disturb her pouring of tea, "Do you happen to have a moment?"

Galadriel makes no move to answer the query at first, but instead lifts the delicate porcelain to her lips. She gives the Clothier a long, knowing look over the rip of the cup. The Lady knows when her presence is desired and suddenly asking if she has a moment seems gratuitous for that is why she is here; thus she does not answer. Instead she lowers her drink and nods at the package, "What have you there brother?"

Moving to the sideboard, the Clothier balances the package in one hand as he moves several dishes on the sideboard, opening a generous space. With a space cleared, he gently places the package upon the counter. "I've been considering several things over the past weeks, and that consideration led to the conception of a project." Galharth explains. "There is much within the wood that stands the test of time, unchanged, unaffected, and everlasting in beauty of old."

Stepping away from the package, he turns and glances at the lady. "From stories told to me by many within the wood, there is much that grows to brilliance, and then fades or is lost. Yet their memory lives on." Pausing a moment, he glances back to the package and a smile rises upon his lip. "I thought to preserve those memories, and in doing so I felt that you were the best to take charge of what was created."

Looking back to Galadriel, he sweeps a hand to the package, "So I give a gift, and I hope, as you preserve the wood, you preserve that which is represented within the package."

Galadriel sets her cup off to the side; it was but a prop anyway. She steps over to the package and pulls back the layer of paper.

Galadriel smiles slowly.

Glancing from the package, to the Lady, the smile allows him to release the breath he knew not that he held. "Do you like it?" Galharth asks carefully.

The Lady slowly traces the familiar figures with her fingers. "You have woven an epic, my friend. There is life emanating from this quilt." She presses her palm flat upon it as if to feel a pulse. "The threadwork - it is all your hand?"

With his eyes upon the quilt, he smiles, "Each face and each story, drawn together in song and stitched to last long beyond their contribution to our people." Glancing up, the Clothier nods. "I claim the construction, but the stories told belong to those you see upon the cloth. There have been so many who've come, and gone. I almost feel honored to have put their memory into form."

"The likenesses are true," replies Galadriel as she slowly unfolds the quilt to view each square, "for I have known each of these." She turns to face the Apprentice, "Rest assured that I will find a place of prominence for it." She pauses, perhaps to consider prominent places, but then fixes Galharth fast with her gaze, "Where words may fail to mark my true appreciation, let actions speak: Galharth, I name you now JourneyElf. I will speak with the Gwaith-I-Thein masters to make it so." She smiles gently and watches him with ill-concealed pride.

Galharth falls silent, dumbfounded by the Lady's unexpected words, and his eyes fall to the quilting of the squirrel which appears to be running a silent course etched in thread, along the edge. Looking up, he places a hand upon his chest and he bows his head as he finally manages to squeek out a response. "I am appreciative, Thank you."

"You're welcome," replies the Lady. "It is a great gift to our people and to those that will come after us." She smiles with a hint of mischeivousness, "You should have name a higher price; I reckon you would have recieved it. You shall have to settle for my favor instead." She looks between he and the quilt, "I wish to show it to my Lord. But you and I shall find it a permanent home soon." She gathers the thing up into her arms like it were a child. "I will find you?" It is phrased as a question, but rhetorical of course.

"The price is fair for what was done." Galharth says in a queer tone. A smile lights upon his lips and he nods to the Lady's last words. "I'm off now, to arrange a measuring for the Lady Ranger. Enjoy your day Lady Galadriel!" With that the Clothier is off, in search of yet another project.

 

Quilt of Memories