8/23/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Morning < About 10:54 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 52 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waning Crescent <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 20 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3044>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Sat Aug 23 08:38:22 2008
=====================================================================
Imladris Greenhouse
A wondrous sight greets your eyes as you step inside this long glass structure. Though it is quite warm outside, the air
inside the greenhouse is much more temperate; the air is damp, and very refreshing, filled with the crisp clean scents of
outdoors mingling with the perfumes of the flowers. Plants of every variety grow here, most in full flower, and there are
even a few small trees; flowering peach trees, and apricot trees with their brances laden with ripe fruit. There is some
kind of shelving or tablework here, for the plants grow not only on the floor but are somehow worked into layers, each
spilling down toward the next in a green curtain. Rosebushes fill one corner of the structure, and their great blooms form
an eye-dazzling rainbow of every colour.

Further on, past the splendour of the flowers and plants, is a small work area. There, shallow wooden trays of seedlings lie
on flat tables, and rough benches and worktables are available for use by the gardeners. There are also racks filled with
small ceramic jars, built along and above the benches. Closer inspection would reveal that these are filled with seeds for
the spring replanting. One peculiar sight, though, is the small cabinet of glass that sits upon a shelf within the warmth of
this botanical refuge. It contains - a snowball? The sunlight streams through the clear glass roof, bathing everything in a
golden light. There are even a few songbirds here, robins filling the air with their sweet and joyous song. All is well,
here within the greenhouse, on this day.

Contents:
Galharth
Ostiel
Rhifaroth
Muirgheal


The Late morning light sparkles brilliantly through the glass of the structure. Rays of light cascade is highlighted by
swirling bits of dust that drifts downwards to a rainbow of blossoms that gather on the tables. Wandering among the tables,
a smartly dressed ellon pauses to inspect one grouping of deep red flowers. Bending, his eyes close as he inhales deeply of
the flowers.

Ah, what beauty that resides here, in the gardens of Imladhris! Another of the eldar wonders at the rosebushes, the trees,
the wide circumference of the greenhouse. Her eyes sparkle as the dew on the rose petals, a smile of ease graces her lips.
Ostiel stops beside a peach tree and lays her palm flat against it, marvelling, listening to the voice of inner life.

Rising up and turning towards another table of blossoms, the Craftmaster pauses and smiles as he catches sight of the Adept.
"Amazing isn't it?" Galharth calls out, "Gardens such as ours at home, all set within the confines of a building."

Moving toward Ostiel, the Tailor reaches up and delicated touching a peach leaf he smiles. "Are they happy?" Pausing he
looks from the tree to the elleth. "The trees, that is."

"Though I have wandered these gardens many times," Ostiel whispers reverently, turning towards Galharth with a glow of
contentment surrounding her presence, "They never cease to amaze me. Such containment, and yet," here she strokes the tree
bark, chuckling lightly, "Such peace. Here, see for yourself." She moves her hand over, to make room for Galharth's, should
he decide to place it on the bark.

"Alas, I am not as sensitive as I once was," Galharth says with a soft chuckle. Reaching out, he touches the tree and half
closes his eyes. "Oddly, taking up the sword to protect others has dulled perception." His eyes fully close for a moment and
his brow furrows slightly in concentration. "Indeed they are happy....." he mutters softly.

Pulling back his hand and opening his eyes, he looks to Ostiel. "They feel the peace, and yet I find myself more interested
in how you feel. Are you happy here?"

Ostiel is surprised (and yet, not exceptionally so) to have to conversation turned from nature to herself in such a short
moment. She blushes lightly, but does not look away. "I will not say that I am happy, for this land holds many memories for
me, both pleasant and otherwise. However," now she smiles again, face lifting, "I am glad that you asked." She lightly
touches Galharth's sleeve before turning back to the peaches. "And yourself? How do you fare?"

Reaching up a hand with his fingers curled lightly to his palm, the Craftmaster gently brushes his knuckles over the Adepts
cheek. "Perhaps as does the tree, you should focus upon the pleasant." Pausing only a moment, Galharth drops his hand and
tilts his head. "I'm well, no major disasters within the last week, and I'm not courting any recent injuries. Life certainly
couldn't get better than this...." he says with a laugh.

Rhifaroth says, "Galharth, you say that like you rae cursed with mishap or something. You and Rhif ought to hit it off quite
well, if that be the case! :P"

From without there is a stirring ... someone is in the garden. There is the sound of a woman's voice, one familiar from the
Hall of Fire the other night. There is no answering voice, but there are foot steps upon the gravel path leading towards the
greenhouse. The read of the Secondborn, for no elf walks with such. Then the door opens to sunny Muirgheal, the cheerful
blonde woman.

With a girl child snuggled up close upon her hip, she has also a man with her. The same, quiet, scarred and tatttooed man
from the night before. He also carries a child, the boy Elfaroth.

Entering, the man must be coaxed to come in by the woman but the strong scents of springlike growth, the higher humidity in
here, the lush alure of tropical flowers in bloom, is quite a change from the dry autumn air without.

Ostiel has been examining the peach tree's leaf formation, running her fingers lightly over the smooth texture, but stills
when Galharth's hand ghosts over her face. Though she does not turn, the Cuigrithweg glances at him from the corner of her
eye, briefly, expression unreadable. "You speak wisdom, mellon," she returns lightly, shrugging, "But who knows how long
this good behavior will last." Now she looks at him fully, laughter in her gaze.

The edain enter, and Ostiel looks towards them curiously. "Ah. We have company, Galharth."

"Look, peaches!" Muirgheal exclaims her delight...only to find that the greenhouse is full of elves, and that some of their
eyes are upon her. She tries to hide her blush of surprise by looking down at Caoimhe, the daughter she carries. However,
the girl isn't looking at her mother, not at all. Hazel eyes are trained on Rhifaroth, who follows behind them. Then the
girl opens her mouth and says, "Dad!" In a shrill, happy cry. A smile breaks upon her face as though she's done something
rather brilliant. Muir looks down at the girl- that was unexpected. She turns back to the group of edhil gathered here to
murmur, "Mae govannen," and offer a smile of her own.

"The past ever haunts, dear lady," Galharth says softly in a deep voice, "Yet it should never predict the future....." At
the Adepts hint of company the ellon clears his throat from anything further that might have been said to turn with surprise
to find the second born family arrive within the greenhouse. His lower lip twitchs slightly and he takes a step from his
companion to lift a hand in greeting. "Well met and warm tidings," he calls out in common tongue, offering a smile as the
woman speaks Sindarin, prompting him to repeat his greeting, "Mae govannen...."

Muirgheal's husband is only sort of here in focus. The man's gaze is a little glassy as he comes along, but aware enough
that when his daughter's voice chirps shrilly something recognizable, the man tries to focus upon the child his wife is
carrying. Rhifaroth studies the child a moment before his attention returns to the boy he is carrying.

But the focus is short lived. Plants around them. Even as his wife notices that there are elves here and speaks a greeting,
the Dunadan has faded in focus and just stands there.

Another enters the greenhouse. He smiles finding himself among such enjoyable company. "Good day to all of you," Thorhur
exclaims joyfully. Taking the basket from under his arm, he approaches Ostiel and laughs. "The healers asked, well..told me
to come and collect plants," he explains before turning to Rhifaroth and her daughter. He smiles. "So you must be the
parents of these fine children?" he asks.

"Then collect plants you must," Ostiel chuckles at Thorhur, dropping her hand from the leaf. "Call me if you need any
assistance, of course." The edain she graces with a light curtsy and faint smile. "What beautiful children you have, good
folk. How many years are they?"

Muirgheal looks over to her husband, to see if he might say anything in response to his daughter, but...nothing. Muirgheal
frowns, seeming more than a little sad. She's finding it hard to continue to be hopeful, some days, with Rhifaroth so often
not here in his mind. But she returns her attention to Caoimhe and points at herself. "Mama!" The girl is good, when
prompted. Also...Caoimhe seems to recognize Galharth. "Is that your friend?" Muir asks her daugther, while giving a grin to
the ellon. She turns to Ostiel and smiles. "Le hannon. They're almost a year now. They will soon see their first birthday
here in the valley." To Thorhur, "Yes, these are our children- and again, I must thank you all for bringing them so safely
to us."

As the focus of one fades, the focus of another grows more intense. Uncertainty flickers over the Tailor's face and he
presses his lips tightly together as if searching to for words, or perhaps seeking some inner strenght to speak them. For a
moment, the ellons face pales, and he swallows hard, before clearing his throat and turning to focus upon the little girl.
"Ah, little one," he says, offering the little girl a smile.

Thorhur smiles. "Your son was a pleasure," he says, stooping over to collect a colorful flower, "He was quite a handful, but
he was very playful." Pointing to the piece of his cloak missing, his smile broadens. "I had to give him a piece of my cloak
or else he would have disrobed me." His eyes linger on Muirgheal for a moment longer, then he resumes picking flowers.

Having slipped in without notice, a 'gardener' moves among the flowers of the greenhouse, tending them with care with his...
tongs? From a forge?

Muirgheal's husband continues to stand very quietly, looking off at nothing in particular in the greenhouse. His stillness
is unnatural. The man is for the moment quite gone and not here though he holds onto his son absently as the child twists a
little to look around. Elfaroth sees a brightly colored, brillant bloom and reaches out a pudgy hand to try and grab it,
just past his father's shoulder.

"The first year of their lives," Ostiel exclaims quietly, her smile now more genuine and less polite. "What a blessing it
is, to grow in wisdom and stature in such a peaceful place as this. Certainly, you two must be proud." Her eyes drift from
Muirgheal to Rhifaroth, not in concern, but solemn interest. "Both of you."

Muirgheal laughs softly at Thorhur's story about her son. "Yes, you should talk to the village women in Archet..they have
similar quarrels with him in regards to his removal of their clothing." Muir grins. Then dark eyes shift to Ostiel. "I am,"
the young woman says, hugging the little girl she holds. "Quite proud." She smiles, but it fades at Ostiel's last. "Yes,
Rhifaroth is proud, too, when he's...here. I know he loves them as much as I." She's solemn now, too, and when she looks
over at her son and husband, she notices Elfaroth reaching out for a flower. She takes a few steps closer to her son,
worried perhaps that he might slip from Rhifaroth's arms in his attempt, and it go unnoticed by his father.

The Knight moves closer to Elfaroth, smiling at him sweetly. "Do you remember me little one?" he asks, picking several
purple flowers and tossing them absently into the basket.

Stepping back and reaching out, the Tailor reaches for Ostiel's hand. Catching her firmly he leans towards her so that his
lips brush lightly against her ear. For all that might see, it looks as if he means to speak something intimate in the
presence of company. Softly, Galharth whispers.

You +whisper to Ostiel, "The man..... he was the one in which the woman Cordelia spoke. Tell me, does he not hold the same
distant look of pain in which haunted me whislt I recovered from my cature at he hands of the vile beasts that aimed to hold
me? While humans do not fade as we, he holds the look of one fading deep within to protect himself."

The gardener Mirodhel glances toward the gathering as he plays with the flowers and moves in that direction. He glances in
particular at the Man and his child, but then turns to go on with his work.

Muirgheal watches as Elfaroth smiles at the one who is throwing flowers. But when Galharth begins to whisper, and she
catches the name Cordelia- there is a flash of her old, wicked anger in her black eyes. "It's time we were going. The
children need to be changed, and they are likely in need of a bath." The young woman looks at all those present. "Would
you...watch...my husband? Please? Just for a little while?" It's a painfully awkward question. She takes Elfaroth into her
other arm, and gets ready to depart.

Ostiel listens closely to Galharth's words, her eyes softening from interested, to sympathetic, then to understanding. When
Muirgheal speaks her request, it is Ostiel who is quick to answer, with both words and a nod of acquiescence. "Do not fear,
mellon nin. He will be quite safe in our care."

Muirgheal gives a very appreciative look to Ostiel. "Le hannon, mellon." She looks around at the group of elven faces, and
then she and the children are gone back out into the sunlight.

Ostiel +whispers to you, "I must agree with you, mellon nin. It saddens me, in truth, for no being should have to suffer in
such a way as to make nothingness preferable to life. I will try to speak to him, perhaps."

Someone has taken his son from him. Rhifaroth blinks, startled, but catches a glimpse of his wife stepping out of the
greenhouse with both of the children in hand. Little hands that did not wish to let go of him brought the man's focus back
as he was tugged at, then the child's weight removed.

A little disoriented, Rhifaroth looks to Muirgheal's departure with out him, then turns his head to where he is... and only
then notices that there are elves here, "What?" His voice is rough, raspy. He missed something again. Was he supposed to go
with his wife or stay here? Confusion for a moment is evident in the man's face.

Mirodhel finishes his tending of the flowers and puts away his tongs in his apron from the forge. Walking forward a last few
steps, he approaches those gathered and calls out merrily, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" He smiles and bows.

Thorhur smiles warmly at Rhifaroth, taking pity upon the man. Collecting the last of his flowers, he turns to Mirodhel and
smiles. "<Bethteur> Thank you mellon," he whispers. He is about to say something more, when a healer enters the greenhouse
and approaches the Knight sternly. "Come with me," she orders, taking the Knight by the hand, "The healers are waiting."

Without a chance to say goodbye, the Knight disappears through the door of the greenhouse, lead by the (nancing) healer.

Mobeorn enters the greenhouse shortly after Muirgheal and her children depart, the Beorning man coming in several minutes
after her. He sniffs the air as he enters, as an animal might in a new place, though he is clearly a man. "Ah.." a smile
comes to his face as he recognizes Galharth from the reception. "I'm not disturbing you folk, am I? Just walking about..."

"She's off to give them a bath, mellon," Galharth says as he watches the awakening on the man's face. "She thought perhaps
you'd wish to stay and speak with us, though if you choose not to, I'm sure she would not mind you following." Sweeping a
hand to the elves present, he continues to speak. "I am Galharth, and this is Ostiel, and that was Thorhur" the Craftmaster
says as he watches the Knight depart. It is then that the ellon finally realizes the arrival of the Beorning.

"Nay, feel welcome in our company. Mobeorn, was it not?" he says in common as he bows his head. "In fact, I thought to speak
with you today if chance allowed our paths to meet." Turning back to Ostiel, he bends once more as if he might kiss her
cheek, though he does, in truth he does so in order to whisper one final thing to the Adept.

You +whisper to Ostiel, "Do speak with him and work the ways, for I would speak with him myself, but I find myself fearful
to face something so painful whilst it is still too new. Thank you."

It is with a step away from the Tailor and a soothing smile that Ostiel steps away from the Tailor and towards the drifting
edain, coming into his view. There is an air about her that oozes calmness, though if that aura will spread is not yet seen.
"Mae Govannen. I am Ostiel. If you choose to stay, perhaps you would like to examine the flowers with me?" She does not
press him, but turns her attention briefly away, to the ellon that has returned to her side.

Ostiel +whispers to you, "Of course I will, if he is willing. I see that this troubles you, but worry not overmuch. Heed
your own advice, and relax."

"Aye, Mobeorn it is," that man nods, "and I would be glad to speak of things as you mentioned. Though I'm afraid I don't
recall your name, nor the names of the others here." As he says such, his eyes drift to Rhifaroth and his brow knits
slightly.

Mirodhel looks from the chattering Elves to the Man and then Mobeorn. He bows low and calls out, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

A flicker of pale eyes at Mobeorn's arrival, but no recognition there either. All of these folk seem to be strangers to
him... Galharth's introductions perhaps help, as the Dunadan focuses first upon the silver haired ellon, then the lovely
elleth of the golden earth hues who comes before him with warm greeting. The scarred and tattooed man opens his mouth as
though he might say something, but he doesn't.

Rhifaroth swallows against the damage of his throat, eyes slipping to take in the elf who just drew up and bowed. A faint
creasing of his dark brows as 'Seeker' studies Mirodhel, then the man inclines his head politely to the Nolder whom he
remembers.

"I am Galharth," the Tailor says in the common tongue, watching as the Ostiel steps forward towards the tattooed man. His
thoughts are distracted as Mirodhel speaks again, though the words as they were before, are lost to the Craftmaster. Looking
from the elf to the Beorning, he chuckles softly. "It is a strange thing to walk a land where so many different languages
seem common place. Perhaps it is time I focus on learning something new."

'You know our language!' Mobeorn beams, roaring with laughter at Mirodhel. The man does nothing small and quietly, it might
seem. "<Sindarin> I know but little of yours, though," he grins, speaking Sindarin but with a strangely earthly feel to the
way the words roll off of his tongue, perhaps. 'The Laird Grimbeorn can speak it, and taught me some. But, how do you come
to learn Eothrik?' he beams at Mirodhel. 'I'm intrigued, and Cecilia, one of our healers who accompanied us, will be
likewise.'

The Beorning man's grin continues as Galharth introduces himself. 'Well met, then. I am interested, as I mentioned, in
learning what news you have to pass to us.'

Mirodhel smiles and answers Mobeorn in Sindarin, pleased to be able to use his own speech by the look on his face,
"<Sindarin> The Northman have long been of interest to me and their tongue as well. I have followed its changes over many
years and it pleases me to be able to use it with one of their own." The Noldo glances over at the Dunadan and then
Galharth.

"Allow me to introduce myself as well," Ostiel inserts in Sindarin, her voice quietly but no less commanding than her
masculine peers. She inclines her head to both Mirodhel and Moeborn in turn, gaze lingering curiously on the latter. "I am
Ostiel. Mae Govannen." Though she steps away from him, the Cuigrithweg yet remains aware of Rhifaroth, her body half turned
towards him in a fully concious movement.

For his own part, the Dunadan was perhaps for a moment fading, loosing interest perhaps in what was going on around him,
standing quietly as introudctions take place. Speech much like the lapping of the brook or the sighing of the wind around
him, distant.

Yet, the sudden bellow of laughter and exclamation within the confines of the greenhouse is like a thunderclap to the ears!
Mobeorn's voice for a moment rattles the very rafters and vivots Rhifaroth's attention upon the large man at once, startled,
and suddenly wary.

"<Sindarin> I can not claim such an interest in the Northmen, nor anything so personal. Our own interest is more in what
common needs we now share." Galharth says softly. Glancing from Mirodhel to Mobeorn, he shakes his head. "<Sindarin> But do
not let me foul pleasant chatter, we can speak later Mobeorn."

Mirodhel looks closely at the Dunadan and measures his reaction to Mobeorn. The Noldo gives thought to this a moment and
then asks quietly in yet a new tongue, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

'For certain we can,' Mobeorn nods to Galharth, answering in Westron. A smile and nod of his head to Ostiel as the elleth
introduces herself. "<Sindarin> ****** it seems that this valley is made only for pleasant ************, and our time will
*********** be short here, or the ******** winter will block the Pass."

The Beorning man's laughter fades quite quickly--more so as he notices Rhifaroth paying attention to him and that man's wary
look. 'And you sir?' he asks the Dunadan politely but quietly, his head tilting some, as it seems it is his habit to do when
curiousity strikes him. 'I'm certain we have not met. I am Mobeorn, kin to Grimbeorn son of Beorn.'

Mirodhel's words are heard, and distract Rhifaroth from his study of Mobeorn. The Dunadan's gaze sharpens as he listens to
the Nolder, recognizing the language if not following the words that the elf speaks to him. There is a frown, then Rhifaroth
asks in turn as though confused, "<Sindarin> What?" The man's once smooth baritone is now rough, raspy and ruined.

Mobeorn however is for a moment unnoticed as Rhifaroth looks to Mirodhel for explanation. The Beorning's lowered voice
though still regains the tattooed man's attention as Rhifaroth turns his head back to him. He inclines his head in
acknowledgement, then tries to say something himself. It comes out garbled and the man coughs, trying to clear his throat.

"Seeker" he manages to say once he gets his breath again, annoyed with himself.

With the suggestion and acceptance of a potential discussion with the Beorning set for the future, the Tailor turns his
attention back to Ostiel and Rhifaroth. Moving closer to the Healer, he falls silent to observe, though clearly, something
about the strange behavior makes Galharth uncomfortable.

Mirodhel watches as Rhifaroth tries to say things and more importantly thinks them. The Noldo nods, perhaps understanding by
means of some arcane skill and then glances back at Mobeorn and the others.

"Seeker..." Mobeorn nods, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet, uncomfortably, looking to the others and seeming to
try to figure out their reactions to this strange man. "Well..well met!" he then says with a sudden cheerfulness. Whatever
it is that afflicts the Dunadan, after all, the elves of Elrond's valley are probably able to handle it, so the Beorning
cheers. "Galharth," he continues, "when are you available to speak of serious matters?"

Ostiel's smile is generous and kind as she moves away from the small crowd, lingering yet near to Galharth. "Perhaps," she
murmurs kindly, now turning back to Rhifaroth with a smile, "You would care to walk with me now? I would like to know you
better." This is said for his ears alone, though perhaps the other eldar will be able to hear it. Again, there is a sense of
'calmness' that moves out of her, making her hand warm as she lays it upon the Dunadan's shoulder, feather-light and
unobtrusive.

The late afternoon warmth of the greenhouse, slipping towards evening... it has been a long day filled with the delight of
children recently returned. Fatigued and needing to rest, Rhifaroth nods absently to Mobeorn and then stands quietly,
withdrawing without moving.

The Dunadan's resumed stillness and slipping of focus are at once evident to any who look to him, for his gaze has gone
glassy and once more unaware of those around him. The man looks tired.

Alas, Ostiel's kindly words and very light touch go unnoticed. The elleth will have to rouse the man more firmly if she is
to regain his awareness.

Mirodhel looks around and then bows to all those present, even the unseeing Dunadan. "I must be on my way. There is much to
prepare for the recital this evening in the garden. Forgive me for my haste, but the hour grows late."

Clearing his throat, and looking from Rhifaroth to Mirodhel, and then to Mobeorn, "Perhaps later this evening? Or even
tomorrow or the next at the latest." Galharth says in the common tongue. "We had no plans to stay long past the delivery of
the children to their parents." Glancing back to Rhifaroth, a slight frown appears upon his face. "Certainly," he says as he
glances to Mirodhel, "I too need to take care of a few things. T'was good meeting all of you again, and perhaps we can meet
again before the Galadhrim leave."

With that the Tailor moves away from the gathering and heads pointedly out the door, disappearing into the garden beyond.

Ostiel watches Galharth's departure, then turns her attention back to the unresponsive Rhifaroth. "Come then," she murmurs,
after waiting for a reaction in vain, "I'll introduce you to the peach tree. It was a pleasure meeting you both." She nods
to Mobeorn and Mirodhel, then gently wraps her fingers around the Dunadan's forearm, leading him away.

It is more difficult to regain the man's focus, being that he is tired. But Rhifaroth is dimly aware that someone has taken
his arm and he goes with Ostiel, deeper into the greenhouse. He says nothing as has become his custom most times. It won't
be long though before Muirgheal comes back seeking her husband and to relieve the kindly healer elleth.

As the group breaks up and begins to leave, Mobeorn inclines his head briefly. "Until later, then," he says, following the
others out.