8/24/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon < About 1:16 PM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 1 Orenidh <Middle-Days>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 20 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3044>
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RL time: Sun Aug 24 09:25:39 2008
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South Garden
Several smooth-barked, ancient trees with hanging clusters of golden flowers spread their branches to provide shelter from
the sun during the day. Their long limbs branch outward as they rise, Elm-style, leaving plenty of sheltered space below.
They make a cool, secure grotto-like area. Wildflowers lend their color and fragrance to this quiet area. You can just make
out the Bruinen bubbling somewhere over the vine-enveloped wall. Besides the open path back to the porch, a large trellis
leads away eastward, and a thin, well-worn path leads away westward.

Contents:
Galharth
Mobeorn
Lithiugelir
Cecilia

The early afternoon sun breeches the mountaintops, sending a wave of golden light cascading into the valley. Either by
accident or design, glorious aspects of the elven home is highlight. One such place is the southern Garden. Bright light
trickles down through the canopy of the ancient trees, touching down towards the flowers. A soft wind blows within the
valley this day, carrying the scent of water to mingle with the wild flowers of the garden. Truely, this place is a haven of
peace.

Wandering the garden this day is a visitor within the valley. Tall and slender, yet fair of hair. Silver tresses dance in
the wind as he movesm bending occasionally to inhale the scent of the flowers. "So like the gardens I love, and yet only a
reminder...."

Under the green-leafed trees, well hidden within the shade sits a tall, brown-haired man, leaning against a tree trunk, eyes
closed in an afternoon nap. That is, he appeared to be napping until an elven voice carries upon the wind, discussing the
flowers. One eye is opened first, then the other, then Mobeorn yawns, watching the visitor wander among the flowers. "Is
your honey, then, as good as the honey here?" he asks, not bothering to raise his voice to call across to the visitor.

Someone is walking through the garden from the direction of the terraces and comes through the trellis, covered with a late
blooming, sweet clematis vine smothered in small, white flowers. The figure, a man rather than an ellon, pauses just this
side of the old trellis and mumbles something to himself, a hand raised as though marking out the timing of a beat. Then he
shakes his head and drops his hand, frowning.

Yes, of course it's that silly harper, Lith. He turns his head when he thinks he hears voices but the one he sees is
Galharth, though it was another's voice too low to hear clearly, not the elf's.

At the sound of a voice, the Tailor does not startle, nor does he turn. Instead, he reaches out to cup a particularly large
blossom. "Is it not strange that we all find something to compare, and something that brings a longing for home into our
minds." Releasing the flower, the firstborn turns to the visitor, though his eyes flicker beyond the Beorning to another.
"Well met, Mobeorn, and to you, though I do not believe I know you." Galharth says as his crystal blue eyes flicker from one
to the other.

Letting his gaze finally fall upon the Beorning, he smiles. "To your question, I can not say, for my view is jaded, and my
heart tells me that our honey would be sweeter than that of any other land."

"Afternoon to you, sir," Mobeorn grins, shifting a bit under the tree to try to see through the branches and get a glimpse
of who else has arrived here. "Ah...Harper," he grins when he does catch sight of the man. "Do the gardens remind you of
your home in Bree? I can't help think of our honey when I come here, and the fields of clover by Grimbeorn's house. Though,"
he adds to Galharth, "I've never tasted the honey of your lands."

It takes a moment of peering into the low hanging shade of the trees to locate Mobeorn once the harper hears that familiar,
low rumble. Hardly able to see the Beijabar back under there, and himself standing in sunlight, Lithiugelir glances to the
elf, then back to his friend, "You mistake me, friend. I thought I clarified that I'm not from -Bree-, just the general
area. Only town most folk have ever heard of, this side of the mountains."

After a thoughtful pause and a glance around, Lith smiles, "Bree has no gardens - nothing like these. Just a vegetable patch."

A quick glance from Mobeorn to the tall, slender, silvery haired elf, "Excuse me, but aren't you one of the guests from
Lorien?" Asks the Dunadan of Galharth.

Cecilia wanders along, a young woman with a smile on her face and lightness to her step. She's holding a flower in one hand,
twirling it absently as she traipses among the gardens, enjoying the lovely scents of all the flowers.

A quick glance from Mobeorn to the tall, slender, silvery haired elf, "Excuse me, but aren't you one of the new guests here
in Imlad?" Asks the Dunadan of Galharth.

"Few brave our lands for those who enter do not always leave," Galharth says softly without threat, "But I can tell you that
the bees are untouched by the sorrows and disruptions often faced by other bees. They are happy and it can be tasted in the
glorious nectar they create."

Turning to the other human, the corner of the firstborn's mouth twitchs slightly. "I'm a visitor, yes," The Tailor says
softly, carefully inspecting Lithiugelir. "And it is strange that you mention Bree, for we've just passed through there."
Gently clearing his throat, he turns to glance at the flowers. "We had a bit of trouble there, but nothing beyond our
handling."

Glancing up, he catches sight of a woman. "Well met," he says softly as he continues to speak common.

Mobeorn does get to his feet now, stretching and yawning widely, then stepping out from under the shade of the tree.
"Morning lass," he greets Cecilia first, with a quick smile. "Have you found much in the way of healing lore and herbs in
our short time here? I haven't seen you about much."

"One day," perhaps, he then continues to Galharth, "we shall compare honeys. But you'll have to come to our lands. I'll not
enter yours," he frowns. "Your pardon--no insult is meant by that, but, as you say, those who enter do not always leave. And
I would be loathe to leave the Anduin and the mountains forever. As well, I would miss the bees that produce nectar
willingly for the Laird. They are unsurpassed, at least by my taste. And I have quite a taste for honey."

Lastly the shapeshifter addresses the Harper. "Aye...you have clarified that to me before, but it slipped my mind. It
occurred to me, though, that you are well known and, aye, even well loved here, Harper. Which gladdens me to see. Even the
Lady Arwen seems to hold you in esteem. This I am glad for."

Cecilia slows to a stop when she sees Mobeorn and Lith, though her attention is immediately drawn to the unfamiliar elf. She
gazes at him with an attracted wonderment, giving him a charming, if shy smile when he greets her. "Well met.." She responds
in turn, and completely ignores Mobeorn for the moment, too distracted by the foreign beauty of the elven man.

Lithiugelir is distracted by the sight of Cecilia coming into this section of the garden. The harper moves towards her a
little and offers a smile with his greeting, "Good day, lady Cecilia. I do hope that you are enjoying the Valley." His harp
for a change is not in hand, nor worn upon his back in it's leather case. It must be safely stashed elsewhere.

Looking back to the tall elf, the Dunadan continues to smile, "Then be welcome here, friend. I am called Lith ... Harper, to
some. You were among those who brought those children for that man and woman. I would hear what you have to tell of Bree, if
you will."

And to Mobeorn, a brief hesistation and a faintly embarassed laugh, "Aye, well... " Lith skims long fingers through his dark
hair, "I've run into a few folk, now and again." It isn't much of an explanation.

"No insult taken, for the words speak wisdom." The Tailor says with a crooked smile. "But perhaps a few of our folks could
come to your land...." he pauses his words a moment and smiles fully, "Bearing honey of course," he says with his smile
growing a bit broader, " Perhaps we could come to your land to discuss the common threat that comes from both the west and
east of our mutual lands."

Catching note of the attention drawn from the woman, Galharth reaches out and takes a flower and offers it to Cecilia. "I am
Galharth," he says softly as he peers at the woman. "Perhaps you might like to collect this flower for your healing pouch,
for I've seen our healers gather it to ward off illnesses that humans often get."

That which brought the smile fades quickly as Lithiugelir speaks, and a frown takes residence upon the firstborn's lips.
"Indeed, I would speak of Bree, but perhaps not now for there is little room to tell tales of injury among the flowers."

"Little room, indeed, but less time, I think," Mobeorn frowns. "This whole valley, I think, is not conducive to speaking of
threat and injury, and yet we must, perhaps even in the presence of flowers and those who heal such hurts," he adds, with a
nod to Cecilia. "The High Pass will soon be blocked for the winter for all but the strongest, and we must begin our journey
home soon. So I would hear what you have to say of threats, sir," he tells Galharth, "though the sun and the flowers and the
singing of the wind here make my heart want to hear of anything but evil. But it is evil we must deal with and face, so...."

Cecilia was smiling before, but when Galharth offers her the flower it grows absolutely brilliant. 'Thank you.' She says
softly, grouping it up with the other flower she was already holding. 'I'm Cecilia.' She offers, then glances over towards
Mobeorn. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

A faint frown tugs at Lith's normally cheerful features as he listens to the ellon. But if he would say something, the
harper instead glances to the others, mindful that such news in Bree might not be for everyone to hear. Only just then,
Mobeorn speaks up.

Ah, Cecilia is paying him not the least bit of attention - not even to reply to his greeting, nor to offer one of her own in
exhange. He watches her for a moment but then slips is attention to mulling over his own thoughts.

The Dunadan takes a few idle steps deeper into the garden and says nothing.

Folding his arms over his chest, the Tailor nods. "Very well then." He says flatly as he glances from Mobeorn to Harper.
"There was a woman in Bree, by the name of Cordelia." he says, begining his tale. "A number of the people, both human and
halfling alike accused her of a number of deeds, including murder and harming a Ranger by the name of Seeker...." Pausing
his words, Galharth looks to Harper and clears his throat. "While we knew him not, by name, a friend of my people." Looking
back to the Beorning, he continues. "With this, there was an obligation to seek out what news I could that might have been
missed by others."

Lowering his head, he shakes it gently. "A name was mentioned, a connection to this woman." He shivers slightly, but is
quick to compose himself as he looks back up. "Alas, let me get to the end, for with it, I can offer a suggestion that this
woman, and perhaps others might be watched more closely." Shrugging, he adds, "But I think this is already known."

"In Bree?" Mobeorn asks. "A woman poses a threat in Bree?" his brows raise for a moment. "I had come here to seek advice
about another matter--orcs and trolls in the Old Forest Road, including an orc that does not grow weak in the light of the
sun. Herion was searching for such one, and we believe that we injured it critically. But the threat still remains. Harper
here, in fact, helped fight this beast and was gravely wounded for it."

Cecilia lets out a soft sigh as the men start discussing troubles elsewhere. She sniffs at the flower Galharth gave her,
then lets her gaze wander, noticing Lith again finally. She offers him a cheerful smile and a wave, but looks back at
Mobeorn when he begins speaking of the orc, curious about -that- topic.

Having been expecting that the elf would not speak of such things after having said that he would not here and now, Lith had
been meandering as though he might drift out of the garden and on his way. But Mobeorn's words paused his progress, and now
the man stands quietly listening to the lilt of Galharth's tale. A black brow arches up at the mention of a Ranger, a Ranger
who's name is unfamiliar to himself, and he frowns considering this information.

Mobeorn's reply distracts him and Lithiugelir nods gravely, "Aye, it as too much for Mobeorn and I together to stand
against. It newly slew us both, and there were a fair number with it. And a troll, which I hear tell of was slayn later...
and a strange, frightful rider. Cold, frightful rider like nothing I have ever seen or felt before." The harper does not
like even recalling that latter presance.

A faint smile for Cecilia's looking to him and waving, but the harper's disposition for the moment is no longer cheery.

Lithiugelir adds quietly in reply to Galharth, "This is not known to me. I would know detail ere I depart for Bree myself,
shortly."

Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the Beorning's words, or perhaps something more seem to be causing some
distress. "Orc who walk in the light of day, and so too a Troll who does the same..... The terror so thick it might be cut
with a blade." Looking up his eyes seem to be drawn back in time, "The Troll, boldly calling forth its name as Grot was
missing an eye....." Pausing, he looks to Harper and Mobeorn, "He has my brother-in-law to thank for that."

"That was the very troll!" Mobeorn answers, excited, but his voice a growl with anger. "But we hard rumor that he was
felled, yes. And the rider, aye, striking fear through the heart, like a blade run straight through." The Beorning shivers.
"But...your brother in law? Then we must talk, indeed. Before my folk and I leave this valley, in fact. These evils were in
your land, too?"

Cecilia watches Galtharth with a more somber expression, the words about the trolling drawing away her cheer. She remains
quietly, drawing closer to Mobeorn now almost subconsciously.

"Grot.... dead?" Galharth asks as his arms drop to his sides, paling considerably as he backs up blindly, only to fall upon
a bench hard. "So many he injured, so much pain he brought to us." Looking up, he smiles, though weakly. "Good news you
bring me, and I will be glad to share it."

The harper nods, "I would have more news of Bree, and of this man called "Seeker" from you if you will, sir. But first I
should go and see what inquiry I might make with my own." A polite nod to excuse himself.

But ere he withdraws, Lithiugelir adds to Mobeorn, "You two should speak. Perhaps, as you say, if you both are traveling
east, you might go together 'fore the pass is closed with snow. Greater number will mean greater chance of success."

With an inclination of his head to Cecilia, Lith excuses himself and turns to depart the garden. A stop in the Arnorian
quarters perhaps is due.

"What a happy gathering I have come upon," a soft voice whispers. Soon a figure comes into view, passing by Lithiugelir with
a smile. His gray eyes scan the others gathered in the garden, falling lastly upon Galharth. "Hello Crafstmaster and Tailor
Galharth," he says happily. Turning to Mobeorn and Cecilia he smiles and nods.

Turning to Harper, the Tailor nods. "Find me later, and we'll have our talk." Galharth says as he watches the ranger leave.
Pausing only a moment more, he looks back to the Beornings. "He offers a suggestion that merits cosideration. Will you
travel with us Mobeorn?"

At Arthamon's entrance, the Craftmaster turns his gaze. "Well met." He says softly, as if still gathering his thoughts.

Cecilia's gray eyes widen some at the suggestion made by Lith, and further when Galharth seems interested as well. She looks
over at Mobeorn and says in a rush of words, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" Then without waiting for an answer she looks back at
the elf and offers another smile to him, 'We'd be happy to have you along on the trip.'

'Tailor and craftsman?' Mobeorn echoes Arthamon's words, a sudden sympathy coming into his eyes as he watches the elf fall
backwards onto a bench. 'Why, then, yes, we will travel with you, of course,' he says in a kindly voice. He half turns to
Cecilia, laughing a bit and nodding to her words. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

The Beorning nods at the departure of the harper, then, and the arrival of Arthamon, but his next words are still to
Galharth. 'Seeker? That is the name of the injured man, is it not? The one whose children were returned to him just the
other night? He said that very word when I spoke to him. Such as it were. He is deeply hurt, it seems to me--not in his
body, as it were.'

"Aye, Tailor, Craftmaster, and Prefect of the Court." Galharth says as he glances to the newly arrived human. "I'll pass the
news of your joining us to the others." Taking a deep breath he rises up from the bench. "We'll not be staying long, so make
what inquiries you need to make so that we might leave before winters bite."

Again he takes a breath, and with it his color returns to more normal. "Yes, that was the mans name, though I know not what
injuries he faced, I think I can know his pain. Our Healer Ostiel will attempt to speak with him, for it was she who
helped..... another face their pain."

"I hope that she can help," Mobeorn replies, some anger rumbling in his voice. "What happened to him? The scar marks at his
throat...and...well, anyone can see the man is hardly in the here and now. Can sense that, too...doesn't respond to much of
anything at all."

Mobeorn pauses to look up at the sky and sniff the air. "Fall is closing in on us, though. We should leave within the week,
no later."

Wanderer moves forward a bit closer to the group, listening with interest at Mobeorn's words. "Seeker's road to recovery
will be long," he whispers, "but hopefully the pains he suffered were not too great."

To Galharth, he smiles and tilts his head. "You mean not to stay too long in the Valley? I sensed that you all seemed weary
and burdened with many troubles. However, your camps mean to travel together over the mountains?"

Cecilia smiles in delight when it seems they'll be traveling together and she reaches over to give Mobeorn a quick hug. Then
the young woman looks around, grinning, "I'll go make sure I have all the things I need ready, so that I won't cause any
delays when the time arrives to leave."

"I know not the full details, and perhaps it best that this is known only to him and his healers." Galharth says softly, his
frown deepens at Arthamon's words, and the firstborn shakes his head. "Hope in this case fails, for he did indeed suffer.
One can see this in his eyes."

"This is not our home, and what weariness we have will pass once we reach home." Glancing to Mobeorn, the Craftmaster nods.
"This too I shall pass to my party. We'll be glad to hurry for we've no need to fight the weather under threat of fighting
Orc."

Mobeorn laughs at the girl's hug, reaching to try to give her an affectionate pat on the head. "Try to get some of the herbs
that the elves use, lass. They have a lot to teach us in that area."

"Probably for the best, aye," the Beorning man then rumbles. "I did sense that in him, too..." He frowns at the thought,
then nods again to Galharth. "You can be certain the orcs will oppose our passage over the mountains. And if there is not
snow to greet us this time of year, then incessant rain that soaks through clothing and skin to the bone, through to food
and firewood. We were hard pressed in the end and had to stop here before we could think about heading back. But..do you
have fighters with you at all?" he asks, looking dubious--Galharth's 'fainting spell' onto the bench just moments ago
apparently not giving the Beorning heart that the Lorien elves can defend themselves.

Cecilia grins, "I know, I know.." She responds, having heard similar words a dozen times already since their arrival in the
region. She flashes Galharth one more brilliant smile, then slips away, heading back towards the Beorning camp. There's a
thick book she brought about herbs that she needs to consult.. because the flower that Galharth gave her most certainly
needs a heavy book to be pressed flat and saved as treasured gift.

Wanderer listens further to the conversation, laughing as Cecilia departs. He grins at the Tailor and winks. "It seems you
have a crush there." His smile dissolves slightly as he continues.

Wanderer listens further to the conversation, laughing as Cecilia departs. He grins at the Tailor and winks. "It seems you
have a crush there." His smile dissolves slightly as he continues. "I wish you luck in your paths over the mountains," he
says, brushing a leaf off his cloak, "I have been in the mountains through many winters. I could only wish that you would
stay longer here, but I understand your haste."

"Fighters?" Galharth asks with a lifted brow. "Of course we have fighters, and contrary to my appearance, I hold my own well
with a Longsword as well, supplementing the skill of our guards." Shaking his head, he adds, "One can not live along the
Anduin any longer without some skill with a weapon."

A soft chuckle escapes the Tailor's lips as he watches Cecilia depart. "She is a lovely woman, for a human." Nodding to
Arthamon, he says, "There is no choice. We've been away too long."

"Ahh...this is good news, then," Mobeorn replies, satisfied by that answer. "You mentioned threat from East and West? Can
you elaborate more, or is that all there is to tell? Orcs and trolls from the East..and a woman from the West?"

He seems amused by Arthamon's comment, laughter playing in his eyes, but he says nothing more on that topic.

Arthamon's eyes light up, glistening, as they turn from Mobeorn to Galharth. He takes a small step back and folds his arms
over his chest. For the moment he remains silent, listening to what news Galharth has for the Beijabar.

"Beasts in the mountains to the west of our homes, now the beasts that come from the east," Galharth says softly, "The
woman..... I have only suspicions, for she mentioned the name of a woman that I saw and heard in the presence of the beasts
from the east." Frowning deeply, his arms cross over his chest once more, "Though I can not honestly confirm a relation to
the woman in the west to the one seen with the beasts, for I can find no way to confirm that they are one and the same."
Reaching up to run his fingers through his silver hair, he releases a slow breath. "The very thought on the matter brings
back memories that are best left alone."

"Beasts in the mountains to the west of the enchanted woods?" Mobeorn frowns. "I've not heard that before. Though I did hear
news of this orc that walked in the sun--is that what you mean? And I heard news of another creature that some were
tracking, or trying to--and it came through your lands, I was told."

Seeing the direction the conversation is turning, Arthamon slowly back into the shadows...disappearing from view.

"To our west lay the mountains, and in the mountains crazed beasts and some who travel atop their wargs." Galharth explains.
"And now Orc from the east. They who walk and attack within the light. Within the last years we've had vile beast of all
manner pass our borders." Rising to his feet, the Tailor bows his head. "Alas, I find myself in need to speak with Ostiel,
so forgive my departure. Surely we can talk on these matters whilst we travel east." With that the first born quickly
departs, leaving the Beorning to the flowers of the garden.

Talk of orcs riding wargs doesn't seem to surprise the Beorning--in fact, it brings a knowing nod from him. "Aye, we will
talk of such things, indeed. And let us ask the Great Bear that we don't meet such on our way across the Pass," he adds to
himself as the elf takes his leave. Mobeorn lingers a few more moments in the garden, then his steps carry him out and away,
perhaps toward the lake again.