================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Morning < About 10:40 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 15 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: New <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: Sun May 06 12:33:31 2007
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Healing Talan
This hushed talan is a quiet place of healing for those Galadhrim injured in battle. White robed Quendi, one wearing a
bracelet, easily walk about, tending to visitors, offering refreshments, and various other small jobs. Meanwhile patients
lie on comfortable, sparkling pads, gazing out at a sweeping view of the wood. Sunlight streams though the leaves of the
mellyrn, casting dancing shadows on the wooden floor. The air has a fresh, clean feeling. You feel better just resting here
for a moment.

Participants:
Galharth
Ostiel
Maglind
Haldir
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The late morning light shines softly within the healing talan, as the scents of the rose garden drift upwards along a gentle
breeze. The medicinal smells drifting through the talan over power the scent of flowers, but the mingled scent is a
pleasant, relaxing one. Song fills the air, though the source is difficult to identify in this protected haven.

On this morning, Galharth sleeps. His face is pinched in pain, as it seems the herbs given earlier are begining to wear off.
He shifts slightly in his sleep, almost as if his mind is reliving the moment of injury. A sudden gasp, and the clothier's
arm moves as if defending himself from some unseen blow. "Noooo," he hisses out. He's begining to wake.

There are a peaceful few, clad in white, who move like silent guardians about the talan. Ostiel is one of these solemn
Cuigrithweg, standing at a table not far from Galharth's bed, quietly sorting through a basket of herbs...until Galharth
suddenly moves. She does as well, stealing to his side with cool hands and furrowed brow. "Shhhh." She strokes his brow,
surreptiously checking his temperature. "The sun yet shines upon you, Galharth. The shadow is naught but illusion," she
whispers kindly, voice infused with tranquil warmth, soothing and low.

Tension can be seen in the ellon's muscles as the last of the memory twists its way through his mind. At the Attendant's
words, his eyes flicker open, and he visibly relaxes, even if only for a moment. "Pain," Galharth mutters softly, not
specifically saying the source of the pain. Closing his eyes for a moment, his face drifts through a variety of emotions, as
he clearly seems to be working on gaining control.

When next he opens his eyes, his composure seems more intact. "Not long has it been since I last delivered scraps for
bandages. How ironic that they are now to be used on me." he whispers softly. "I hope I am no trouble."

Even as the Clothier speaks, Ostiel is efficiently checking him over, hands seeming to impart a warmth that heals as well as
inspects. "You are no trouble, mellon nin...it is for injuries such as yours that this talan stands. If you will wait a
moment, I will fix you something for the pain." She eases up a nearby pitcher, and moves back to the table, reaching for the
sorted herbs.

Shifting slightly, the clothier attempts to sit up. Broken bones shift against eachother, and healing flesh pulls to the
point of reopening. Although the movement was slight, the effect is swift and unsympathetic. "Something...." he hisses
softly, "for the pain, would be appreciated."

"Have you heard," Galharth says as he struggles to remain still so to soften the discomfort, "about Haldir's condition? Has
he recovered from this encounter with the Troll?"

"Do not move," Ostiel reproves, firmly but softly, "It isn't wise to unsettle broken bones... As to the condition of Haldir,
I have little to say. He is used to battle, and I imagine used to recovery as well. And," she sits on the edge of the bed, a
goblet of cool, green drink (though very little) in one hand, "He was not severely wounded as you. Now...I need you merely
sip at this." Sliding a practiced arm beneath the injured ellon's head, Ostiel holds the goblet to Galharth's mouth.

"His mithril protected him," Galtharth mutters softly as he leans his head slightly to drink in the brew offered by the
Attendant. "I was only a distraction." His words, softly spoken, are hollow. This little offered is quickly consumed, and
the clothier settles back, awaiting the effects to take hold.

"It was worth it, Ostiel," he says softly, "Both the net and the catapult worked. This was worth it."

"I am glad you think so," the Cuigrithweg replies neutrally, cradling Galharth's wrist in her hand, checking his pulse.
Again, her skin seems to emit a gentle healing, though this time it is just a bit more 'concentrated', and, by the strange,
misty look that is growing in her eyes, purposeful. "Though I am certain there are those who disagree."

Peace and comforth surrounds the clothier, either from the drink or via the skill of the Attendant, "Opinions will always
vary, Ostiel," Galharth says softly as he closes his eyes to focus in on the feelings now echoing through him. "I can not
explain it, but I learned much in the testing, and our people can only benefit."

Taking a deep breath, seeking to calm his eratic breathing, the ellon closes his eyes. "I'm drifting," he mutters.

"That is quite alright," Ostiel murmurs softly, bringing her other hand up to his brow. "May the rest be kind to you. You
need it greatly." Then she closes her own eyes...and concentrates, pouring of herself into the Clothier with generous
precision. Healing flows between them, glowing and mysterious, pure and white, warm and yet somehow cool, mild as spring
heat. The other healers move about silently, respectful of what is taking place.

Ostiel tends to the injuries on Galharth.

Even as serenity descends upon the healing talan, another figure enters into it. Although Haldir is cloaked in his customary
garb, he is bereft of weapon and armor: sword and helm. He pauses at the top of the stairway, before stepping towards
Galharth and Ostiel, cautious and careful not to disturb -- he limps, just barely.

Galharth closes his eyes, "Kind?" he says softly, sighing softly at the warm envelope created by the herbs given. "You're
heart is gentle dear lady, and for that I do what I have done."

Pausing his words, the clothier seems to drift. "A fool some say, yet no I say." he mutters, clearly falling victim to the
herb. Looking towards Ostiel with glassy eyes, he smiles. "Perhaps tomorrow I can start upon a nice new gown for you. Sky
blue with seed pearls and flowing sleeves. Won't that be nice?" He asks as his eyes seems to cross slightly.

Ostiel briefly opens her eyes, chuckling softly. "Aye, that sounds lovely." Then her gaze clouds again, is covered by thin
eyelids, and she falls silent. If Haldir has been noticed, she doesn't not acknowledge him. However, a young apprentice has
moved up to him, and inquires of his health, and of his presence here.

"Nay, I am well," intones Haldir softly, waving aside the apprentice with a simple, dismissive gesture of the hand, "I come
to find the well-being of others."

Bare feet tread silently over the wooded floor, and the marchwarden comes to a halt a few cots away from healer and
clothier. He sits.

Crystal blue eyes flicker open, glazed though they are. "Haldir? Amazing..... such skill you have. Did you know that?"
Galharth says with a slurred voice.

The clothiers head flops over, to stare at the Attendant. "He saved my life did you know. I only ended up injured because
the beast taunted him." With that the crafter takes a guarded breath, and closes his eyes once more to drift off into a
dream induced by herbal means.

Something lingers at the door, bright and gilded in the light of the afternoon. Who knows why Maglind has come? It is not
often he comes (voluntarily) to the healing talan.

It is only after Galharth slips into slumber that Ostiel raises her head, eyes soft and a bit weary. Looking down upon him,
she whispers, "Aye, I know that." Turning to look at Haldir, the Cuigrithweg offers him a enigmatic smile, expression
unreadable, and begins to stand carefully.

The young apprentice, having spotted Maglind, bustles over to him, skirts dusting over the floor. "Mae Govannen. May I help
you?"

And Haldir still sits upon the cot, concerned gaze watching first as the clothier slips to sleep then turning to the healer.
Yet hushed is his voice, even as he asks: "Will he be well?"

"Not particularly," replies Maglind to the apprentice politely, "I came to visit, if I may." And his gaze edges anxiously
over the cots.

"Of course," the apprentice soothes, and gestures widely about the talan, "May your stay be blessed."

On the other side of the talan, Ostiel sighs and relocates a nearby chair, setting it next to Galharth's bed. Lowering her
slim body onto it, she nods slowly. "I am inclined to say yes, for he is hardy and bold of fea. However, the recovery will
not be painless."

An inclination of golden-tressed head prematurely betrays the nature of Haldir's reply: "That is good -- and ill. But so it
must be. Perhaps he will learn a lesson of it, yet." He looks over towards Maglind, but says nothing.

"How long?" comes the faint question, from Maglind who treads gently over floorboards as not to make a sound. He stays at
the wall, hiding in what little shadow lingers during the afternoon.

The first's voice is muffled, drowned in a sea of sheets. The train of a grey dress peeks from below. A bare foot. A jewel,
flashing in the morn.

"So many sheets you have, sister," greets Mirielinn.

"I cannot say," Ostiel says in greeting to Maglind, shaking her head. "I believe that will depend upon him, upon how quickly
he naturally heals. My opinion leans toward a solid recovery, however, and I pray there will be no complications."

Haldir frowns, but leans forward slightly, placing a hand upon chin for support. "What complications could happen? It is not
as if we are upon a journey, wherein a sudden attack may happen."

"Complications from the attack, Ostiel?" queries Maglind, his fingers playing on the back of a chair. "It may be possible.
It was no ordinary beast."

"I speak only out of caution," Ostiel murmurs, looking back and forth to Maglind and Haldir, "Not from fact. We can only
wait," she looks down at the slumbering ellon, brow creased with concern and thought, "And see. Perhaps one of the Healers
would have a more confident analysis."

"It might be wise not to speak of the creature while in the healing talan," cautions Haldir, a quick glance shot over
towards Maglind as he speaks. "But we trust you, Ostiel, and so will accept what you say concerning his recovery. I am glad
to see him whole, at the least."

Maglind shrugs, giving a brief nod as his eyes, dimmed, wander over the ellon's cot.

Ostiel nods in gratitude to both ellons, though now she is looking over Haldir with a mildly concerned gaze. "And yourself,
Haldir? How are you healing?"

"I am well," murmurs Haldir in reply, lifting shoulders in a shrug, though the tug of sat-upon cloak hinders the ability for
the marchwarden to raise them full. "My armor took the brunt of it. It needs more attention than I. A slight limp, 'tis all.
Nothing to be concerned of."

"I was unscathed," Maglind says, his tone almost guilty. Carefully he draws his cloak closer about himself, though it is yet
afternoon.

The tone of Maglind's voice is not lost on Ostiel. "We are all grateful you were unscathed, Maglind. If all of you had been
wounded, the situation would be considerably less tolerable." Unbidden, a sigh rises up from within Ostiel's belly. The
meaning of it is unclear.

At first, it would appear that Haldir lapses into silence, with gaze meandering up into some corner of the talan -- but
then, a frown again springs to lips, though it is short-lived: "What is the matter?"

With a small shrug of his shoulders, Maglind looks away and stares absently at the window, with sunlight playing off the
lines of his face.

Ostiel opens her mouth to reply, and would, if not for a sudden scuffle outside the talan. It is naught but a woodland
creature, scampering down the talan staircase. When Ostiel turns back to Haldir and Maglind, it is with a soft frown. "There
is naught the matter, on my part."

With an inclination of his head, Haldir rises. "So be it; and be well, Ostiel, Maglind." Swift, silent steps steer the
marchwarden to the exit, and then beyond.

"I, too, take my leave," Maglind says to the attendant with a deep sigh. He makes for the door. "Farewell, Ostiel."

Watching two retreating backs, Ostiel blinks, once, twice, revealing an exhaustion which was not apparent before. Standing,
she moves to the stairway that leads upstairs. "Please let me know if Galharth awakens." Then she climbs up to the Healer's
Home, finds an empty bed, and lies down.