================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:51 PM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 19 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel shines at its most brilliant above the horizon
in the western sky.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Mon May 07 16:37:11 2007
=====================================================================
Rose Garden
You stand in a small rose garden dazzled in white, red, and yellow. Placed in an circular pattern about the garden, a
walkway made up of small, uplifted ceramic tiles form rings of walking space surrounding a large golden mallorn planted in
the center. Shade from its limbs splay outward over this walkspace to provide for a pleasant atmosphere. Here and there,
benches, one with a lamp rising up out of the ground next to it, are placed for guests to enjoy the shade and the scenery.

To the south, a tall hedge hides the entrance to the shaded lawn. East, among a gnarly set of old oak trees, a small path
leads to the Apothecary, while to the North another path leads to the Northern Gardens. To the West, a gate leads out to the
Golden Roadway. Lastly, to the side, sparkling beneath a silver arch, a set of stairs can be seen leading to a talan up
above. Shown by the starlight, twinkling down from the sky, all is quiet in the Garden.

Participants:
Galharth
Maglind
Itarilde
Haldir
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The stars shine brightly over Middle Earth, providing a diamond like shimmer in a sea of inky black. It is a beautiful
sight, that inspires a lovely melody of song which drifts along a cool breeze. Within the Rose Garden, the scents of roses
lifts from the perfectly formed blossoms to dance along on the winter breeze.

Night draws many out into the Gardens, and escapees from the healing talan are no exception. Moving slowly, with one arm
wrapped around his ribs, the clothier Galharth quietly down the ladder. Reaching the emerald gree lawn, which weaves around
the rose bushes, he settles himself slowly to sit and enjoy the evening stars.

Maglind is there, haphazardly sprawled upon one of the benches which line the paths. He opens an eye lazily, rose-petals
scattered over him, and smiles.

"You finally escaped."

Intermingled with the cool night breeze is the gentle sound of harp strings. At first the source would be difficult to see
in the night, but the stars, and what little moonlight there is, provide just enough light to cast a silhouette of the elven
maiden across the grass. Gently nestled against a rosebush (smartly done so that the thorns wouldn't be a bother) is
Itarilde, plucking a simple tune.

At the sound of a voice, she stops and peeps her head around the bush. "Good evening," she offers sweetly to Maglind,
wherever he may be.

With a drawn expression, the clothier turns towards the Warden and offers a weak smile. "That was the easy part. I fear
returning will be near impossible," Galharth says in a voice above a whisper.

Leaning back upon his left arm, the Tailor peers up into the sky. "Such beauty in both sight and sound is to be had this
eve." Lowering his gaze towards the sound of a voice, he adds, "Please play on or join us."

"Er, good evening," is Maglind's surprised reply, as he sits up scattering white petals everywhere. He offers a little grin
to the rosebush. "Please, continue."

"How are your injuries?" the ellon queries nonchalantly to Galharth, lying back down. It is but a whisper, yet the slight
shadow of concern lies in the silence.

Itarilde's lips twist in a little smile as she picks up her instrument and moves closer to the clothier and Maglind. She
finds a place to sit so that the harp can be placed on her lap, and she looks up curiously to Galharth. "How are you
feeling?" she asks in a soft voice before proceeding to play something for them, and she tip-toes around the question of
what happened.

"Mia has been attending me, as has Ostiel," Galharth says as he glances from Maglind to Itarilde. "I had heard tell of Mia's
skills, but still they've surprised me." Shifting slightly to find a comfortable spot upon the lawn, the clothier glances
towards the Learner. "I feel better, mellon, and will feel better still with the sound of the music you play."

Suddenly, the crafters brow lifts in inspiration. "I wonder," he says aloud. "If we tell you a tale of Haldir and Maglind's
recent bravery, do you suppose you could compose a song?"

"Nay, nay," says Maglind, waving a slender hand, "none of the glory is mine. I stood and shot, and missed." Reddening, he
turns his face away from the starlight.

Itarilde looks curiously over at Maglind at his objection, and tips her head a bit as she starts playing a lullaby. "Oh,
then you're Maglind? Well I don't think it's fair, since you're here, if I don't include you in the song. We'll hear the
story and then I'll decide what to do with you," she says matter-of-factly before turning to Galharth again. "So now you
have my attention...I'd be very interested in composing a song about it."

Clearing his throat, Galharth leans back on his left arm once more, wrapping his right arm over his chest for suppose. "So
many of our people give forth their time and lives in defense of our lands," the clothier says, taking shallow breaths to
allow for his injuries. "And with that in mind, the Tailor Galharth...." he says, pausing a moment to bow his head, "That's
me by the way, set forth from Lorien to test a means to trap a wicked Troll."

Pausing, the crafter takes a moment to draw in air, "Alas, this Tailor was a fool born of inexperience, and he soon found
himself facing a demon." Glancing to Maglind, he smiles, "So far, I'm speaking the truth, right Warden?"

As if summoned by the mention of his name a few moments ago, Haldir passes through the hedge to the south, a leisurely gait
to his step, when it is not interrupted by a slight limp; and yet, it might seem he is born upon the wind, for there is a
certain, slow briskness about him: gray gaze is vigilant, carefully searching the garden, stride is certain, despite its
impediment, and the silence is pervasive, in spite of the songs that float upon the wind.

"Perhaps," says Maglind quite ambiguously, chin turned to the sky, blue eyes shut and unresponsive.

Itarilde listens intently to the story being told by Galharth. At the inclination of his head, she bows her own as her only
response to his introduction, and sets the harp on the ground next to her so that she won't be distracted. She folds her
hands across her lap and crosses her ankles, turning her head momentarily to look at Haldir with a smile. "Good evening,"
she offers softly before returning her gaze to Galharth.

A soft chuckle escapes the clothier's lips as he catches sight of the Warden and then the entrance of the Marchwarden, "Like
this pleasant eve, the Guards....." Galharth begins, pausing a moment, his good humor faulters in thought, "Nay, not guards,
but Hero's of Lorien trailed this naive ellon and stood fast before a wicked troll, granting a simple crafter a chance to
witness deeds only heard of in tales."

Nodding his head first towards Maglind, he adds, "The Warden's longbow," he pauses to turn towards Haldir, "And the
Marchwarden's longsword, have saved me from a residence within the halls of mandos."

"Good evening," answers Haldir, inclining flaxen-crowned head to the gathered three and slowing pace as feet wander the
meandrous pathways of the rose garden. Shadow-grey cloak trails carelessly behind, born upon the breath of chill night
breeze and resting upon the air of tardiness.

"They are only heard of in tales because we rarely fight such foes."

Turning, Maglind gives a dispassionate nod in agreement and greeting, righting himself to sit on the bench.

Itarilde narrows her eyes for a few moments, an expression of concentration and plotting apparent on her pale features.
After a pause she returns to the present and continues to smile.

"A most...interesting tale indeed. I should like to make a song of it. Although, it will take me some time, but I expect it
should be finished sometime within the next few days. I already have an idea for the music, but the lyrics will take much
longer to create."

Galharth nods, "I understand," he says eyeing Maglind with curiosity, "but I firmly believe it a tale in need of telling,
for some," he says, pausing for a moment to nods towards Maglind, "Do not fully acknowledge their efforts to save the lives
of others."

Shifting slightly, he winces, but recovers quickly. Turning towards Haldir, he lifts a brow of curiosity. "And how do you
fare Marchwarden?"

"Ai, ai," exclaims Haldir softly, even as he comes to a halt in the general vicinity of the three and lowers himself to sit
upon one of the benches. "What is the meaning of this? A song made of the event? I see no reason to commemorate the folly of
a crafter."

A shrug, however, and the Silvan replies: "I am well. It seems the same is true of you?"

Itarilde slowly stands and picks up her harp. "Well, if you'll excuse me I'd like to go work on that song and possibly find
something to eat. I'll be seeing you soon," she says, nodding her head to each and offering a slight wave of the hand before
exiting the gardens.

"Aye," replies Maglind tonelessly, drawing up his knees to his chest. He leans back -- carefully -- spiked by rose-thorns.

Lifting a brow towards the Marchwarden, Galharth shakes his head. "Nay, it does not commorate my folly Haldir, but instead
an honorable act of two." Shifting again, the clothier nods, "I am better, thanks to Mia and Ostiel."

Turning now towards Itarilde, a smile flashes upon the crafters face, "And you dear lady, I thank you, as my friends will
surely thank you. I look forward to our next meeting and to hear the song that puts to words the bravery of my friends."

Formerly non-descript brows furrow inwards, marking the moment of confusion that passes over the marchwarden; but it is as
swift as the passing of a sudden gale, for he simply nods, and it is gone. Tracing the departure of the learner, Haldir then
offers: "They are both excellent. If you follow their instructions, you will recover swiftly."

A pause, and then a query: "I assume that is why you are out here?"

Maglind smirks, a fleeting point of lantern-light scurrying across his face as he turns. "Of course, Marchwarden."

"Um," Glaharth stutters meekly as he looks away from the Marchwarden. "I am feeling better, and thought that the night air
would do me well." A quick glance towards the Healing Talan, shows a touch of nervousness. "Is this not why you're out here
Haldir? To enjoy the night air?"

Haldir's lips turn downwards, creasing into a frown, though it is short-lived for they part in speech: "For shame, Galharth.
When ever have the thoughts of the patients been worth anything to the healers? Were you one under my charge, I would rebuke
you and send you back to the talan.

"The healers are not to be trifled with."

"True. So true," says Maglind, offering a wary glance at the mallorn looming above. "But I pray they will not notice, not at
star-fall...."

"Hold there," Galharth says firmly, offering a flash of a frown towards Haldir and then to Maglind. "I trifle with none, and
appreciate all that others do for me. Do you not know this about me by now?"

Sitting foward slightly, the clothier lifts a hand and sweeps his hand towards Haldir. "How many times have you placed your
life forward in potential exchange for others?" Turning his head towards Maglind, he lifts a brow. "And you Maglind? How
often and for who?"

Placing his left hand upon the lawn once more for support, the crafter takes a half breath and releases it slowly.
"Admittedly, I'm not quite well, but I'm not dead either, I can not sit and do nothing, so till I can be of use again, I do
little. Do you truly fault me for this?"

The amusement that springs to the face of the marchwarden is punctuated by the arcing of one, slender brow. Haldir laughs,
the mirth hushed amidst the tranquility of the garden of roses.

"I neither number the days nor years that I have been among the guard. Nor do I count the lives saved by my actions. It is
in service to Lord and Lady."

Words are in sharp contrast to the mirth of moments before.

"The lives lost are what haunt me."

"All of them," adds Maglind softly, gaze gently glowing in the dark. "Easily I could have been in their place, being less
help than hindrance."

While his body is slow and weakened, his mind remains quick, and it is his thoughts that the clothier answers the
Marchwarden's words. "The Lord and Lady act and deem actions for the people in which they represent and hold in value, so in
turn, are your actions for them or for the people that they protect?"

Tilting his head slightly, "I do not envy the memories or experiences either of you have had." Galharth says softly, "I am
now a hinderance," he says glancing toward Maglind, "And, should the Healers, or worse, Mia, find out about my momenary
escape, it will be a long time till I am permitted to be a help to others."

"If I placed no value on Lothlorien or the people that dwell in it, Galharth, than I would not have sworn an oath to the
Lord and Lady."

Haldir replies with muted emotion, the words thin and tested.

"It is because -- but nay, now is not the time.

He falls silent.

Maglind looks from one to the other, the ghost of a frown lingering on his lips. "Shall I help you back to the talan,
Clothier? Before your escape is discovered."

Galharth nods once, accepting the Marchwardens words. "Nay, you're right Haldir, now is not the time for much. My mind is
clouded with the herbs Mia has been pressing upon me, and I still bear scars of awakening insight."

Shifting slightly, the clothier turns to Maglind as he struggles to rise. "I would appreciate assistance Warden," he says
holding out a hand for help. "Perhaps it would be best to set me off to slumber."

But the marchwarden says naught, remaining in silence: gaze remains set upon the heavens, the stars that twinkle thereon, as
if oblivious to the comments of the others.

"Can you tread quietly?" queries Maglind, bracing an arm and shoulder as he turns away, crushing rose-petals with each step.

"I can try," Galharth replies to Maglind as he retreats towards the ladder. "Be well Marchwarden," he calls softly as he
makes his way up the ladder, disappearing into the Talan above.

Haldir stirs, turning to face the now departing Galharth and Maglind; though there is a certain distance to the words, he
speaks: "And likewise."

With that, the marchwarden rises, and begins anew his meandrous path, northwards.

"The floorboards will creak," says Maglind worriedly, faint steps growing ever fainter as they rise.