================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:13 PM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 7 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <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 27 16:24:34 2007
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Long Lawn
You stand amidst a long lawn of shining grass. It ripples in the gentle river breezes like tresses of golden hair, sprinkled too with hundreds of golden elanor flowers which radiate with the light of the sun. The eastern edge of the lawn fades into a white-stone beach, lapped upon by the deep and dark waters of the broad Anduin river which flows from the north, continuing southwards forever onto the sea. Joining the Anduin directly to the south is the Celebrant river, which hurries towards you from between the groves of Mallorns to the northwest. Northwards, the lawn is bordered by a high green wall of dense forest growth. With your sharp elven eyes, you spy a small recess in the wall, perhaps a passageway which leads through it.

Contents:
Galharth
Haldir
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It is night, a time when the icy fingers of winter seemed stronger or perhaps more persistent as they reach across the river into the protected elven realm of Lothlorien. In an inky black sky, a field of brilliant stars and a waxing crescent moon illuminate the rivers mist as it spills out from the river banks onto land, creating a haunting view for any who might witness the event.

On this eve, standing along the rivers edge, Galharth holds his face upwards to look upon the sky. Here, in the silence, he seems caught in his own imagination and thoughts.

Through the passageway and onto the lawn comes another of the Firstborn Children of Illuvatar: grey gaze cast heavenward, drinking in the starry expanse; silent tread is yet heavy, for no attempt at secrecy or stealth is made; shadow-grey cloak -- betraying the elf as one of the guard -- ruffles and whispers upon the silent wind of movement; ebon cowl is cast upon shoulders: it is Haldir.

The movement of cloth catches the Tailor's attention, and he turns to the sound. Catching sight of the Marchwarden, Galharth smiles warmly. "Well met, Haldir!" He calls out, taking a step away from the river's edge, moving through the mists that have already surrounding him.

Moon-beams shimmer upon golden tresses, half of which vanish into the depth of cloak and the other half of which sway as the Silvan elf reacts: Haldir lowers gaze and searches for the source of the voice amidst the swirling mists.

"Well met, indeed, Galharth."

The marchwarden inclines his head to the clothier even as path shifts, leather-clad feet paving a pathway -- only to have it vanish in the next moment -- towards the other.

"What brings you to the river's edge, mellon?" Galharth asks as he steps forward to meet the approaching Guard. "Have you met up with Anguar, and now come to discuss the need of the addition of watchful eyes over this quiet shore now that the base camp is up." He pauses his words as his right arm sweeps out overtop the mists, pointing to a barely visible tent sitting nearly hidden in the night. "Or," he adds, pausing again as he lowers his arm, "Are you here to join me in a search of the waters when the light of day dispatches these mists?"

"Neither. I come to use one of the boats to journey upriver."

Haldir slows his pace to a halt as he approaches the clothier, a wan but warm smile momentarily resting upon placid Silvan face as the rumble of the rivers swallows the murmur of his reply.

"I will not be joining you in your search. I heard somewhat of it from Rhibi, though I do not know how much he exaggerated. What is the true tale?"

"Ah," the clothier says with a clear tone of disappointment. Turning towards the river, he adds, "I suppose, now better than anytime, travel along the river is done easily without being viewed. "I wish you well, where ever your journey might take you."

With the Marchwarden's last words, Galharth groans. "If told by Rhibi, I almost hesitate to ask what has been said." Looking back to Haldir, the crafter tilts his head. "While fishing, something was discovered upon the river's bed. A ship likely, but one that has caused a stir of interest. Neither Galadriel, nor any elder contacted can tell us anything about its origins. The Lady has given her permission to search the object to help identify it."

"I am directing Annaiel to either the Redhorn or Gladden Pass, as she is not familiar with our lands," explains Haldir with an inclination of the head.

"A sunken ship. Most peculiar: I would not expect it to be an Elven craft, unless it were sunk by violent means. Rhibi seemed intent on retrieving treasure from it ... a silmaril, of all things."

"Annaiel leaves?" Galharth says, deepening his tone of disappointment. "Please tell her farewell for me." Shaking his head slightly, he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "Though human, I think I shall miss her greatly."

At the Marchwarden's last words, the clothier's face twists into a vision of surprised confusion, "A silmaril?" He blurts out, "What nonsense? The Lady mentioned that a ship once transported a silmaril, but nothing more." Shaking his head, he turns fully to the river. "It could be a simple fishing boat, or it could be something more. We just won't know till be begin to bring items up for inspection."

"I will do so," answers Haldir with an affirmative nod.

A laugh, with accompanying shift of glance momentarily away, and he says: "It seems you are already well set to begin retrieving items," a gesture to the tent, "though you made mention of a need for a guard? I had not heard."

Glancing in the direction of the tent, the clothier nods. "I've little pressing business, save for the normal requests for new cloaks, or clothing, so it seemed appropriate to go forth once the Lady gave me her blessing to seek out what lay beneath the waves."

The corner of Galharth's mouth rises slightly as he shifts his gaze to the Marchwarden, into a half smile. "And besides, I'm not burdened with the safekeeping of our home, and I hold no position which holds any importance, so who better to conduct nonsense such as diving on a wreck?"

"Now, with that said, I really need to get back to organizing the materials for tomorrows dive." Bowing his head slightly, he takes a step towards the tent. "I hope to see you again soon, till then be safe." With that, the clothier retreats to the tent.

"Even if you had pressing business," quips Haldir, attempted mirth in voice, "my guess as to what you would do is this: get someone interested, then have them make a request for all the items needed. You would then have pressing business which involves this expedition."

The Silvan sets off on his own course, which carries him upstream, towards the hidden craft.

"Fare you well, Galharth. Send news to the city of what you find, and you may yet find me venturing here again."

And with that, the marchwarden departs.