================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Night < About 2:41 AM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
IC date is: 30 Laer <Summer>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 15 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3039>
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RL time: Mon Nov 06 16:13:51 2006
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Shaded Lawn
A narrow length of green lawn surrounded by tall trees; the trees that spring from the midst of the lawn itself dapple the grass with the cool shade of their boughs. Thick groves of brightly-shining mellyrn line the west and south sides of the greensward, reaching for the moon with their upswept limbs, while an old birdnest rests in one of the hedges near the northward path. Overhead, spread out in all their many-splendored glory, the stars are shining.

Contents:
Galharth
Haldir
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Late night rests upon the land of Lothlorien: the stars gladly glimmer and glisten above, tiny pin-pricks of light against the expanse of the blanket of darkness; golden mellyrn-leaves sway and then relapse, continuing ever a perpetual dance, to the rhythm of the cool, night breeze; and nightingales sing their song of the night, joined by Elven voice from far off..

The shaded lawn is still, starlight basking the area in a glow of mingled silver and gold.

Haldir steps through the western gate, pace neither brisk nor slow -- indeed, it lingers to the contemplative, a fitting match for the expression of this Silvan. He heads slightly to the north and towards the archway and garden, though his path is more meandrous than not.

A soft hum begins to rise, adding to the songs already sounding within the night. As the hum reaches its peak, an ellon enters the lawn along the southern line of trees. Looking upwards as he hums, his eyes seem drawn to the dancing leaves overhead. The breeze sweeps at his hair, and he turns his head to face the direction that the air blows. As Galharth turns, he pauses his step at the instant he catches sight of another within the garden.

The Clothier pauses a moment to watch the figure, and then with his eyes focused upon the longbow, he raises a hand in hesitation. "Well met," he calls out with a friendly wave.

Muted, partial surprise draws the attention and glance of the marchwarden from a particularly studious inspection of the grass before him over towards Galharth. Lifting his own hand in greeting, Haldir replies:

"Greetings, and well met, indeed: for such is many meetings in Lothlorien, I now find."

Step tarries, and the guard raises a single brow in question:

"Is aught the matter?"

Something clearly eases Galharth's posture, and his focus is drawn from the bow to the ellon's face. "Forgive me," the Clothier says as he steps closer. "A rose, a delicate leaf, finely trimmed lawn, a pleasant fragrance, and of course a sweetly sung song, are all things I expected this eve when I stepped into the garden." Ending his advancement a few feet away, a smile begins upon the Clotheiers lips. "A well armed Guardian was not counted among my expectations."

Tilting his head slightly, he furrows his brow slightly. "I believe I have seen you, though to be honest from a distance. I am Galharth, a Tailor." he offers in introduction.

A laugh escapes the lips of the Silvan, the mirth flowing freely into the words of the guard:

"Then I must beg your pardon, Galharth. I have just returned to Caras Galadhon, for the time, and have yet to finish errands that need be done: I plan to speak with the healers, then find the training fields, amongst other things. I intend no ill."

Haldir bends in a half-bow, of sorts:

"And I am Haldir, but one of the guards of the Lord and Lady."

Galharth's smile grows wider at the sound of laughter. "No pardon needs begged, Haldir, I assure you," he quickly says. Then as quickly as the smile had appeared, it disappears. "You've only returned? In recent days we've had a visitor from Imladhrim, would you perhaps have news or tales from somewhere other than this?" The Clothier asks with clearly visible curiosity.

Sweeping a hand northward, he adds, "Since you have errands, I would not like to keep you, I can walk with you as we talk if you wish."

"The errands are of my own devising: neither urgency nor need binds me to them, and I do not believe a night of conversation would make a difference. But, I would be glad to speak as we walk."

Haldir inclines his head at this with a warm smile, amiable tone matching upturned lips. He treads northward, though his pace is neither swift nor hurried, and it may yet take some time for him to reach the archway.

"Little news worth retelling is there, though perhaps a tale or two might be had of our trip: How a marchwarden won twelve bottles of wine of the Minister -- but, a visitor from Imladris? I had not heard."

Curiosity piques anew in voice, at this last query.

Keeping step with Haldir, the Clothier laughs, "Twelve bottles of wine? A good amount to be sure." Shaking his head, he glances towards his newly met companion. "I should like to hear the tale,"

Another soft laugh is heard as Galharth looks northward. "Considering you've only returned, it's no surprise that you've not heard of our visitor. Henleg, the Ranger was here a few days past." Pausing a moment, he smiles a moment as he seems to consider his words. "A pleasant fellow, filled with interesting tales. Although, I must say, he was rather ... ripe, to smell."

"A Ranger."

Haldir momentarily muses over the breath of a word, diverting glance westwards for the briefest of pauses. But, even 'ere the breeze of the evening carries away the traces of the comment, the marchwarden speaks anew.

"Most of them are: One does not wander the wilds and gain naught to show for it. -- But as for tales, you would be best tto not ask them of me, for I am a horrid storyteller."

Shoulders lift in a shrug, and he adds, as if upon afterthought:

"At least, that is what Rumil constantly reminds me. But, has Henleg already departed?"

"We are often our most critical judge, but I will not press for tales from any who do not wish to share them." Galharth says with a hint of disappointment. Drawing his hands behind his back, he continues to keep pace with the Marchwarden.

"And I believe he has departed, but to be honest I say this only because I haven't seen or heard from him in many days." Shrugging his shoulders slightly, he adds with a chuckle, "That and the smell has improved slightly in the past few days. I do have to admit, his visit did inspire some curiosity in me. It may be a while until that interest is sated."

"Perhaps another time I will retell it: for the ending contains sorrow that is yet close to my heart -- for six of those bottles I lost to another."

Mock solemnity rings in Haldir's voice, masking, but not fully hiding, the jest that echoes in the fringes of tone. He nods, however, at the words of the tailor; he falls slightly more serious:

"Curiosity inspired by one of the Secondborn -- even one of the Rangers -- does not always end well. Such is my experience. But I still follow it, so I can say naught."

"Ah, the interest in the tale of wine grows, for the sweetness of victory tempered with a defeat is something that can not go untold!' Galharth says as he brings his hands forward to strike at the air in emphasis of his last few words.

Taking a deep breath, the Clothiers hands fall to his side and he looks forward. "Henleg told a tale of an old woman who wandered into danger as a result of her innocence about the dangers lurking all around her." Lowering his gaze, the words are spoken softly, "I saw myself in that story, and I found myself curious about things that have remained unconsidered. Probably a passing fancy, but something at least worth considering."

Haldir considers this, lapsing into silence for several moments, even as he draws closer to the archway that leads to the rose garden -- a hand falls absently to rest upon pommel of sword.

Eventually, however, he offers:

"I claim to neither have wisdom nor answers, but I have seen and experienced much, both ill and well, beyond Lothlorien. If your curiosity is of that, perhaps I may be of aid? -- If you would have it, that is."

"Only a fool would reject an offer of help when help is needed." Galharth says with a sigh. "I've already asked Curulomion to refashion and polish an old sword." Turning to glance at Haldir, the corner of his mouth rises in a half smile. "Which he's agreed to do for the price of a dozen bottles of wine, I might add."

Looking forward once more, he shrugs slightly. "I'm rather clueless on how it might be used, or if it would be used at all, but I would like to prepare for the unforeseen chance." Pausing his step, embarrassment washes over his expression as he looks at Haldir. "Does that sound odd?" he asks, "To prepare for something, yet not being sure that this something will have a chance of happening. How likely is it that a Tailor will ever venture outside our lands?"

"A dozen bottles of wine?"

An amused smile meanders across the marchwarden's face, and he inclines his head in a nod, admitting:

"A fair price, perhaps. Yet more than one coincidence is in this, for not too long ago I spoke with another upon this very subject."

Having arrived at the hedge, Haldir gestures to the archway, but waits.

"As to your question: That is what you must decide. Do you ever desire to leave fair Lorien? On times, we travel to the Bardic Congress, which soon will be held in Imladris."

"The subject of wine and the reconditioning of a sword?" The Clothier asks as he moves towards the archway. "To be honest the price is slightly high, but I've asked to have some etching done to add some beauty to something plain."

Falling silent for an instant, Galharth considers Haldir's question. "Do I desire to leave? I must answer no, and yet I now find that there is a small voice within me that also whispers yes." His words are followed by an embarrassed chuckle, "Hence the curiosity I spoke of earlier."

"Besides...." He adds after a moment, "I may indeed have to follow those who go to Imladris for the Congress. Curulomion has commissioned me to prepares both his and his fianc's wedding clothing and their wedding is tied in some respect to that trip."

With a shake of his head, Haldir laughs, following the tailor through the archway:

"Nay, nay. The subject of the blade and possible dangers; but regarding wine and sword, I cannot speak concerning price, for I have not had need to barter upon such a matter for some time. -- Though I would imagine your aiding him in his wedding might have aided you in that."

The briefest of pauses punctuates the change in subject:

"There is beauty in other lands, to say otherwise would be a falsehood: But it is beauty tempered with danger and sorrow. I do not fault you if you wish to learn of the sword, and will aid you if you wish."

"Perhaps we can meet when your errands are done." Galharth says with a thankful tone. "And then I'd be glad to take you up on the offer to teach me something about a sword." Leaning towards the Marchwarden, he adds in a whisper, "Even if that something is to keep me from cutting myself through inexperience."

Stopping his forward progress, the Clothier looks northwards. "It's been a pleasure to meet and speak with you Haldir, but for now I must leave you to your errands as I can return to my wanderings." Bowing his head slightly, he turns and wanders southward, humming as he had when he had entered the garden.

"I would have you meet me someplace, but I know not were I shall be, for I wander as well, at times. Fare you well, Galharth."

So saying, Haldir turns back to the north, winding a pathway through the rose garden towards the talan of the healers: there, he pauses, placing weapons upon the ground, and then ascends up into it.

And the night dwindles on.