The evening chill has descended on Lorien with the setting of the sun. Most of the elves
who work in these fields have taken themselves off to other occupations but a still few
wander through the quiet dimness of the vineyard. One of these is a tall figure in a
grey shirt and dark pants. He is walking slowly from vine to vine, sometimes reaching
out to run a finger gently along a curling tendril or budding flower. A soft mist rises
from the warm earth, cradling the vines in its moist arms. And the grapes themselves
seem to sink into its embrace now that the sun has left them. All is peaceful, quiet and
still.
An elleth strides in from the east, walking quickly with steps that are yet odd and
hesitant. Caelwen clutches a stave in both hands and uses it not as a walking stick, but
holds it horizontally at her hips. Night-darkened eyes flick toward the Vinter-Prefect,
and the cennan's footfall comes even quicker, her green skirt kicked and swirling about
her flying heels. "Lothdaimoth!" her voice precedes her, gladness mingled with relief in
her tone.
Turning with an ease and freedom not seen in his movements for many long days,
Lothdaimoth's face lights up at the sight of his young cousin. "Caelwen, I am glad to
see you. You must be feeling much better - it is good you have ventured out of the city
again." As she nears him, he reaches out to pull her into a swift hug, disregarding the
staff held like a barrier in front of her. And without waiting for a response, he
gestures to the still greenness of the grapes surrounding them. Almost shyly but with
boyish enthusiasm, he says, "Today is the first day I have had time to leave my office.
I have learned so much. Did you know that the grapes must be pruned early every year?
And different soils will make the wine taste differently even if the grape is the same?"
Caelwen drops a hand from her staff, form easing a bit. A slender arm is cast behind
Lothdaimoth's back, and she laughs well. "Nay, I knew naught of it! Well glad am I to
find you enamored of your craft. Why did you not tell me?" Words slip from her lips as a
waterfall shattering over rocks. "I learned it from Father. He has even given you a new
nickname for it! I am so happy for you, cousin!"
"A nickname?" Lothdaimoth looks down at his cousin fondly. One finely-shaped eyebrow
raises inquiringly, even as he continues. "I did not wish to speak of it to anyone until
I had received both Erinstar's and Aegraum's blessing. And I have not seen you since
then. It has only been a few days, cousin." Something broken or lost inside him has
begun to heal just in these few short hours and his smile comes swiftly and surely now.
In the depths of sable-hued eyes, sadness and grief not quickly forgotten still lurk;
but the tearing anguish of earlier days has eased.
"Aye..." Caelwen rocks back on her heels as a new giggle bubbles up from her. "Ada names
you my Caranteil!" She falls back to her toes. "Ai, but I was so happy to learn of this!
Have you seen my uncle here yet? Does he know? And see how much better you look!" Her
mouth falls into a slight pout, eyes twinkling as even she seems to be in a fair mood
this eve. "But now my gift to thee has no use and I shall have to throw it away."
An outburst of laughter greets the name. "Red footed? But surely they will be purple..."
The prefect's chuckle subsides and his smile fades at her next words, but this doesn't
rob his face of any of its new-found peace. "Nay, I have not seen him as of yet. I
expect I shall soon. And I know not if he knows. I would think so as it seems everyone
else does..." A teasing wink lowers one eyelid before he takes a breath and continues,
very seriously now. "I thought not to find ease so swiftly, but it heartens me to find I
have chosen aright in this." Silence falls for a small time and then he rouses himself.
"But come, what is this of a gift?"
"I am much cheered by this, as well. I have been worrying over you, mellon," Caelwen
speaks quite earnestly, eyes firm on her cousin's face. A blush begins to collect on her
fair face, dusky in the slivered moon. "My gift is unneeded now, methinks... but mayhap
'twill help you one day still. Perchance.. when you are on the road again?" Anxious are
her words. Her stave held upright by one hand, the other reaches toward Lothdaimoth and
uncurls, something small cupped within.
There is a small, coin-like object, a hole bored into the centre. Tiny lines are carved
into the pallid clay on both sides, impossibly tangled skiens and knots, all formed of a
silvery-black color and covered with a clear glaze. A sense of o'erwhelming peace
eminates from the thing, and if touched, it diffuses through the body in encroaching
streams like milk in water, very quickly and strongly.
In a small voice, Caelwen adds, "I spent days in the Sacred Grove at it. It is the only
thing I have made thus far."
Lothdaimoth holds out his hand in turn, cupped for her to drop the disk into. When she
does, he brings it close to his body and peers down at it intently. Long moments pass in
quietness before he looks up, a glimmer of tears quickly blinked away. "Thank you. It is
a gift to be treasured." His gaze is drawn inexorably back to the tiny object. "You did
not need to worry, Caelwen," he begins to say, but the obvious untruth of these words
rises up and chokes off his voice. And all he can do is repeat, "Thank you."
"Nay..!" A half-choking laugh is sprung from Caelwen, and she darts forth to fling her
arms about Lothdaimoth, stave behind him now as she hugs him tightly. "I did not mean to
remind you of bad things." She steps back again, slower than she went forward. "Tell me,
cousin... will I need to beg you for your best wine as I must with uncle? Or shall you
set aside some for me?" Her voice lilts in a tease.
For a brief second, Lothdaimoth's arms tighten around his cousin and then he lets her
go. Following her lead into a lighter tone, he says, "Beg, of course... I must certainly
follow the lead of those older than myself, being only an apprentice and new to my
craft." While he speaks, agile fingers are unknotting the ties of his pouch and the
small clay disk is bestowed inside. The ties are redone much quicker as now he has the
use of both his hands. "You would not wish for me to gain a reputation as presumptuous,
would you?"
"Ohh!" Caelwen cries in mirthful protest. "I do but wish to show my mellyn how skilled
my family is in their crafts...! Ah." She sighs, then studies him for a time. "Are.. are
you well then?"
"For that you will have to wait, I fear. I have no skills as of yet and it will be long
e're I have a chance to learn. The grapes are barely beginning to grow." A last glance
is cast about the vineyard and Lothdaimoth begins to walk towards the pathway leading
back to the city. "Will you walk with me? Or did you have some other errand here to keep
you?" The potter's question has not been forgotten whatever it may seem like; and after
a while he does reply. "Aye, cousin." The darkness around them deepens. "I am well."
"Aye, yes, I'll come with you!" Caelwen replies eagerly, and matches him in step, almost
too close beside him. "My only errand was to see you. I'm glad you'll walk with me
back." Stave used now as naught more than a walking-stick, the lithe Silvan treads
beside her Sinda kin.