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.
The swift waters of the Anduin swirl a little more tamely here right by the lawn, making a small harbor where a boat has been beached. A little to the south, a slightly narrower and correspondingly faster river flows into the first, adding its burden of water to the total in a whirl of waves. At the north end of the long grassy lawn, a small boy could be seen (if one looked closely enough). He is burrowed almost entirely into the undergrowth; the bushes shake occasionally as he wriggles around doing ... something. After several minutes, he worms his way around and a brown head pokes out. Looking around warily, he emerges the rest of the way from the tangled forest, tugging at the end of a large dead branch. "Come help me!" he says; the loudness of his voice seems to alarm him and he darts another glance around the clearing. Seeing no one still, he looks behind him and says, a little louder, "Come on!" The noonday sun shines down brightly on his brown hair and the pale, freckled face that is contorted with urgency.
Bounding fervently amid the thicket and bramble, a golden youth bounds with wanton abandon from overhead... his diminutive hands clinging tight to a shorn vine as he ballyhoos with much pomp toward the call. Gailglin then relinquishes his hold upon said vine, only to land in a ginger hop upon his two feet. Then, beaming with a brilliant smile reserved only for the most innocent, or more mischievous, he bounds forth... calling in audible glee "I am coming! But... but if I can not be the captain of our boat, can I be the lookout?"
Another bush shakes further down and stills. A second, more violent shake follows the first, and out tumbles a little edhel, blue highlights plucked from his obsidian hair. He cries, "But I still don't understand why I can't be captain. You're always so bossy, Rhibi." He runs furiously through the grass, again shaking plantlife, and carries no supplies. The shorter child picks up the other end of Iaurfer's log, and suddenly grins at Gailglin. "You can be lookout. I shall be first mate!"
Tugged at violently, the log suddenly skids out into the grass as Taudhoron grabs one end and pushes. Rhibi goes sprawling. Jumping up again with a scowl, he shakes a lock of hair out of his face and stares at the other two, daring them to say anything. The next minute, his ill-temper is forgotten and he dashes back for the next log. Puffing a little from his exertion, he says, "Yes. You can be the lookout. And you can be first mate." Grinning at them, he explains. "I have to be the captain, see? It's my plan." He stops for a minute and wipes a dirty hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt behind. "Gailglin! Come on! We've almost got enough." Behind him, at the edge of the lawn, a haphazard sprawl of branches and logs bares silent witness to his words.
Gailglin gingerly prances forward... only to stay his step in a sudden, succinct leap. Then, brandishing a bright smile toward Taudhoron, the wee whimsical edhel chimes "I am the lookout, you know? That means I get to be in charge of the catapult." As if to lend credence to his words, the musical little elf slips a slingshot from his belt... holding it aloft with much glee. However, at Rhibi's prodding the fair sprite of a Silvan bounds forth... staying only at the edge of the water. Then does he look back with widening eyes "Can I make the anchor, too?"
A chortle is hidden behind a dirtied hand as Rhibi goes sprawling, and Taudhoron pushes the log nearer the pile. His grin grows gloating when his first mate position is secured. "Where do you think we will end up? Do you think we'll see humans? Or...sail to Valinor?" He becomes a bit uncertain with this last word, and darts a look around to see if any of his compatriots noticed his timidity. The little Sinda jumps over his log toward the pile, and pulls another length from it to drag beside the first. He looks up, startled, at Gailglin, "Don't shoot me with that thing!" His clear eyes widen, "Oooo...you know how to make anchors?" He darts back toward the pile and lifts a branch.
"Well..." weighs the thoughtful Silvan, a feat in itself giving his levity. The hand which clutches the slingshot then absently ascends to brush at Gailglin's cheek, accenting his pensiveness as his light voice begins to muse "... I do not, but... it cannot be that hard? I will just find something heavy and tie a rope to it?" Perking both brows in light unison, again does the wee Silvan chirp as he struts a few steps "I know what will work... and I shall promise to be right back."
"Valinor!" Rhibi's green eyes are disgusted. "'Course not. We'd have to go to the Havens and get a proper ship." Stopping to survey the pile of wood with satisfaction, he shrugs a little. "Make an anchor if you want. Taudhoron.." Looking around he sees the other child nearby. "Here. Lay them all out in a row. Then we can tie them."
"That's what I was /doing/, Rhibi," Taudhoron replies in exasperation as he drops his branch in the line. He continues his work, hopping over a log and rolling it toward the others, grunting. He calls to Gailglin, "Were you going to get the vines, too?"
Gailglin strives the upmost to contain his glee, an effort that lasts all of a few seconds... before a bright grin stakes claim upon the wee edhel's mien. His head then bounds with jubilance as nimble feet start anew, the sing-song voice of this elf child carrying in bell-like echo as he dances swiftly toward the forest's periphery "I shall be back soon!"
"Gaelglin!!" shouts Taudhoron loudly, his hands cupping around his mouth as he straightens, "Do not forget to bring extra vines!!"
Rhibi bends over and shoves at the other end of the log. With a thud, it stops next to the others already there. "Sorry," he says cheerfully to Taudhoron. His brown hair is already a mess, and the time spent in the bushes hasn't helped anything, for small twigs poke out and a few leaves add to the general aura. White teeth flash out of his dirt-smeared face as he grins at his compatriot.
A laugh escapes from Taudhoron's little features, his grin a mimicry of his friend's. "This was such a good idea, Rhibi! You always think of the best things." He turns away and dashes again to the pile, the diminishing cluster stolen of one more branch as he pulls it out. This one he can carry to their growing raft alone; so he does.
Gailglin, in counter to Rhibi's mussed appearance, returns with nary a mar of dirt upon his gleeful face. However, despite the utter gaiety born upon this fair-visaged Sinda's demeanor, the most prominent feature now seems to be the overly-dented helmet he now bears within his arms. Somehow managing to hold this overly-battered device, despite the considerable effort of its weight, Gailglin's voice dins with jovial mirth as he offers.
"The armorer said he was just going to melt this down for pitons, so I could have it!" Gailglin decrees... first attempting to hold up the helmet mightily, though nearly dropping it on the process. Sapphire eyes then blink profusely as he again manages a firm handhold... though that overly-wrought smile again finds home upon his light visage.
Taudhoron straightens to his full height-- shorter than Iaurfer, but certainly taller than Gailglin. "Did you forget the vines /entirely/?" he scolds with some exasperation, then heads toward the forest himself. Covetous eyes go to the dented helmet for a moment, but he strays not from his purpose as he marches importantly along.
"What're we going to do with a helmet? You can't even carry it!" Rhibi snickers and then frowns. "Didn't you get the vines? We have to tie them together with something!" He looks at how much they have done so far and adds, "And we'd better hurry. Or somebody will come looking for us." Then green eyes light up with mischief. "If they do, we'll say it's a fort."
Gailglin's brilliant eyes blink in wide-eyed bewilderment at Taudhoron's flustering, though his gripe doesn't seem to phase the wee Silvan much. Rather, the momentary wonder surrenders again to a sloping smile... even as Gailglin's gaze sidles toward Rhibi "Why... it is our anchor. See? I told you I knew what I was doing. Just..."
Then does the youth's lilt trail after the departing Taudhoron as he professes "... oh, _that_ is why Tabor wanted me to get the vines! Well... I was going to get to that." Gailglin then flashes that ever-present glee back toward Rhibi, to whom does he bob his head amid the tousle of flaxen tendrils "It could be... our roof? But we can't tell them we are making arrow holes, lest it sink."
Taudhoron is too far gone to hear Rhibi's idea, and soon he has wriggled into the underbrush again. For a long while, no sign is given of the lad, save an occasional rustle or a shake of a tree-limb.
Rhibi gives an exaggerated sigh. "Well, will you go get them now, please?" He strings his words out as if talking to someone who is a little slow.
Gailglin pauses briefly, only to put great effort in slowly lowering the helmet at the threshold of the raft. Amid this terrible toil does the youth seem to miss Rhibi's request, rather whimsically inquiring as he puts the finishing touches on the helmet's momentary resting place "If I am the lookout, and the ship catapulter, can I also be the ship's minstrel?" Flitting an playful grin after Taudhoron's direction, he then further muses "I think Cabor should be the ship maid."
Giving up all pretence of patience, Rhibi throws his hands up. "We aren't having a ship minstrel! Aren't you done with that anchor yet?" Frustrated, he glares at his friend. "Don't you get it? It's a secret! That means we have to be quiet so no one catches us. That means NO music." Small face set in a scowl, he stomps off in Taudhoron's direction.
Gailglin shoots Rhibi what might amount to a scolding glance... if this diminutive bundle of glee could muster such. Rather, it more comes across as a look conveyed by a young pup begging for a treat. "No music?" A veritable gasp sounds from the tiny edhel as he stares up at Rhibig "If... we have a ship, we _have_ to have a minstrel. It is..." Gailglin seems to search for logic to his argument, but instead merely adds further emphasis to his reply in place of explanation "... it is just the way things are supposed to be. Maybe..." a brief fret takes the little one's countenance, only to fade to a hopeful smile "... what if I sing in a whisper?"
And now Taudhoron leaps from a low-hanging branch, a bundle of vines under his arm and trailing behind him like lazy snakes. His ice-blue eyes widen to see Iaurfer stomping toward him, and he queries, "Now what?" His pace is more leasurely toward the half-done raft, and he chucks the vines atop. The little edhel throws himself backwards to lie on the grass, and peers up at the cloudless sky. He calls, "Is it time for a break yet, Rhibi?"
Rhibi stops halfway to the trees and turns around. "Yeah, yeah ok. If you're going to cry about it. But not until AFTER we're way past the guards, ok?" He rolls his eyes and resumes his trek towards the woods, but is stopped again, this time by Taudhoron. "Let's tie them all together. Then we can quit." Turning again and trailing after the younger boy, he says encouragingly. "We're almost done." A second scowl is sent towards Gailglin and the small extremely untidy boy mutters, "If he'd do anything besides whine about singing, we'd probly be done already..."
Gailglin's nose wrinkles as he wags a scolding finger on after Rhibi "You say that... but without me, you would not have an anchor. Besides, tis right and proper to be nice to your minstrel, else you will be remembered in song and legend as a one-winged caterpillar instead of the captain." Holding his head aloft with all the pride he can muster, as the wee little Silvan perches in a seat upon said helmet.
"Alll riiiiighhht.." Taudhoron mutters as he hefts himself upright again. His eye first lands on the delicate Silvan child, and he questions, "Is that thing a chair or an anchor? Come on...help us if you're going to go with us." The sun beats cruelly down on the black-haired child, and he wipes a bit of sweat from his brow, leaving a muddied streak. A vine plucked up, he slides it under a pair of logs and ties it together, ere widing the end about the next branch.
"I said you could sing. That was nice." Rhibi turns away from Gailglin, ignoring him. Squatting down, he winds a vine around the log ends. A frown of concentration wrinkles his forehead and breaks off some dried mud which bounces off of his nose on its way to the ground.
Gailglin sighs in soft exasperation as he succinctly lifts himself up from his seat, both diminutive hands flying up in surrender as he wistfully accounts to himself "Okay, okay... I will help. I just do not know _where_ you would be without me...?" Unaware that he has set himself up for retort, the gleeful little edhel casts both sapphire eyes up toward the heavens, only to settle them back amid a gaining smile toward Taudhoron "Well, Cabor... come and we will affix the vine to our anchor..." Gailglin gestures ever-so-proudly to his procured helmet "... and then attach the other end to the raft?"
"What's this 'we' stuff?" grunts Taudhoron as he squats next to the raft, vine in hand. "Here, Gailglin...I think you are skilled enough for this!" A wide grin splits Cabor's dirtied face, and he tosses a length of vine at the golden Silvan. Another length is taken up, and tied again about a pair of dead tree-limbs.
Small bare feet tread with nary a sound through the dark lapping waters of Anduin the Great as they wash the white stones that line the beach. Yet through the fading light of a gathering dusk, a child's voice might be hard from afar. Speaking to the figurine that she holds in her grip, arching her brows and widening her eyes at times and inclining her head upon an angle as she queries of it, causing loose chestnut curls to bounce and sway, the little girl says,
"Fimdaniel told us not to leave, you know. Whatever shall I do with you? I am always getting in trouble, all because of you, and Dangelydh will be vexed with me, I think. It's dark ... if Dangelydh the Mighty were here, we needn't fear the dark ... Whatever are they doing?"
In a louder voice, growing as she approaches the gathering of diminutive Eldar, Hinloth haltingly draws nigh. Looking upon the fruit of their labours, she lowers the raven haired doll to the white gleaming stones and presses fingers to her lips in a yawn, showing half-interest, if any at all.
Gailglin sing songs lightly as he spirits the tossed vine from the air, though in his over-exuberance it then cascades from its coil. In a seemingly endless spire of circles does the vine slink down, 'til last do the tiny Silvan's hands clutch high at the very edge, while the rest lies as it did before, a neat bundle now encircling the wee edhel. The soft spark a flush seems to paint across Gailglin's face as he regard himself, for once remaining quiet as he demurely kneels to lift the bundle up, with him at its center.
Then does Gailglin spark in light step, the bounded vine bobbing with each succinct footfall as he near-skips gleefully toward the would-be anchor that looks remarkably like an old, battered helmet. Then, with great solemnity does the wee Silvan dip to a kneel... mindful of his task for a good many... seconds, before the light din of the child elleth's voice seems to steal spring-shod eyes from the impending task.
Rhibi ties another knot and yanks at it as hard as he can. It is pretty tight, for a small boy, but whether or not it will hold the logs together in the roil of the river's current remains to be seen. He continues to ignore Gailglin completely, all attention focused on the task at hand. But the sound of another voice brings his head up, alarm in his eyes. It soon turns to scorn at the sight of the girl talking to her doll. But just a second later, his face is filled with dismay again, for a louder, adult voice can be heard from beyond the wall. And it is calling his name! Hurriedly, he jumps up. "I have to go! Don't tell anyone!" Running as fast as he can, he disappears behind the wall. His high voice can be heard fending off invaders. "I'm coming!"
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