Starlight lances down through a gilded canopy, silver streaks of irridescence
amidst the darkness of the Dreamflower's night. Little of the moon may be seen,
though some small measure of illumination does it yet lend to the eve, and
particularly to one Erinstar as he peers over a faded sheet of parchment in
consternation. Few attendants linger in the healing halls at this hour, and
those remaining are largely disinterested in the dour grumblings of the invalid
Herald. Only occasionally do they stray nearby, swift to examine his myriad
injuries and bandages, slinking off again before he looses his tongue.
In days not too far past, Lothdaimoth had been in and out of this place quite
frequently. But since Caelwen has left, he has not been seen. Until now. Booted
feet make but little noise as he climbs into the talan, looking around before
heading for the Herald. Indeed, the creaking of the tree itself is almost as
loud. Some of what little light sifts down past the leaves glints off a chain
at his neck and brightens his pale face. "Excuse me," he says softly as he
nears, then waits for Erinstar to finish what he is doing.
Cloudy eyes flicker upwards briefly, passing over the figure now before him but
momentarily before returning to the page in hand. A singular grunt is offered
in acknowledgement, and nothing more. Motioning then towards a stack of similar
documents at his bedside, he seems to imply an unspoken answer to an unasked
question.
Lothdaimoth reaches behind him and drags a nearby chair closer. Careful not to
disturb the pile of papers, he sits down and leans forward a little, resting
his elbows on his knees. Dark eyes remain fixed on his hands for a minute,
before lifting to rest on the Herald's face. "I need to speak with you," he
says finally. "I don't wish to interrupt, but I have been considering some
things and the conclusions I have come to ... I would like your permission to
spend some of my time away from the Arnpand. With the vintners," he adds after
a pause.
Now turning his attention fully to Lothdaimoth, the Aracarach's brow furrows in
mild expression of surprise and concern. After a moment he sets his reading
aside, curiously bare hands folding upon his lap as he seems to consider your
words. Finally, in the faintest of whispers, he asks in turn, "If that is what
you wish... Is all well with you then, Prefect?"
Bowing his head again, Lothdaimoth returns to the study of his hands. "Not
entirely." One shoulder makes a barely perceptible motion that might almost be
a shrug. "The world has run mad, I think. And it seems there is nothing I can
do." A spasm of pain crosses his face and is quickly erased. "Caelwen.." This
subject is not continued. "I find some measure of peace among the vines."
Finally, he glances back up. "I don't wish to leave my duties; I enjoy them.
Mostly." A wry smile accompanies his last words. "But if I could take some time
for other matters, I would not allow my current work to suffer."
Pursing his lips slightly, Erinstar nods slowly in time. "Very well, then. You
have my permission, and my blessing..." Hesitation flickers across his chiseled
countenance then, and he reaches out to grip the Manbedir's shoulder in
reassurance. "Yet I would not have you suffer over your duties. Be at peace,
Lothdaimoth..." A wan smile is offered in parting, and unspoken empathy is writ
upon the haze of stormy eyes. If there are any among the Galadhrim who would
understand such pain, the Herald of Galadriel is one.
"Thank you." Lothdaimoth's smile is a little more natural as he rises.
Replacing the chair, he turns and makes his way from the talan, as silently as
he had arriven.