In the last hours of the night, the moon hidden from view, the stars over the Wood glitter and wink among the trees like the jewels in a maiden's wedding crown. A slight breeze moves the branches of the talan tree over the Smithy and they creak like the wood in a great ship at sea. The Smithy sits nestled under the great tree dark but for the golden light streaming from the jewelsmith's window.

The golden glow from the many lamps lit can be seen through the open doorway leading into the Smith. Gilrowen perches on a stool at her worktable dark haired head bent over intently examining an object. No expression shows as she impassively turns it in her long strong fingers - lantern light catches on an intricate House blazon engraved into the sides of a silver box and set with blue stones. She sits back face in the shadow until she brings a lamp closer to the box illuminating her gray eyes, tracing her finely etched brow, curving into the shadaows of her cheeks.


Soft footsteps are heard in the Smithy, pausing several times and then continuing on, until at last they stop in front of the entrance to the jewelsmith's shop and do not move on. The lamplights shine on one side of Lothdaimoth's face, warming his pale skin and etching his profile onto the wall beside. For several minutes, he stands and watches, then quietly, "Mae govannen, Gilrowen... do I interrupt?"


Releasing a gentle breathe, Gilrwoen turns and smiles at the sound of her cousin's voice. "Mae govannen. You are never one I would call an intruder Lothdaimoth. If you do not mind that I continue to work, you are more than welcome." She slides down from her stool in a quick, graceful movement and gestures for him to enter. "I believe I can even offer you a goblet of wine if you are willing."


Lamplight tangles in the fiery curls of another visitor, betraying Caelwen in her silent, careful tread through the smithy. She finds a place near Lothdaimoth in the entrance, and watches Gilrowen shyly. Her cheeks are flush, or perhaps it is just the way that the light plays upon her pale skin. She hesitates in speaking, and glances once or twice at the Vintner.


Dark eyes smile at the jeweler, dropping to the silver box at her words, and Lothdaimoth steps into the room. "It looks nearly done," he says, looking up at Gilrowen with amazement on his face. He reaches out a hand, barely touching the edge of one stone with a finger. "You have done a marvelous job, it looks almost as it did before." He drops his gaze again to the casket before adding with a soft chuckle, "Yes, thank you. Wine is one thing I rarely refuse when offered." Behind him, Caelwen stops and stands in silence, and without turning, the Minister winks at Gilrowen. "And might you have a glass for a potter perhaps?"


Back turned while she fetched goblets from a nearby armoire, Gilrowen turns back and her smile grows into a grin at the sight of her curly headed cousin. "Aye, another goblet is not a problem. How fare you Caelwen? It has been weeks that our paths have not crossed." Standing with two goblets in her hands, she asks, "Do you prefer Loth's white or red? Oh, but I am happy to see you both."

"White," Caelwen answers, a bit hushed, and ventures forth, a gentle smile giving echo to Gilrowen's grin. But just then, a third visitor appears at the door-- another Cennan, to look at his clothes. "Caelwen?" he queries, and nods his head to the next shop over.

The young Indiri's peridot gaze slides from her two kin to the edhel at the door, then back. She nods a mute farewell, then follows him away, her exit having a faint retreating air to it.


Lothdaimoth says nothing as Caelwen is called away, but he turns now and his eyes linger on her retreating figure for a little while. Then he returns his attention to the miirdan, smiling and reaches out for the glass. "Thank you." A glance around the room lands on an empty chair, two strides take him to it and it is turned around and dragged back, slight scraping noises attending its progress across the floor. "How does your work go, mellon?" he asks as he seats himself.


Gilrowen stands with a goblet and a blue bottle clutched in her hands looking from Lothdaimoth, to Caelwen and the Cennan. Her eyebrows arch and she calls, "Perhaps later Caelwen," as her cousin disappears. Unconsciously shaking her head she pours from the already opened bottle and hands the goblet to Lothdaimoth.

His question causes her to tilt her head in thought but a small satisfied smile lifts the corners of her mouth as she resettles herself on her stool. "/It/ goes well. I am fortunate to be as busy as I am." She looks at the box an sighs shaking her head. "I have replaced several stones, reset the rest. Rebuilt their settings where necessary...it is close to being done."

Turning around on her stool, "The song that was sang with your Indiri has helped immeasurably. It has allowed me to restore it and work with otherwise overly brittle denatured metal and stone."

Turning back she reaches for a polishing cloth and dips it in a paste from an open jar. "And you Minister, how do you fare?"


An answering smile plays about Lothdaimoth's lips. "I am well. Although rather busy myself." A branch sways above them, creaking a little. He shifts in his chair and takes a drink of the wine, savoring its flavor.Silence follows his answer as the mirdan applies her cloth with the tips of her fingers and rubs around the edge of a newly polished setting. "And Caelwen. How does she fare? Does she speak to you much of ... of our present troubles."

Light glints off silver, scattering small sparks across the room. Lothdaimoth takes another sip of wine, before he speaks. "She is unhappy, she has spoken to me some. It hurts her to be so at odds with her brother."


The mirdan freezes in place at his words, "With," she looks up and around, "her brother?" Biting her lips, she begins to polish again, her finger moving in tight quick circles, the light reflected from the box moving in jerky waves across the ceiling. "I do not understand. I would have thought that she would be at odds with my Indor?"


Lothdaimoth looks up, the smile gone, his face fallen into gravity. "She has said little to me of Annagil," and a sudden quirk of his lips and eyebrows speaks of a wry humor, "save to state that she is NOT Aderthad nor ever will be. But.. if you did not know of it... perhaps I should not speak." He looks down, his face troubled now. "Only, I wish there was something that could be done... it grieves me to see her thus." Much softer he adds, "And I think he would not listen to me..."


A sigh escapes her that lifts her shoulders and is translated into a wave of light flashing from the box in her hands across the talan. "Why does she concentrate her energy on her brother ...what could....," she nods to her self but studiously continues to work around each newly rough polished setting. Refining her work, all the while thinking. "She IS Aderthad as much as she would deny it, as she IS Silvan. But why should she be in conflict with her brother? Because of," she stops polishing for a moment and begins with renewed vigor, "Hyardoel?"


Still the vintner studies the play of light in his glass, swirling the liquid back and forth for long moments before replying. "I ... " He sighs a little himself, an small unhappy sound. "I do not wish to argue with you, and I cannot make her decisions for her... yet she was raised Dinlom. Though her mother be Aderthad, yet there is nothing in her upbringing to make her so." He stops and looks up from the wine at last to rest dark eyes on Gilrowen's face. "She worries over her brother because she loves him." The small muscles of his face are drawn, showing clearly in the flickering yellow light his inner turmoil. "Hyardoel? I.." at last he seems to make up his mind for the words come without hesitation now, although nothing more is said about Aderthad. "It is more that she looks so like Lanthir. She told me she cannot bear for him to look at her and turn away because she is not his brother, but only his sister. What else.. I think I should not speak of without her permission."


Her busy hands still and her the mirdan's head drops unhappily at the accusatory tone in Lothdaimoth's voice. In a soft sad voice, "If you only knew how I am made ill by this conflict. I seek conflict with no one and would renounce all for a return of peace to our respective Houses."

She turns large grey eyes now towards her cousin, "You say that Rosgwaen turns from her because she reminds him of his brother? How strange that I never saw this before?" Now, light gleams in the unshed tears that stand in her eyes. "How strange that he is not happy to have his sister living, her warm heart near him - when others have nothing?"


Lothdaimoth sets his half-filled glass down to glimmer alone in the soft lamplight. "I think.. he has not spoken to me much of this, you understand, it is only what I see myself." He leans forward, his own dark eyes shadowed with memories and pain. "But I think that seeing her reminds him only of his loss. He ever was silent and much given to thought and introspection.. I think he dwells on this too much, giving himself no chance to heal." One hand sketches a restless frustrated gesture through the still air. "He will not speak with me often, and I do not know if he listens. He .. thinks I will lead Caelwen away from Dinlom, teach her to think only as I do. Gilrowen, I would not do such a thing!"


She remains standing lines of pain lengthening her mouth, as she takes long controlled breaths. Then releasing a long sigh, "I understand this dark side that dwells so long on what is lost." Approaching his chair and looking off to one side, hands tightly clasped together before her, "It is this trait in both of us that has brought us to this impasse." Looking intently into Lothdaimoth's dark eyes, "He will not listen to you because you take his sister from him into the unknown. But it is the very thing he will have to have to face himself."

Then crouching before him, slender hand touching his knees for balance, she whispers fiercely, "This conflict takes all from me, distances all whom I love. And I am sick to death of it - this because the child Gilrowen would not let her Aunt in peace. I had my cousins and their love though held in secret from their mother. Now, I lose them through conflict between them.

Leaning into his knees the unshed tears now spill, "It is each our own fault. Why can we not soften and listen to one another. Why must we hold so hard to non-existent things?"


One arm slides around her shoulders as he bends nearer. Long black hair, escaped from its confines, streaks along the edge of his face. "I do not know," he says at last, helplessly. "I too have brooded over what was gone from me forever... Silgelir and M-melae." The deep tones of his voice falter a little on her name. "Yet, I found I could not longer ignore what was living in favor of what was dead - or gone."

Long moments he simply sits in silence, while she weeps. Then at last, "Do you lose them? I do not understand this... for Rosgwaen I cannot speak, but Caelwen would not turn away from you."


Her head bows and she accepts the proffered arm, and the tears now come unhindered by any effort to save her pride. Lifting her head, she asks in a voice broken by the tears, "Who has not lost someone to those accursed yrch? We must all continue to live for those who remain or go to the Havens." This last word breaks her newly gained control and the tears flow wetting his knee.

Drawing back, wiping her face with the side of her hand, she essays an unsuccessful smile, "I did not mean to cry before you Lothdaimoth. I have held this to myself for too long." Nodding her head, then looking down from his sympathetic gaze, "But I feel they distance themselves because of this conflict with my Indor. I do not want one, I want them both. Is that too much to ask?"


Again he says, "I do not know. And they grow ever more bold." Letting his hand drop again to the chair arm as she pulls away, he smiles just a little. More successful than the jeweler's it might be, but there is little of cheer or humor in it. "Please do not apologize, mellon. If anything I could do would ease your mind, it is yours, even to only listening." In the quiet night, what few sounds there are seem loud and a bat squeaking somewhere out of sight lifts Lothdaimoth's eyes to search for it. "I think it is not. But.. Gilrowen, do not let them. If you do not wish for division and conflict, go to them and say this. You are family, no matter your house, no matter the arguments of others." His gaze drops again and intensifies. "Caelwen at least, I know would welcome you."


She looks up into his kind face, "Thank you....," In a small voice still slightly strangled by tears, "Do you think so? We were distant for so long, I thought that they would prefer to honour their mother's wishes in this."

Rising and bringing another chair to near her cousin. "I hear at my House talan which I frequent less and less, that she remains adamant." Looking about her as she gathers her thoughts, she nods to herself, listening to an inner dialogue, "So I will cede because I will not have this continue. I never wanted it to be a conflict that would drive us further apart. I thought she could listen to me. I will take your advice and talk to them all, separately or together. Though to unite them all now seems nigh to impossible."


Lothdaimoth shrugs a little, the material of his shirt wrinkling and smoothing with the motion. "Perhaps you cannot unite anyone at all. Perhaps you should not try, I do not know. But even should they remain estranged from one another, it does not mean you should be estranged from each as well." A second smile, this one more natural crosses his face and warms his eyes. "And if nothing comes of it, at least you have tried." Perhaps his next words are meant to turn the subject a little, perhaps not, but his smile widens and turns a little shy. "As for Caelwen... she would have defied her mother for me; I think perhaps she will not allow her to seperate you either."


She sits looking away, blinking as she considers his words. She raises her slender hands, steepling them before her lips as she thinks. During the long silence, the first birds begin to sing to the coming dawn. "Do you say so? Defy her mother who has ruled her with an iron hand lo these many years?"

But she raises a cautioning hand before he can speak. "But you are right. Miluiel is Miluiel and we can not change her, nor do I desire to now. Let me keep my cousins who are dear to me and I will be content. Though I would that there was no distance between them - it is not my concern but their's to heal. But I know each of them is of good heart."


As he listens, a flush travels across the Minister's cheeks and his gaze falls. "She told me she would..." his voice is only little louder than a whisper. "Though it was not necessary, still it is a thought I treasure."


The first true smile comes back to her and flickers in her grey eyes, "Would you have more wine, Lothdaimoth? She stands and goes to her worktable to fetch the bottle, she lingers a moment looking at the box.


The glass that still sits beside him, wine half-drunk, must have been forgotten. Lothdaimoth's eyes widen a little, flying to the goblet. "Oh," he says. "Yes.. thank you." He lifts it, swallowing the last of the wine and holds it out towards her with a grin.


She crosses to him and pours, the wine gurgling pleasantly as it flows into his goblet. She recovers a goblet for herself from her table and fills it half way and then raises it in a salute. "We are indeed fortunate to have you in our family, Lothdaimoth. Thank you."


The blush had mostly receded, but now it floods back into Lothdaimoth's cheeks with renewed vigor. "Ah... " It is more of a strangled sound than any word at all. "Erm. Thank you. I..." Here he stops and takes refuge in the depths of his wine cup, then stands, setting the empty glass on the small table. "I have kept you from your work.. I should go." With one last smile and a rustle of cloth, he is gone.