Late morning sun slants in from the skylights and the tall, east-facing windows, illuminating the busy guildhall with long-fingered shafts of light. Sawdust and stone dust rise upwards along these shafts in a weaving, glittering dance, each tiny mote and speck flaring into light and dying again on its upward rise.
Amid the noise and clatter of a typically busy day here, a distinct sound can be heard echoing from the back of the guildhall - the bell-like ring of metal on stone. The Hirdan Gondramind works upon a large figural sculpture in marble. He wears a long leather apron and leather overshirt; a green kerchief covers his nose and mouth. The whole of him, long black hair knotted in one fat braid behind his back, his face, clothes, hands, even the tips of his boots - all of him is covered in a fine white grit that glitters like stars in the light. His long, slim hands move with swift confidence over the stone, a thin fluted chisel in one, a hammer in the other.


Near silent, Fyaeglim comes into the hall; his presence betrayed perhaps by a stirring in the air; and pauses, looking around. Hooded grey eyes light upon a sculptor at work and he turns his steps towards the hirdan. For long moments, he is content to stand and watch as marble chips away beneath the tip of the chisel.


Drifting silently and quietly, Arinkalya walks along the guildhall with small smile upon her mien. Despite this smile though her eyes are wandering and she stops several times and looks first east then west before heading forward again/ Her white skirts, with just the faintest tint of yellow, drag against the floor with its green embroidering standing out against the skirts. Her wheaten tresses this night was curled up and pulled off her slender neck, acentuating her overly jutted chin, and too-sharp nose.


It is the tips of a pair of boots he sees first. Gondramind notices the feet standing near his work area, but he does not move or look up until he has finished his pass upon the stone. And when he does, his clear, colorless eyes flick to the owner of those boots, just the barest hint of annoyance sparking from them at the interruption, and that spark becomes a look of recognition and then... a soft joy. He pulls the kerchief down around his neck and smiles. "Mae govanen mellon Fyaeglim. It is good to see you again." His gaze dances lightly upon the edhel's face for a moment and is pulled away by the sight of an unknown elleth wandering the guildhall. His eye returns to the Maldan. "Have you... finished your rings?"


Fyaeglim's grey eyes follow Gondramind's across the hall to where Arinkalya walks, but are swiftly pulled back at his question. "Yes." Thin lips turn upwards in a smile. "I have need of nothing, it is only," he waves one hand in a gesture that encompasses all the room, "I feel comfortable here. I did not mean to interrupt you, please go on with your work."


Voices draw Arinkalya's attention and a pleased smile tugs at her own lips. Wintery colored eyes sparkle brightly as she quickened her step toward the two edhil standing in the hall. "Mae Govannen Fyaeglim, " Her voice was pleasant and upbeat and she turns and gives the stranger a faint nod in greeting. "You would not happen to know the way to the Hall of Song. I must have gotten turned around or something." Her words were swift, and her tone apologetic, "I hope I have not disturbed anything." Her pale hands quickly sweep down across her skirts and she stood still one pale brow cocked in questioning.


A soft chuckles rumbles deep within the stonecutter's chest. "You feel comfortable here? Well, Fyaeglim, that I can understand." Gondramind pulls his kerchief off over his head and lightly runs his long slim fingers over the sculpture. "When last you saw this it was amorphous rock, and now... a horse and rider struggle to break loose of the stone. I am helping them. And they can wait. Yours is no interruption. Actually, I am glad you came. I have... You leave soon, yes? I have..."
The elleth Gondramind had been watching approaches and greets Fyaeglim and Gondramind nods courteously toward her. "Hall of Song? Mellon, you are lost indeed. You must take the path toward the meadow, then southward until you reach the house. Once Hir Elrond's home, ask anyone and they will direct you. If you like I can have one of my apprentices guide you."


Fyaeglim nods, scanning the sculpture with unfeigned interest; an interest he shows in very little these days. "Yes. Within a few days, I believe." The dark head nods. "What we spoke of.. you have something ready?" The smile grows a little, a butterfly unfolding its wings to the sun. "This is Arinkalya," he says. "She has been one of my companions thus far, though I think no farther?" He raises one thin black eyebrow at the elleth enquiringly.


Smiling and laughing a bit mirthfully Arinkalya shakes her head, "I have no head for directions it seems." Sighing she listens carefully to the directions given by the other. 'My Thanks to you, I am sorry to have barged in here like I did." She turns and smiles faintly to Fyaeglim, and gives him a kindly saddened nod. "You are correct Fyaeglim. Though was not an easy decision, and the dreams of the sea I fear will always haunt my rest. I have come to terms with the decision." Her eyes were serene and this perhaps was the largest testimony to her claims.


A shadow passes over the Hirdan's eyes, thin and quick like wisps of cloud slipping across the moon, as he listens to Arinkalya speak. "So you will not make the journey." He nods wordlessly and gazes upon her for a moment and then shakes himself and smiles. "Forgive me. Mae govanen Arinkalya. I am called Gondramind and as you can see..." a thin, wry smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "I am a very fine maker of dust." He turns his grey gaze again toward Fyaeglim. "I do have something ready..." his eye flicks uncomfortably toward Arinkalya, but he continues. "Two small boxes, each with a letter." He turns toward the shelves on the wall behind and lifts a cloth that he'd thrown over top the gifts...


Dreams of the sea do not haunt Fyaeglim's grey eyes, but a stormy passion of sorts flashes there nonetheless. "I am pleased to hear this," he says. Gondramind's comment brings a bit of amusement to rest in the grey. "You are a maker of dust," he says dryly, "as I am a polisher of brass." Taking a step forward to folow the other towards the shelving, he is distracted by the sculpture and instead walks around it to see all sides.


Once again inclining her head toward Gondramind, "Mae Govannen Gondramind, I am pleased to be able to make your aquaintance." Her words on the formal side perhaps but the subtle laughter can be heard in her voice. Soon however it became clear to the Dancer that she was perhaps interrupting something. "Oh! I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude!" Her hand raised to her lips and she turns to start back toward the way she came.


"No, mellon, no intrusion," Gondramind turns from his place at the shelves as he speaks to the elleth. "I but... use our kind friend here as courier to my family in the West." His tone is courteous but his face betrays a shy sorrow. His artisan's heart, however, warms to Fyaeglim's words and to see the Maldan assess his ongoing work. "That, friend, shall be the figure of Fingolfin riding to single combat with Morgoth. It is a commission." Gondramind walks then toward the table and desposits two simple cedar wood boxes, one smaller than the other. "This first is for my wife." He opens the larger box and retrieves a thin, spindly object. It is a white whirligig made all opaque white alabaster. The sails of its spinning star are so thin and finely wrought as to seem made of silk cloth, until touched, and the hand can confirm what the eyes cannot. "Briniel was a toy maker when I met her. One of these brought us together." And he blows softly upon the sails and the whirligig spins merrily with the faintest musical whistle, like the high note of a flute.


"You need not leave," Fyaeglim confirms, though a trifle absently as most of his attention is bound up in the marble. Long fingers reach out and brush along a curve of cool stone; barely a second before they jump away again. "It is ... " he stops and a bit of rueful humor crinkles the edges of his eyes. "I find in myself a small thread of regret that I shall not see this finished, mellon," he finishes at last, and turns towards the toy.


Arinkalya had moved closer toward the doorway and a quick intake of breath is given. "Its lovely," She barely whispers all on a breath. Shaking her head, the curls bouncing frivolously Arinkalya kifts her hands slightly. "Nay I should not intrude really. I will speak with you again Fyaeglim?" This last was posed half a question, half a statement before she turns to Gondramind. "Namarie, you do exquisite work I do hope to speak with you more." Her smile was warm as she turns to trot down the hall way again, her lips reciting the directions the other had given.


Opening the second, smaller box, Gondramind's gaze slides toward Fyaeglim and mutters softly, the hint of a sad and laconic grin pulling the corners of his mouth, "You could stay...."
Arinkalya departs and he calls "Namarie" toward her. And then all attention is placed on the second box.
Gondramind withdraws the statue of a small, finch like song bird, all of rose quartz, its stone feathers soft and thin as down. Gondramind blows across the back of the bird and its feathers seem to rustle under the soft touch of his breath. "This is for my son. We called him Linmaethor because even as an infant he sang like a bird."
He closes the box. "The letters are within." And then from his apron pocket he the withdraws one last item. "This mellon, is for you. For your trouble and our brief friendship." In his open plam, all of a golden, honeyed alabaster, rests a single utterly life-like mallorn leaf.


"If you wish." The words follow Arinkalya down the hall and away. Grey eyes meet lighter ones and the wry rueful look deepens and Fyaeglim shakes his head once. "I cannot," he says quieter still. "Ahh..." It is not a word as much as a sound borne on a soft plosion of breath at the sight of the delicately carven bird. "I will bear them with care," he says until he is struck silent at the last offering. Very gently he reaches out one fingertip to touch the leaf, unable to take his eyes away. "You did not need to, my friend. It was no trouble at all. But thank you... you could have chosen little I will treasure more."


The Hirdan stands robbed of speach and an awkward silence fills the air between them, though the hall rings with the sound of work and creation. At last he gives a small shrug to his shoulders and attempts a laugh. "Then it is a gift well place." He looks into the grey eyes of this edhel before him, so close in appearance and nature to himself, and he holds the gaze. "I have spoken too many farewells in my lifetime. I shall look forward to seeing you again. When my time is come. See you invite yourself to my wife's table. She cooks... Ah.. " He chuckles and looks down at his dust covered hands and can say no more.


"It will not be farewell," Fyaeglim takes the mallorn leaf in careful fingers and turns it over once, before looking up. "For we shall meet again. I will look for you." He glances over to a nearby window judging the angle of light that falls through it. "But now, I must go." The leaf is tucked carefully away, the boxes picked up and the Maldan hesitates, then reaches out to clasp the other's shoulder in a wordless farewell before turning to trace the path Arinkalya had taken so short a time before.


The Hirdan nods once and claps a hand upon Fyaeglim's arm before the other withdraws his hand from Gondramind's shoulder. "Look for me, aye," he mutters. Then eyes the color of rain follow the Maldan as he departs. And Gondramind sits alone now in a crowded hall, in silent thought for many minutes. Then he stands slowly, takes up his tools again, and turns back to the statue and his work.