Grimbeorn nods. "Congratulations," he says, a bit dryly. "As for things to talk
about, I'm thinking that you and I, Knight Warden, have things to speak about."
A short laugh bears away much of the tension in the edhel's fae. Saluting the
Knight-Warden once more, his smile is broad and ice blue eyes shine brightly.
"My thanks Knight-Warden, I shall endevour to make you and all of Lorien proud."
Dairwenraiel chuckles and says softly. "Now he's an unbearable flirt with a
title that matches."
His question goes unanswered, and Fyaeglim shrugs a little; the material of his
clothing whispering faintly with the movement. "Well done," he offers the newly
made Knight Bachelor. Then, lifting his eyes to the Warden, "I, as well, would
speak with you, Vinyarod. Though perhaps I have not so much to say as this one
here."
With the deed done the Warden glances to the large human and offers a curious
look. "Possibly we do." He pauses to glace at Fyaeglim and then looks back to
Grimbeorn. "Is it something that can wait? I've a matter I need to discuss with
Fyaeglim before his party continues on to the western shore."
"Suit yourself," Grimbeorn answers, giving a shrug with one shoulder. "Take as
much time as you want to get to solving our little problem--but I'd advise you
to find the time to talk to me here in Rivendale if you be wanting to cross
over our lands on your way back home. I trust my cousin gave you an escort?" he
finishes, smirking.
Narrowing his eyes, the Warden glares at the Beorning. "Yes he did." he says
flatly. "I will certainly make the time to discuss the matter well before we
set forth on the journey." He continues to look at the large human, fully aware
of what he could become and exactly how he could prevent the Galadhrim's
travels. Pressing his right hand against his chest, he sweeps the hand outwards
with respect. "Choose a time and I will make myself available, though it can
not be now due to a prior engagement." With his words spoken, Vinyarod turns
and steps towards Fyaeglim without a backwards glance. "I am sorry for the
delay, and I thank you for waiting." he says softly. "Are they done?"
Offset from the collection of tents as wagons the comparitively more rustic
tents of the elves of the Green-Wood have been set. From one said tents emerges
an elleth of fair hair, and countenance of finely carved marble. With all the
impassiveness of a well-fed cat, the elleth's stoic expression does little to
change as they fall upon the gathering group. Having discarded her mannish
traveling garments of leggings and tunic, the elleth had opted for more stately
vestments: robes of a soft grey and sashed at the waist with an ornate belt of
blue. Pale locks were bound back with a silvery clasp that caught the light of
the disapparing moon. Eyes narrowed just a moment as they took stock of those
who gathered.
Dairwenraiel looks to Grimbeorn for a long moment, head tilted to one side. Her
expression is a thoughtful one, with no malice. Only curiosity.
"Aye, will do that, Knight Warden," Grimbeorn nods, the playful expression
formerly on his face now gone. "Sorry lass," he says to Dairwenraiel, as he
stands up. "Another time perhaps," he adds, walking toward the house.
Looking over towards the large framed human, Celemir appears curious yet his
eyes hold the traces of a slightly different emotion. Shrugging slightly to
himself the edhel returns to his goblet, and refilling it from the steaming jug
of mulled wine, fresh from the warm embers of the fire, drinks it with glee."
Celemir says in Bethteur, "
The clouds have thinned a little, the circle of light designating the moon is a
little brighter. But Fyaeglim's grey and brown clothing refuses to brighten
with it; still he looks something like a shadow from much of a distance. "Yes."
The goldsmith glances back at Grimbeorn, curiousity flickering through the
stormy grey eyes. One hand comes out of a pocket and opens to reveal two slim
golden rings resting in his palm. What light there is seems to collect about
them, so that they almost glow even in the dark of the night. Beneath surfaces
smooth as water, thin lines appear and disappear, changing with each angle the
ring is held at. He holds these out towards the Warden. "This is for you," a
long finger nudges one ring aside. "This for your betrothed." A fingernail
touches the other. "I have put memories within them that will draw the mind
each to the other."
Spotting the said elves of Lorien, and the Beorning Lord, Serendriel's brows
drew high on her forehead. Stepping forward even as the large Beorning leaves,
Serendriel moves quietly among the elves, a glance spared towards Vinyarod and
the goldsmith, before her steps come to stop beside Dairwenraiel "What words
were exchanged between the Beorning and those of Lorien?" An intense curiousity
and perhaps urgency was laced into her gentle tones.
Dairwenraiel thinks before responding to Serendriel. "I do not think it was the
words so much as a confusion of intent resulting in a bruised ego." She shakes
her head. "'Lard' Grimbeorn is the best example of their kind. Warm and with
great patience. Even his actions leave me curious as just how their minds
consider." The elleth shakes her head. "Forgive me, I am pensive beyond sense
sometimes."
Serendriel nods softly with a little frown turning her own expression into one
of trepidation, "I was surprised to see the Beornings here when I
arrived...They had not mentioned they would travel so far." A gentle sigh and a
shake of her head, glancing behind her to her tent, then back to the other
elleth, "But we shall see what will come of this...if grievances can be sorted
or not."
Dairwenraiel sighs softly. "Tis a puzzle. My father speaks of their bravery and
skills in battle with deep respect. But he also find them terribly frustration
to negotiate with in even the simplest circumstance." The elleth shrugs. "I
judge each as an individual myself, rather then as a race. I admit some of
them, as with my own kin, vex me to no end."
Serendriel's frown disappates some into a smile to the oher elleth, "Grimbeorn
is a Man I can well respect. As you said, to judge by the individual is
useless. As such I cannot judge Hir Grimbeorn as the epitome of his people
either. His opinion on the matters at hand have been diplomatic to say the
least, but in truth, it was not his personal kin onto which crimes were
committed. It is that which worries me most."
Vinyarod eyes the crafter carefully as if searching for something, possibly
some glimpse of the magic held within the crafters. "I've heard of such
things." he says softly as he drops his gaze to the rings. The glimmer of the
gold seems to draw his curiosity. "They are beautiful, moreso than I could have
imagined." He reaches forward to touch one then pauses to look up to he
crafter. "Are they safe to touch without Oerwen present?" he asks cautiously.
"Or are there words that need spoken first?"
Serendriel turns from the other elleth for a moment go observe the quiet
exchange between goldsmith and Vinyarod. As she does, keen grey eyes move to
Yavie moving deftly towards the tent. Trying to catch her eyes, Serendriel
lifts her hand to wave her over.
Yavie either doesn't see, or doesn't acknowledge the wave, ducking into her
tent without a sound.
Dairwenraiel smile softly as Serendriel's gesture brings Yavie to her
attention. "Can we claim our own kind so perfect of behavior and easy of
understand either?"
"Of course." Fyaeglim lifts his palm a little in a 'take them' gesture. "There
is nothing in them that you need fear, only that they will draw your mind to
one whom you love. The difference is that this is attuned for a man, the other
for a woman." In the shifting glow, the carvings that come and go seem also to
change their shapes at will; now a sinuous line that tells of a lily, now a
thicker stroke that might bring to mind the enduring strength of an oak.
Aladwen moves over from the front porch and notices the Edhil talking on the
green lawn in front of her. She slowly makes her way down, noticing her younger
sister. 'Greetings to you all.' She says, with a smile.
Dairwenraiel looks back at the voice and affection lights her eyes. "Good eve,
sister." A bit of a silly grin tilts up her lips as she teases. "Actually
setting a delicate toe on damp ground?"
Serendriel lips purse for a moment as she hesitates to answer, glancing back
to Dairwenraiel, "Perhaps not..but I'd not judge the Beornings, or the
Lorien..I only wish to see the strive and crimes resolved." She says, perhaps a
bit cryptically if one did not know the events and losses the Beornings had
recently been subject too. "Excuse me, mellon, I think my kinswoman still bares
me illy." With a little peturbed sigh, Serendriel hurries towards the tent,
standing outside of it, hesitating to enter. Finally in hushed tones, she
addresses the elleth inside the tent, "Yavie...please come out and speak to
me..."
Serendriel is greeted only by silence for a long moment. However, after a
moment, a head crowned in auburn curls poked out. Moss-green eyes look up at
Serendriel innocently. "Ah, Serendriel! I did not see you."
Reaching out he takes the rings and sets them in his palm. "There is no
question that Oerwen will be pleased." Vinyarod says as he watches in awe as
the rings seem to take upon a life of their own. The Warden looks up with
unshielded appreciation. "Is there anything I can exchange to show my thanks?"
he lifts the hand cradling the rings. "These are far above anything either of
us could have expected."
Aladwen smiles at the playful tone in Daiwenraiel's voice, 'Little sister, you
should learn to respect your elders.' she teases back. She looks over to the
Elleth by the tent, 'But it appears I have come at an interesting moment.'
Serendriel's lets out a gentle sigh, "Of course you did not see me, less you
can see through this," she said with some vexation, touching the fabric of the
tent for a moment, "But I am certain you heard me." Her expression and tone
softens somewhat, certainly the elleth usually so placid seems to be unusually
agitated, "Please join me, I do long for my kin here, even if they are
Erynedhrim." She adds the last bit with something of a smile, an attempt and
frivolty.
Dairwenraiel shrugs. "I know not. Much tribulation follows our visitors it
seems." The elleth lowers her voice. "Among them is the guide I spoke of to
father..." Her expression darkens slightly.
Yavie rolls her eyes. "Aye- need someone to protect you from the trees..." she
mumbles grumpily, but friendlier than before.
The name of his most recent, and longest, home catches at Fyaeglim's ear and he
turns his head, black hair sliding along his shoulder. Changeable grey eyes go
unerringly to the one who spoke, only to see her walking away towards a tent.
And he looks back, a smile that is unusually gentle for the fierce edhel
curving at his lips. "Wear them in joy. This is all I ask."
Aladwen looks at Dairwenraiel carefully, 'What is that you said to father?'
A soft sigh, Serendriel ducks her head down, offering her hand to her
kinswoman, "We need to speak Yavie...I am not certain what I did to so offend
you." Her brow knits softly, genuine concern in warm grey eyes. "Would you
speak to me on these matters?"
Reaching out a hand, Vinyarod places it upon the crafters shoulder. "Thank I
can promise Fyaeglim, and we will do so with great thanks to you." Dropping his
hand, the Warden follows the crafters gaze. "They speak of the accusation the
Beornings have against our people. A murder they say." Curling his hand over
the rings, he tucks them into a deep pocket of his tunic. Shaking his head he
looks to Fyaeglim. "Has there been a death along the borders? They say it was
some months back."
Yavie sighs, as if she would rather avoid the conversation. "Yes...it
is...nothing. Merely a strange humor which takes me, perhaps. I just..." her
eyes glance upwards, taking in the assembled crowd. "Perhaps we should discuss
it when we have more privacy."
The far-away musings of the knight-batchelor are suddenly left behind as
mention of the Beornings reaches his sensitive ears, turning slightly to face
Vinyarod, Celemir sips lightly from his goblet, listening intently to that
which is spoken.
"I may have heard of such a thing, I do not know." Fyaeglim's voice is
disinterested, but in politeness, he casts his mind back. "No," he says at
last. "I remember no killing." And eyes keen as an eagle's at hunt sharpen on
the Warden's face. "If any would know, would it not be the Knight-Warden of
Lorien? Why do you ask a simple maldan?" Is that a flash of sardonic amusement
as he names himself 'simple'? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is just a reflection of
firelight in watchful grey eyes.
Serendriel sighs softly lifting her gaze to Yavie, "I would speak to you on it
now before we are swept into the excitement of the council." She glances back
to the others gathered, "Besides, I am certain they are not listening to what I
have to say on this matter."
Yavie tilts her head in acquiesence.
Away from conversations of sorts, there is a figure doing his own thing by
himself. He could be seen sitting against the stump of a great forlorn tree
with a quill in one hand, ink by his side writing on his parchment of paper.
This is the daily work of the Glirion Atheliand who nearly all the time writes
poetry. Taking some notice to those talking, he does not interrupt, instead he
continues to write poetry.
"One would think I would be informed, but alas I've been called to most escorts
outside the Wood." he replies softly as he eyes those gathered not far away. "I
was in Rohan at the time they say it occured but would have been advised of the
event upon my return." Reaching up to stroke his left jaw slightly he frowns.
"They are indeed angry and I've taken a blow as proof." Dropping his hand to
rest upon the hilt of his sword he shakes his head. "It is unlikely that it was
one of our own who did the deed as it is not our way unless directly attacked.
Still.... it has caused some difficulty in traveling their lands and unless the
matter is settled we'll have the same difficulty returning." (Vinyarod)
Aladwen suddenly lifts her head up and, walking quickly over to Dainwenraiel,
says, 'Sister, we should be making our way down to the waterfall, now. It would
not do for you to be late' . She smiles, softly.
Serendriel tips her head gently, guiding her towards the fire that had be
kindled before their tends. The embers had nearly died, but the coals glowed
hotly, throwing off enough heat to be felt several feet from its radiance. "A
humor indeed, Yavie...you have never walked away from me or any as I saw you do
so today. Was it the secret I kept?"
Or the fact I was keeping a secret?
Dairwenraiel blinks and pales slightly. "Oh...oh..." Suddenly, the calm quiet
demeanor of the elleth becomes nervous energy. "Oh mother's going to be vexed."
Aladwen shakes her head in amusement at her sister's change in disposition.
'Calm down, little one. Mother will not mind at all.'
Yavie exhales slowly again, her breath coming out in a short shudder.
"Yes....and no...and...both." She blinks rapidly, then looks sharply away. "I
wish you would have told me." She say frankly, still not meeting her friend's
gaze. "But it is more than that....in the pass...." She closes her eyes
tightly, squeezing out a single tear. "I just feel like..." She shakes her
head, standing as quickly as she can on her still-weak legs. "It is nothing."
Dairwenraiel grasps her sisters hand for comfort, or perhaps to drag her more
quickly. Either way, the tracker sets off to the southwest, sister in tow.
Atheliand, trying to see if his song works, he sings aloud,
The breath of winter soars
Like gusts of wind breaking through the skies.
It chills and pushes mighty forces,
Some said that 'it wouldn't harm a flie'-
But then Atheliand stops and he buries his face in his hands and groans in
failure to himself. "Oooooooooh.... This is going to be difficult..."
Fyaeglim turns his eyes towards two sisters not far away. "The people of the
Bear insist that someone was slain?" he asks. There is a thin edge of
curiousity underneath his idle questioning and he looks back at Vinyarod. "I
will think again..." Grey eyes unfocus, going distant and still, and the
goldsmith stills with them, seeming to become a marbled statue of himself. Time
passes, short or long, overhead clouds flee away across the sky only to be
replaced by others and still others. At last he stirs and offers slowly, "Some
time ago, I do not remember exactly; I was making an armband with a silver
inlay, there was talk of a creature of some sort along the borders. Perhaps it
was a boar. Perhaps not. Someone stood nearby to my working and spoke of
shooting to flush it out of the brush and failing. Yet, I thought they also
spoke of an arrow in return... which would make it an unusual boar."
Serendriel's brow furrowed, shaking her head softly, "Yavie...now it is you
who keeps secrets from me. But if you choose to have them, I cannot keep you
from that." Glancing over to the singing elf, Serendriel pauses to listen,
indicating with a nod of her head, "Please, continue...it was rounding out
nicely, mellon." Addresses Atheliand with a warming smile, before looking back
to Yavie, her hand reaching out to gently cover hers. "How about some tea and
honey cakes to sooth at least your stomach?"
Deafenly hearing what the elleth said to him, Atheliand turns his head to
Serendriel and he asks, "What was it you requested of me, mellon?"
Vinyarod raises a brow. "An accident would of course make more sense." Turning
to the crafter, he continues to speak. "Think back if you will, this may be
important to a resolution. Do you recall who it was who shot the arrow to flush
out the boar?" he asks. "Think Fyaeglim, can you at least describe this edhel's
face?"
Yavie laughs. "Serendriel, you are trying to fatten me up!"
Serendriel has kept a careful ear trained to the other conversations, a frown
purses her lips as she shakes her head and looks to the bard, "The song you
were bringing to life...please continue. I thought it was coming along nicely."
She turns to look over her shoulder, a smile to the bard but it fades as she
watches the others now deep in conversation. Turning back to Yavie, she
chuckles softly, tipping her eyes to skies as she chuckles, "Yes Yavie, I have
been keeping a cave troll in the halls of Amon Thranduil, it's direly hungry
and you were my best candidate."
But the Maldan is alreadly shaking his head. "The inlay was .. tricky. Silver
is of a different temper than gold and must be eased on its way," he says. "I
did not look to see who spoke, nor did I listen with much more than a partial
ear. I cannot say for certain that even what little I have told you is
remembered with accuracy. I will not say more."
Yavie says, "Aha, I divined as much!" Yavie smiles broadly, and squeezes
Serendriel's hand. "All is well between us, my friend." She says forcefully
before her eyes flicker sad again. "I just feel...changed...and oddly conscious
of time. Somehow hearing that you were in love....well, it just made me
think...things." she ends weakly, failing to express herself clearly."
A subtle wink as she rises moving to the rucksack she had left by the more
communal fire that had been set earlier by the dale-landers and dwarves,
Serendriel draws out a compact tea kettle, a flask and small leather pouch.
This and a cloth wrapped bundle was tucked beneath her arms. As she passes the
other two speaking of arrows, boars and bracelets. "No arrows were fired by the
Beornings, so I have been told."
Atheliand sighs to himself and says aloud to Serendriel, "Sadly this is the
worst of my works." and he tears the parchment and he positions it to a pile of
torn paper. He brandishes a fresh page and starts putting the ink into the
parchment. "For 500 years my works were amazing, now I'm an old slipper."
She said this with out accusation, simply a statement of fact, the pale haired
elleth then continues about her business of getting tea. Addressing the bard
she moves back to the small fire ring by their camp. Setting the tea kettle
directly on the hot coals, she fills it with water from her flask, and
springles several tea leaves within. "Come join us then, perhaps some tea and
Beorning honeycakes will move you to inspiration, mellon."
Yavie arches an eyebrow at the little spread. "How many honeycakes did you
bring, Serendriel?" she laughs.
Atheliand refuses the offer smiling saying, "I'm afraid I might not be too
worthy enough to spend time eating with such proud and admirable elves such as
yourselves."
The Warden sighs heavily. "I thank you for what information you've given me, it
is something more than I had before and at least now I have a path to follow."
As another speaks of the supposed incident in passing, Vinyarod furrows his
brow and offers only a glare. Shaking his head a softened and appreciative gaze
returns to the crafter. "I'll need to speak with Lord Celeborn to tell him what
you've said, possibly he can shed more light upon the matter before I am to
speak with the Beorning." Stepping back, he bows formally and with respect.
When he rises he offers a smile. "I owe you great thanks for several reasons
and you will not be forgotten. I wish you well on your journey Fyaeglim." With
that the grey clad guard of Lorien turns and quickly departs for Elrond's house.
"And I on yours," Fyaeglim says somewhat enigmatically, quiet words that follow
the Warden into the house. He turns then and looks around at the crowded lawn,
lifts his eyes to the sky and then steps away from the porch.