IC time is: Early Afternoon About 2:53 PM
IC day is: Orithil Moon-day
IC date is: 54 Echuir Stirring
Moon phase: First Quarter VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 3 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3027
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RL time: Tue Jan 14 19:57:53 2003
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High Green Wall
You stand now atop a large Green Wall, a natural fence of dense forest greens, which defines the southern cusp of the Egladil of Lorien, or the "Tongue" of Lorien as it has been called by Men. Just beneath the wall, to the south, a large green lawn stretches out for a hundred yards until it meets up with the union of two great rivers. One of them, the Celebrant, is brisk and eager, and flows down through the Mallorn thickets to your right. The other, the Anduin, is closer than you thought it would be, defining the edge of Lorien as it dominates the eastern horizon for as far as you can see.
Looking down across the lawn, you realize the tactical advanatge any bowman would have from this hightened post, both as lookout and archer. A small stairway leading to a tunnel-like passage appears to be the egress to reach the lawn itself.
Arien begins Her long descent across the firmament. Multitudinous are the hues which follow in her wake. Clouds ripple a soft rosey shade, as if some great power were at play, dropping pebbles upon the sky.
Brisk and eager is the breeze today, especially at this lofty point along the green wall of foliage where the Egladil gazes out, as it has for many seasons passed, upon the rivers as they meet. Now scarlet begins to slant across those glad and fierce waters while they tumble towards the far distant grey seas.
It is not merely the verdant wall of vegetation that glances upon these rivers ... Nay, for one stands lofty with his raven tresses strewn about his face. And this face is kindled in golden splendour, effulgent with Anor's bounty. And his eyes well with this same honey-hued light, as they stray about the surrounding lands. A smile is upon his lips, even as he turns from his sentry atop the wall, to seat himself gently among the greenery - just at the head of the path.
This he watches, mayhap out of boredom, emerald eyes yet glistering in the heaven-shed light as they turn upon the mellyrn.
Through the pale yellow-greens of spring, gaining depth and contrast by the flood of light and flicker of shadow, comes another figure. Not exactly whistling, not quite humming, still a soft melody swirls through the air about him and dances with the rushing tumbling waters. A moment and he steps into darkness, another moment and he has appeared again into the light and set foot on the narrow stairway leading up.
A ray of sunlight falls on his tall figure, setting his shirt afire with silvery sheen and glinting off a pin at his shoulder. Long black hair spills down over this brilliance, smothering it in shadow. Now he looks up and, spying a pair of boots above, hastens his own steps.
Perhaps the figure perched upon the wall does not note the approach of the other. Shadow and light might make for queer sport with the eye, inespecial when edhil of Lorinand are among them. But the tune he does not miss, and his cloth-booted foot begins to tap rhythmically. Then his lips purse, almost with self-restraint, and now they have bloomed and become full as he catches the low-sounding humming, or whistling, and carries the tune himself.
For some time does Dangelydh make music so, but it ends with a sound more harmonious than his twitterings. For his laughter is swift and sudden, and it resounds from this height down upon the flatlands, filling them with a sweet melody indeed. Yet even the birds of the air sound relieved as they begin their songs anew, where they had left off, with what might be slight annoyance, to hearken to the Laiquende.
But the edhel heeds them little, and his eyes only turn upon them when they rouse from their perches, to openly caper and soar among the heavens ... then his eyes are filled with light.
It is but a moment longer and Lothdaimoth has gained the top of the wall. Standing there, the sun strikes him full on now and his shadow stretches behind him long and dark. "And again we meet. After so long a time seeing you not, now I but turn and you are there." A smile grows on his face and in his eyes as he speaks, and now he turns swiftly and seats himself in like manner. "Mae govannen, friend knight. Your music has brightened my day."
Bright eyes, wide with the pleasure at partaking in what joy the capering pair of birds willingly share with him, Dangelydh's eyes fall swiftly at Lothdaimoth's voice. At first he seems to glance past the benn, resting behind him upon the ground where his shadow is shed. A shade passes over his eyes, like a cloud before the sun, but it is soon to be cast away ...
"Aiya meldir! Well met today, as on any other. Even though the daylight wanes." Gesturing with an oustretched hand, a finger pointing out the marker by which he has, seemingly, counted off the hours, the Laiquende laughs suddenly once again. The melodic din seems loathe to depart him, for it lingers, resounding among the argent treeboles just to the north.
"But it was your music to begin with, mellon, or at least I think that it was. I heard a tune ... I wish that I hadn't been so absorbed, or I might have greeted you in a manner more fair." Shaking his head, and reaching up with his slender fingers to pull the roguish locks back from his face, he adds, "But if my music brightens your day, then your visage brightens mine all the more. It was overlong that I was gone, and am now glad to look upon you."
With these words the Knight slides over in his seat but a little, patting the leafy wall with one hand, and gesturing silently that Lothdaimoth might join him.
Folding up his legs, the minister takes the offered spot, and a soft chuckle joins that of his friend. "Yes... that was I, almost I sang in thankfulness for this day." A soft breeze shakes the trees, scattering leaf shadow across the golden sun-kissed lawn. "What would Father say?" Laughing and shaking his head, Lothdaimoth adds softly, "I can hardly believe it myself..."
He falls into silence for a moment, eyes looking at distant vistas only seen by one. Silence filled by the roar of river, fall of birdsong, hushed whisper of leaf and grass. But it is not long before he rouses himself to look again at his companion. "Glad I am to see you as well." Beyond the knight, his gaze strays, towards the grass that stretches down upon a pebbled beach and loses itself in the steel and white of swirling waters. And a smile plays about his lips. "It will be here, mellon." One slender hand waves where his eyes go. "And I will be betrothed to an Indiri not of my house."
"Queer are the ways of the Eglath," laughs Dangelydh with a gentle, prodding at his friend's ribs beside him. "I could not marry Karbrenil, were she not of the Danas. I wouldn't have the heart to do so to my sires! But ..." Resting his head upon an angle, and affixing a querelously appraising expression about his features, the Laiquende looks upon the spot which Lothdaimoth looks upon. And then he looks upon the eyes with which Lothdaimoth gazes far beyond the place where those twain seat themselves, and a smile graces his lips. It is a soft smile, not the taunting one that seems so much his wont, nor the joyous one which seems ever ready to settle thereupon ...
With a laugh equally as soft as his grin, the Knight continues on in his airy manner.
"But I read much within your eyes mellon, and I know that this is a blessed joy, this ... 'besta' that will soon come. I am eager to be there on that day, if only to see your eyes well with yet more joy .... But of your father!" Here the edhel's visage is altered some great deal, as is his manner ... how so, or what thoughts wander behind his brow, who might know but one? "Your father loves not song, Lothdaimoth? Queer, as I said afore!"
A poke in the ribs brings but a broadening of the smile that tugs at Lothdaimoth's lips and fills his eyes with joy. "Yes," he agrees. "You will come then? I am glad." Again he falls into quietness until Dangelydh's query brings another laugh. "No, no." At last he withdraws his gaze from where it rests in nothingness and turns sable eyes towards green. "Father loves music, he is of the Glirdain after all, for all that his first love is history. No, it is that he would be surprised to hear me singing. I do not often." Back then to the first subject, as if he finds it impossible to keep his thoughts elsewhere long. "It is a blessing greater than I ever thought to know."
"Ah, then perhaps I might meet your father sometime soon. I would gladly share song with him, since his son is so loathe ... Yet changes such as that which you've taken oft' alter the benn." Here Dangelydh's lips blossom into another broad grin, for a moment appear he might have appeared thoughtful - or perhaps even desirous at the thought of meeting his friend's sire.
It is but little more than a fleeting shade of another character, perhaps, and the Knight is only too joyous to cast it off. He glances to his own finger, where absently he had been turning the silver band that wends about it with his speech. He ceases this motion abruptly, and turns his face with the same haste to Lothdaimoth's, saying,
"Aye, I myself will attest that chance is upon your side ... The Cennan is a fair bess, yet I trust that she laboured long and hard in winning that heart? I know of another who tried to no avail ..."
Has the taunting grin returned playfully to his lips?
"You shall. In but a few weeks time if not before," the minister promises. And again the thought draws his eyes to meet it. The breeze that toyed with branches has stooped to tickle along his cheek and tug at his hair. Until another memory intercedes and Lothdaimoth's gaze falters a little, dropping to his hands. "I could not believe her," he says at last. "She told me of her heart and her desire and I thought it could never be so... yet all the time I was in Amon Thranduil, I saw her face. And when I came again to the Golden Wood and stood beneath its sheltering arms.. when I saw her again in truth, I knew."
He raises his eyes again and wonder fills them. "I never thought to know this. I saw her grow and change all the long way to Imladhris and back again, and still, I never thought of this." His dark head shakes back and forth in disbelief.
"Perhaps it is the adage ... what is it now?" Dangelydh begins his oration; which in its beginning promised to be rather lengthy but was cut short by his own query, in quite a solemn voice. Indeed, no trace of a smile lingered upon his lips, for he has watched his friend grow solemn in his profession of love for the Cennan.
A swift burst of sweet laughter is quick to dispel his solemnity, for he scratches at his head beneath his sable tresses, and he appears at a loss for some moments. "Ah!" he recovers, regaining some slight degree of the somber manner which he had attempted. "The adage that queer bedfellows make for curious dreams. Mayhap it was this, mellon, that caused you to think so often of her. Though surely she lacks not in beauty, I recall a time when you were quite hardened to the very thought. Yet ... I am confused." Indeed, Dangelydh appears to be just as he himself states. "Amon Thranduil? The tale was so short winded and hastily told me, that I fear that you will have to tell it freshly to me."
Again is Lothdaimoth shaken from his thoughts to laughter. "Mayhap indeed, and stranger place have I never yet seen, to live underground like a dwarf." He grins and seems ready to leave all solemnity behind, brushing away the hairs that have blown across his face. "Caelwen told you of our journey to Imladhris, did she not?" Both black eyebrows raise in query. "It was not long after that. The Knight Banneret went swift and secret to Amon Thranduil inviting them to the Bardic Congress, and she asked that I would come as well." Humor quirks the edges of his mouth. "For something of diplomacy at need, she said. I did not wish to leave, not again so soon; yet the journey was short and untroubled." He leans back on one hand and shifts himself to a more comfortable position, and the grin grows yet wider. "Untroubled by enemies, I should say. For we were not two days out when we found trouble of another kind. My cousin, Rhibi? The young one who ran off to Fangorn... he had invited himself along, and stowed in a pack to be sure of his welcome."
The Laiquende listens attentively to all that Lothdaimoth has to say, and he remains in his upright, though leisurely, position even as the Vitner leans back. He bites at his knuckle pensively, for he has come to rest his elbow upon his thigh, and his long legs and feet dangle precariously over the wall's edge (though not upon the side with greatest distance between himself and the ground).
"Ah, yes. Caelwen spoke to me of Imladris, and I believe that Eryn Lasgalen was mentioned, but only in brief. My, what a lengthy sojourn that must have been. To be from Lindorinand for so many weeks, especially so far into the greying world without." He remains in this reflective mode for some moments, before saying, "That is true, of Thranduil's folk I mean? I have never been there ... But Rhibi! He must have become runagate in my absence, of moreso even than he was when last we spoke ... I fear for Hinloth under his direction!"
Quick indeed is the laughter to flow from between Dangelydh's rosey lips, and at his jest he turns at the hips, resting his palm upon the plush, leafy wall - that he might look upon his friend as he finishes speaking. Even in the failing light the same luminescene is captured within his gaze.
Lower the sun sinks in the westering sky, until at last it is swallowed up by tree and hill. "It was not so pleasant," Lothdaimoth admits at last. "Always I missed the mallyrn, and..." his voice trails off and it is a moment or two before he begins to speak. Not long, but even in this short time, one star and then another glimmer into life in the vast bowl of sky overhead. "Aye, tis true. They have a wondrous great cavern, filled with marvels of all manner it is - but to live therein!" A shudder shakes white-clad shoulders. "And they thought of those who made their home properly in trees as little more than barbarians! It was worse by far than the Peredhel's valley, where they build great walls and roofs to shut away the day."
Rhibi still has the power to bring a smile to his cousin's face. "He is. He listens to few and heeds fewer. But it seems he has taken a great liking to the Banneret and even groomed the horses the entire journey to win her approval. Did you hear," and here he looks full at his friend, jests filling his face. "He begged Rosgwaen to make him a bow... and chose a name to be carven along its length." Surpressed laughter tightens his voice. "And what do you think he named it?"
"Ahhh, then truly the influence of the Stunted-folk, for I hear whisperings that they deal often with them, have tainted our kinsmen in the Greenwood." Heaving his shoulders in a shrug, Dangelydh says with soft laughter, after such a gloomy observation, "I felt the same, when I visited Imladris. It was not fair tidings to me, that I might not sleep in the branches. I felt no wind, only the warmth of the hearth, and it was unsettling. I yearned for the land that has ever given me comfort and safety, since the ruin of my eastern home!" Here the Knight sighs, internally turning thought upon thought over and over behind his brow ...
And yet the stars, as each is in its turn kindled anew upon the ebon mantle above even this lofty place, yet each of these bright silvern gems glances down upon the pair of Eldar. And the Laiquende, oddly, looks upon them not. His gaze is focused before him, and a softened grin kneads its way upon his features, pushing his cheeks upwards.
"Ah, then Rhibi is growing too quickly for his tunic and cloak. He was not much higher than Hinloth, though I own that she might teach him to bend a bow ... But did he name it Miaulwen?" queries the Laiquende playfully with a glance cast towards his friend.
"I spent many, nay most of my nights in the vineyard," confesses the Sinda. Though his eyes are in shadow now, no longer lit by the glow of Anor's vessel, they seem somber despite the smile that curls about his mouth. "The healers there.. they are most determined. They wished to harry me indoors and to a bed for naught more than a scratch."
Quiet their voices mingle beneath the starry heavens, until Dangelydh's last question brings a shout of laughter to startle the trees and echo across the lawn. "Better!" he cries. "For he named it Mia the Great, the Mighty Yrch Killer." White teeth flash in the dim, dark eyes sparkle as if the stars above reflect themselves therein. "And anyone he feels is worthy, he shows it to them."
At this Dangelydh echoes Lothdaimoth's laughter, and it is rich and warm. A nightengale, who was but a portion of the chorus of birds that sang their nightly hymn this even', is roused by this laughter and breaks off from the aria in which it had begun to sing. Instead, it plays a song of shriller notes, as if joining in the Quendi laughter below it.
"But do any tutor young Rhibi in the craft that he wishes to learn so eagerly I wonder? Ahhh, from the mouths of children, Lothdaimoth." Still the Laiquende laughs on, and each word is woven of his chucklings. Though he shakes his head now with his last words, letting his laughter fall, his broad grin is enough to assure any that mirth is yet present.
"I have not seen him to ask of late," Lothdaimoth says, the tail end of his laughter still sounding in his voice. "But I know that the Banneret promised him he might learn to shoot. It is nothing short of miraculous, mellon! He cleans his hands almost hourly because SHE said," and his voice rises to mimic that of an awestruck small boy, "that he must keep his bow clean." The nightengale has ceased its chuckling song and breaks instead into a high sweet melody that floats in peaceful serenity even above the noise of the crashing waters.
