================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Midnight About 1:46 AM
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: Thu Oct 17 08:35:35 2002
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IC time changed to afternoon.
On the bridge
The bridge is of smooth grey stone. It seems to have been carved from a single piece, even though it spans over 50 feet. Far below, the river gurgles and rushes on its course toward distant lands. In the upstream direction, the valley curves to the north and you can't see where the river enters, although just above the bridge you can see almost directly below you a shallow pool on the north edge of the river, created by large granite boulders. The steeply rising bank above the pool is hidden by the tangled tops of birch trees, even in winter. Downstream, you have an excellent view of the sheer gorge where the river drops off the valley floor into the descending rapids. It is not more than a few hundred yards away, and you can hear the falls quite clearly. Even an occasional trout leaps out of the river, pursuing some insect, and splashes back.
The Olvaristdir grins sheepishly but said nothing, giving a weak nod. "Well, I'd say, certainly so." the answer came after a long pause. (Dunedhelgur)
Over the sound of the Bruinen came the humming of a soft song.
Arriving by the Birches and climbing on the bridge, all envelopped in blanket, from head to toe, here is Olathlinn. She is barefoot and look like she just bathed below the bridge.
She smells Lavander and citrus more than ever.
"Mae Govannen!" she softly say, advancing toward their melon on the bridge.
"I was comming to admire the water flow, but company,espescially yours will be welcome!" she adds wiping her long copper hair dry.
Stretching lessened the discomfort he felt initially. And if there was any left, it no longer showed on his face. He now focus his view on the approaching elleth, "Mae govannen mellon Olathlinn! How are you this hot afternoon?" The edhel greets her with a gentle nod. (Dunedhelgur)
With idle tread and careful, an elleth makes her way toward the river through the heat. Beneath her freckles or over them lie healing cuts and bruises nearly everywhere exposed flesh might be espied. A shy glance is given to the Quendi on the bridge, and this one hangs back a moment, hovering in idecision. A stray beam of sunlight is cast over her to bake more freckles in, and her copper curls flash brightly in it, ere the breeze shifts a leaf and the light is gone again. She bites her lip. (Caelwen
Faerlin smiles "Mae Govannen indeed Olathlinn, I was speaking of you only a day or two since, looking forward to hearing the verse that you have written." The elleth's hazel eyes flicker to Dunedhelgur again "There's no need to look so sheepish you know..." Before she goes any further she spies the quiet and apparently bruised elleth and calls to her "Mae Govannen to you too, come join our conversation if you will."
Shades form in the distance; caught by the Forest Shore. Anar's rays seem to have little hold on these shadows, for light can be seen reflected. Yet they bring no darkness, as sweet voices rise to weave verse into the hot air, as if to sooth the sun's fierce mood today.
Soon the sources of the song are revealed, a small group stepping out of the treeline. Their garb is all the same, green and grey, bows upon their back. They are of the Eldar, skilled warriors returning to their home. And they generously share the joy this brings them.
The tallest of their kin leads them forth; the Hirvaethor Randinen. He, however, is silent, his demeanor grim to match the stern mien. His grey visage easily discovers the elves nigh the bridge, yet he orders his company not to halt.
A flush creeps over the stranger's skin like a burn at Faerlin's called greeting, but the same greeting causes her to spur forth in her hesitant step. "Mae govannen," calls out the wounded elleth. "I could do to listen to conversation. I thank you." A small smile tugs at her lips but does not crinkle the skin at her eyes.
She slows, hand whisking atop the stone railing, and looks from one edhel to another, gaze nimble in tracking the speakers. Her head lifts; now she watches the warriors for a time. Everything is drunk in with a curious air. (Caelwen)
The elleth in blanket get sit on the bridge *wall*, feet dandeling in the emptiness belows. She nod to the approching patrol."Rigth on time as usual!"
Looking again to Dunedhelgur she smiles and whisper"I heard you complaining of some pain, I hope it is not my fault that you are like that today?"she is looking a bit worried.
Faerlin nods, pleased that the Galadhrim elleth will join the conversation but the sight of the grim Hirvaethor and his squad makes her frown a little..saying nothing she slips away.
The song of the approaching eldair catches the immediate attention of the Olvaristdir standing near the near end of the bridge. "Yes, I did mellon and I am fine thank you." anwsering the Glindis before focusing on the Cuthalion Squad again. He recognised the Awardan from his tall stature and the bow hanging proudly behind him.. "Mae govannen!" shouted Dune as he wave toward the Tellenistron.
Randinen's glance rests with the elleth from Lorien. Curiousity bends his brow, as unspoken queries weave themselves into the stern pattern of his mien. Until his attention is called for by the greeting of Dunedhelgur. Looking slightly disturbed, the Hirvaethor tilts his gaze to search for the edhel.
In finding him Randinen halts, inclining his brow in greeting. The Cunir halt also, behind their Commander, yet in strict gesture he orders them without word to continue. So they march onward, passing the bridge, many of them waving as they pass the ellith and the edhel hither.
The song sweeps up once they pass the bridge, a final note sang, ere their voices slowly fade way along with their presence.
"Namarie," murmurs Caelwen as the elleth who called her over departs, and her hand lifts in greeting to the passing edhil singing and marching by, revealing a palm criss-crossed with abrasions.
She misses Randinen's curious glance in this, but again looks to him in curiosity afterwards. Her gaze slides to Dunedhelgur and Olathlinn near where they speak, and again she hovers in uncertainty, before finally taking a silent step or two nearer to them.
The elleth walks onto the top of the bridge from the shores of the vale. Her copper hair is loose, and she wears a sheer deep green cloak over a simple dress of a paler shade. She notices the crowd on the bridge, and goes out to meet them. Leaning on the bridge-sides, she looks out over the rushing waters below, breathing in the cool air, and turning, smiles at the group, "Mae Govannen...I'm Lutha-Cartel. Glad to meet you all.
Noticing the Galadhrim, Olvaristdir Dunedhelgur turned towards her to greet, " Aiya! Elen sila lumenn'omentielvo. Manna esselya melloni? Essinya Eldarestalo." transl: Hail! A star shines on the hour of our meeting. What is your name? My name is Eldarestalo.
Olathlinn nods to each edhel with a smile.
Looking at Randinen with a cryptic look, she smiles again, but blushed.
She choose to greet the Galadhrim and Lutha-Cartel, whom she spotted previously without being able to approach her.
To the approaching Luntha-Cartel, a smile is given. "And a good day to you. I am Caelwen o nos Dinlom o Lothlorien." One hand clasps the wrist of the other before her belt, and her chin ducks into her chest, eyes wide and faintly startled as Dunedhelgur. Her voice becomes softer, a bit abashed. "I... do not understand. But I am very glad to meet you." Her eyes fly to the river, and she swallows in silence.
Glasiel approaches the bridge, carrying her basket of gathered herbs. She approaches her muindor Dunedhelgur, a merry grin on her face. In her excitement, she barely notices the others on the bridge. " Elda! You will never guess what happened. Among the guests from Lorien, I have found us a Cousin! You will have to meet her before they leave." Her eyes shine with the news she shares.
'Speak we now the Elder language?' wonders Randinen aloud, his wonder not having ceased; rather it increased with every speech. Some of his stern manner he forsakes, a glimpse of kindness warming his features. "" turns the Hirvaethor to address Dunedhelgur, ""
The tone of the query warrants little reply is needed. And already Randinen shifts his glance to another - eying Olathlinn, 'Your staff is ready, mellon. Speak to the quartermaster if you wish it.' Yet anew his gaze ends curiously with the elven woman from Lorien; apparently he knows her not.
Though the words of Glasiel seem to disturb him.
"Oh!Lothlorien!" let escape Olathlinn in admiration. "I i do not want to be impolite Caelwen, but maybe you have see my mom, or my dad while there?Palanarma and Gwantolor?"
The elisthir seems suddenly confused:"I never ask for a staff, melon?", she scratches her head."May be did Lindir does it for me, I hope they don't forget to include the Armory of the House on it." She frowns.
The Olvaristdir smiled with a nod as he acknowledge the elleth just arrived. Then seeing his muinthell arrived as well, he greets her with a hug. He looked at her half puzzled, half amazed of the new cousin she speaks of. +sp Bethteur=; with a puzzled look \"Cousin ?" he asked.
Glasiel blinks, suddenly noticing the other edhil on the bridge (and indeed it is hard /not/ to notice them now, especially the Arphedor and his tone). "Oh! My apologies," she murmurs to the others. "I'm afraid in my excitement, I slipped out of the Sindarin by mistake. I meant no disrespect to any of you." She smiles again, although more controlled this time, and explains. "I was telling my brother that I have met kin among the visitors from Lorien."
A wide-eyed glance is thrown to Randinen, and Caelwen finally catches his curious look, and returns it with a half-smile. A laugh-- a little subdued, but merry nonetheless-- sparkles like glass shattering in sunlight. "I did not know so many held kin in both the Imladhrim and Galadhrim! I myself have cousins here." To Olathlinn her attention is given. "Nay, I do not know them, although Palanarma sounds familiar. What do your parents do, mellon?"
And then, her laughing smile is set below haunted eyes as they turn to Glasiel. "Who is your cousin, if I may be so bold as to ask?" Slim, bruised fingers trail to the dagger at her hip, and the Cennan traces her fingers over the hilt.
Speaking in the noble tongue again, the prefered tongue as the Arwanda hinted. "Pardon me, I was carried away by intrigue as here is one of my countrymen." answered the edhel looking slightly solemn now. "Sister, please calm down and speak slowly," speaking to her again in a calm voice.
"Mellon from the Dreamflower..." speaks Randinen, inclining his head to Caelwen, "Ere you continue, might I propose to bring you to our Healing Halls? You are injured, clearly, and so it must be you who we were sent after; or at least one. Has the Herion Elladan have you sent to the Vale?"
Stepping forward the Hirvaethor draws closer to the Galadhrim. "I beg forgiveness to tear you away from acquainting yourself with those who have kin in your own land, yet we will not have our guests suffer the inconvenience of cuts and bruises to make their stay that less pleasant." His tone is calm and warm, thriving well under the light frown which he holds.
Then to Olathlinn: "I know only I was asked to carve a staff with the Arms of the House. So I can assure you the arms are not forgotten."
"Oh, my mother is a Nethron back there and my father makes map." answer Olathlinn.
They conduct me there some time ago to be with my sister Silivren, may be you knows her then?" the her eyes shadows.
"I am not fair with you asking those kind a question, it sound quite selvish, pardonne me."
THe Glindis turns on her bottom to put her feet now totally on the bridge and she gets up, walking toward Randinen."If I get dress and I go to take that staff to the quartermaster, will you be able to do a basic trained with that, or do you prefer Bows and arrows?" she ask, part uncertain if she is in right to ask.
Glasiel blinks again at Randinen for a moment, then her eyes turn to look more closely at the visitor. Her eyes widen in alarm. "Indeed, the Arphedor is correct, and much more observant than I, in my excitement. But smaller things can wait... you should be seen to. Will you come to the Healers? I can show you the way, and indeed it would be my honor to assist with your needs."
"Lord Elladan did send me here," Caelwen replies, her gaze slipping toward Rhandinen, her eyes like clover bruised and torn. "He saw to my wounds when he found us. And I am the only one of the lost who is here now." Her voice lifts higher with a small measure of distress leaking in by the end, and the Cennan's breath comes quicker, agitated. A low whine of pain curls beneath a breath, and she half-turns away as though ashamed. She wraps her arms gingerly about herself.
Her face turns back again, flesh well-pallid beneath her wounds. "I do not know Silivren. You must pardon me-- I have lived only two yeni and mostly know Crafters and Dinlym." Her head bows a little, curls tumbling down as the gems on her brow glitter. "I will go to the Healers if you wish, mellyn... though the Lord Elladan did say that he could not bind my ribs, so I thought naught could be done."
Lutha half-smiles back at Caelwen, not wanting to interrupt her conversation. She turns her gaze wistfully back to the river, and lays her hands on the rail, her mind obviously elsewhere.
"His skills are limited in the area of healing." quips Randinen in a still friendly voice. A gentle hand he places upon the elleth's shoulder, "Surely you expect not our Healing qualities in the field to equal those we harbor at home? If your need be grave, the Heryn Arwen or even the Herion might aid you."
"Come if you will, at least it will bring me ease of mind to see you in safe hands." And while he speaks thus, a sharp eye goes out to the other quendi. "Normally we see our injured guests more quickly to our Halls, forgive us the inconvenience. My own company was delayed whilst returning with haste to find you."
Olathlinn blushed and shadow gain more in her eye. She feels ashame to have press the elleth with so many question, empty to don't have answer, but also in pain in her empathic way to feels what she is felling. She sat on the ledge of the bridge.
Glasiel flits a glance of apology toward the Aphedor, nodding at his words before turning her full attention to the wounded elleth. "Indeed it was shameful of me to miss your needs, whatever my cause for excitement. And now, please, let me make it up to you by offering you my assistance?" She offers a hand to the visitor, and turns toward the House, ready to lead the way.
"I thought.. well, I really did not know," Caelwen murmurs as a kind hand is lain on her shoulder even as another takes her own hand. "I did think that the Hiril's grandson would surely know all that your people do of the craft." She trembles, words shivering one over another, and lifts her hand to rub at her eyes, hiding them. Her shoulders hunch; a choking breath swallows tears and earns a tight wince from her. She shakes her head, curls bobbling, and drops her hands. "Namarie!" she offers to those left behind in a subdued voice. "I am glad to have met you." And she walks where the two lead her.
Usually such details never escaped his eyes, but how did he missed her wounds so obvious he began to wonder. "Mellon, please accept my/our sincere apology to overlook so obvious those wounds that you now born. Please us put some salve on them at least." he said half apologing, half proffering. "My sister will see that your wound are properly cleaned and dressed." gesturing to his sister. (Duneheldgur)
Infirmary
This room contains many bunks, placed around in an orderly fashion. Each bunk has thick blankets and pillows upon it. Some of the bunks are occupied, mainly with victims of accidents, although most of them are empty. The southern wall is composed mostly of windows, which are blanketed by heavy curtains that let through some light. On another wall is a large cabinet, containing many jars, flasks, and other containers, as well as bandages, splints, and other first-aid equipment. Beside the cabinet, a small hearth burns intensely.
There is always a young healer or apprentice here, passing from bunk to bunk and verifying that everything is in its place. If you are in need of treatment, perhaps you could ask one of these apprentices to summon a healer.
Opening the door quietly, so as not to disturb any who might be sleeping in this room, Glasiel leads the way over to the cabinet. She indicates a cot near the hearth, and smiles at Caelwen. "Please, rest here while I gather supplies? Try to make yourself as comfortable as your wounds will allow. Are you feeling much pain? If so, where is it worst? And have those cuts been washed and treated once already?"
She speaks calmly, in 'healer' mode, and seems to have forgotten the (usually unnerving) presence of the Aphedor. While she asks her questions, she is gathering bandages, jars, pouches, and other equipment from the large cabinet.
Caelwen trails in Glasiel's wake, and stands a moment before the cot ere she settles herself with ginger, slow motions upon it, a groan pouring unbidden from her lips. She sits a while, eyes pinched shut, fingers gripping the edge of the bed, ere lifting her lashes to look for the healer. "My ribs," she replies shortly. "Hir Elrond's son said my ribs were broken, but I think I already knew this by the pain of it. It hurts to breathe, if I am not careful. I needed help to change my clothes." Her wounded hands clench into fists, and she looks to the hearth with a determinedly vacant glance.
Dune slips into the infirmary and walks gingerly over to where the elleth is resting while his sister makes preparations to apply herbs on her wounds. He nods to her again, and asks "How are the Mellyrn (Mallorns) doing now adays?" with smile on his face.
Caelwen smiles weakly, but her gaze is almost grateful as she looks up to Dunedhelgur. "The same as ever they have been since my birth. When I left, the flowers were giving way for new leaves, and the gold underfoot was growing a bit faded and dirty. I miss fair dreamflower a great deal." Her voice grows softer. "My daernoss' home is in a tall mallorn near the top of Caras Galadhon, with grapevine twined 'round the bole and limbs and a flet with a mossy carpet is near my own talan." She speaks wistfully, and almost as much to herself as to the edhel, as though the sound of her own voice may crowd away thoughts.
Randinen assumes post nigh the door. Folding his arms he is but a silent spectator now, surveying the room, frowning lightly at Dunedhelgur's entrance.
Glasiel smiles approvingly as her muindor makes an effort to distract the patient from her discomfort. She finishes gathering her supplies, and carries them on a tray, setting them down next to the cot and kneeling down for closer inspection of wounds. She lets them talk while she looks over the elleth, paying close attention to her hands and arms, and being especially gentle when checking the rib area. She hums lightly while she works, a song of healing for the fea.
Finally looking up at Caelwen's face, she asks softly, "Please, can you tell me something about these cuts? How they were inflicted? By whom? And with what weapon? It will help me to best treat them. And, while we are working together, we should become friends, should we not? I am Glasiel, Olvaristdil o Imladris." Her smile is genuine and friendly, although her concern for these injuries does show through.
And Caelwen's fea is a mass of black despair that sucks in the gentle song greedily. She turns her head away, clenching everything against Glasiel's light touch. She sips at air from between her teeth, then replies tightly, "No weapons, but rocks and boulders and water." She uncurls her fists and turns her hands palm-upward, red scabs a bit angry. "These are a little different. They.."
She searches for words, and begins to shake, tears glittering in her eyes. A forceful swallow, and she tries again. "Well, I think the important thing is that there might be moss or some other sort of slime in these cuts." She pastes a transparent smile on. "Mae govannen, Glasiel. I am Caelwen, Cennan o Lothlorien."
Dune lowers his voice to a whisper, keeping check on his voice that it does not disturb the rest of the patients. Dune makes little of the Tellenistron's frown, perhaps noting that his 'disapproval' of his sudden presence as merely in an official capacity. He goes on to ask of the latest ocurrences within Caras Galadhon as if to filter news of his old residence.
"Well," Caelwen replies to Dunedhelgur, "Last autumn some children ran away, and it was a terrible time until we found them again, south of the Wood and near Fangorn." Her words spill like a waterfall, over-quick and nigh-babbling. "Wolves have been harrying us; there was an attack at the Naith. The Raavindonserke Mallorn caught fire, and my brother is helping rebuild it. There are new Indyr for the Dinlym." She looks to the edhel. "Is there aught else you would know?"
Glasiel nods, listening, and her soft humming begins again quietly even while Caelwen speaks. She looks again at the hands, and nods once more. "Aye, these need attention, mellon. We should start with washing these wounds thoroughly." She suits actions to words, and prepares a cleansing liquid tinted yellow from some sort of antiseptic herb. Returning with a bowlful, she places it next to Caelwen. "Please soak your hands in this?"
"Mellon Caelwen, Cennan o Lothlorien might perhaps know of my father, Finedhel the loremaster of Lorien from Vale of Anduin?" posing his question carefully so as not to sound too presumptious or overly anxious.. "I would be most grateful if you have information of my father which I have not heard since two Firith ago." replying to the elleth's question. (Dunedhelgur)
"Raavindonserke caught fire?!" is Elethin's opening remark as she spirits into the room, adjusting her freshly donned healer's robes. "I hope that Althea is well, then?" She takes an opportunity to take in the scene. She smiles at Randinen and looks him over as she passes, and then makes her way over toward the medicine cabinet. "Dare I ask how that happened?" she asks Caelwen in a bantering tone, looking over her shoulder.
A smile softens Randinen's frown; there seems no need for concern, "It gladdens me to find you in thus good care, Caelwen. You have company of words and the soothing comfort of one of our finest Olvaristdil. Perhaps I shall return to visit you another time... the morrow?"
Glancing at Dunedhelgur he flashes a broad grin, "To discuss something of a different nature. Still, rest now and enjoy the compassion of these two." And with a wink the Hirvaethor steps away from the door, to open it.
Only startled in his way, by the entering Elethin. To whom he gifts a warm smile.
Aramir slippig in quietly Aramir quickly notes the busy Infirmary but asks no questions just casting her green eyes around to see teh cause.
Caelwen nods once, curls swaying, and half-turns to set her hands in this bowl with a low groan. She instead lifts the bowl and places it on her lap, slipping her hands within and returning her attention to Dunedhelgur briefly. "I did not know any edhil lived in the Anduin Vale. Nay, I know not of him. I am sorry."
She then looks up to the entering elleth, and her shoulders hunch again. "Althea.." she whispers, then speaks louder. "Althea was-was not harmed in the blaze, no, although she was there, as was I. An apprentice lampwright's lamp shattered and caused the fire, if this is what you mean." The yellow liquid in the bowl begins to ripple from the young Cennan's trembles, but she smiles woodenly to Rhandinen. "Thank you, mellon. I do hope to speak later. Namarie."
Glasiel looks up from her preparations, blinking once again at the Aphedor. This time she blinks in surprize, not having heard such words from the stern Randinen before. She finds herself lacking the words to respond to his statement, however, and the only indication that she heard them is a wavering in her healing song.
Recovering her composure, she takes a small pouch from her tray of gathered supplies, and extracts some small pieces of a yellowish root. "These will speed the recovery of your ribs, mellon. Chew them and swallow?" She holds a piece out, offering to feed it to Caelwen since her hands are soaking in the wash.
Elethin notes the change in Caelwen's posture, but she says nothing, only opens the cabinet. "Can I make anything for you, Glasiel?" she asks. "While I am here?"'
Caelwen's mouth pops open, and she accepts the small pieces of root. Her eyes close as she chews, lids slowly pinching tighter and tighter as she trembles. She swallows, and opens her eyes again.
A quiet counterpoint to chatting and singing in the infirmary, the Lady Arwen enters with the usual serious expression on her face; today perhaps painted faintly with concern. She, too, has heard of the arrival of the Galadhrim, it seems, and that not all is well with the people from the Golden Wood she so loves. At once, her eyes sweep over the room, settling on Glasiel and the elf-woman she is treating. At the Heryn's side, as so often, is her companion Nimmeril.
Avarthol quietly slips into the Infirmary, bearing a few supplies and herbs from the forest. As if he's done it a thousand times, the tracker stashes the supplies in their appropriate places. Curious he makes his way to those gathers, not announcing his presence yet, just listening from the back of the group. After a moment he offers a quiet, "Mae Govannen, mellyn."
Looking at the elleth, he grinned at her reply, " Perhaps I was not clear in putting across to you. We are of Laiquendi descent and my father was born in the Vale of Anduin but had long move to Caras Galadhon in an offical capacity along with my mother, also Laiquendi." Then rising at the arrival of the Heyrn, Arwen he proffer a nod and a "Mae govannen Hiril nin." He also nods the new arrivals then sits down beside the wounded elleth again. (Dunedhelgur)
Looking over to the cupboard, Glasiel smiles at Elethin gratefully. "Please, if you would? Have you experience yet, in preparing a poultice? Yarrow leaves would help ease Caelwen's pain..."
At Arwen's entrance, she stands, inclining her head respectfully. "Heryn Arwen! Mae govannen, and may I introduce Caelwen o Lorien? She needs our care, for she arrives injured and much stressed of fea."
"Certainly, mellon." Elethin swiftly begins the preparation of said poultice. Occupied as she is by her task, she does not notice the arrival of Arwen until Glasiel greets her. She turns to greet the Heryn formally, but briefly, before returning to her task.
Nimmeril murmurs something to Arwen from the place near the Heryn's shoulder before, like the other elleth, looking at those who are within the infirmary. She is a silent shadow of the Lady of Imladris, and as ever she is attentive to Arwen's needs and to what transpires about her. So sings the blood of the lifelong Tellenistril.
"My uncle is a Laiquende," Caelwen speaks unmindfully, as though this is important. "Iaurranc.. a Vinter. He is a Dinlom, too, now." Glasiel's words almost seem to startle the young Indiri, and her face turns swiftly to the door. "Ai! Hiril Arwen!" Her head bows low for a while toward the Lady's granddaughter, and the Cennan closes her eyes for an endless moment, as though longing for sleep.
She lifts her head with a start, and smiles briefly to both Avarthol and Nimmeril, a thin, stretched smile, like a comely cloth cast over a ruined and scarred tabletop.
"Friend." Arwen addresses the elleth from Lorien, and with a brief nod for Nimmeril, she approaches the place where Glasiel is tending to Caelwen. Her voice is gentle as ever, but with a strange vibrant note to it, as she continues, "I am much joyed to see you and your kin here, though you seem to have come on a hard road." With that, she extends her hands to take one of Caelwen's out of the bowl and between her own, her eyes never leaving those of the guest, even as she adds, "You have done well, Glasiel, I see."
Nimmeril returns the smile gently, softly, before folding her hands before her to remain somewhat distant from Glasiel and Caelwen; 'tis best for those who do not heal to give room to those that do within these Halls.
Caelwen's gaze is caught in Arwen's grey eyes even as her hand is caught between the Lady's. This almost seems too much for her in her current state; her shoulders hunch even further as her bright and wounded eyes fill with tears. "Th-thank you," she whispers. "Aye, the road was hard."
Glasiel nods at Arwen, blushing under her kind words. Softly she continues her humming while she tends to Caelwen's cuts, taking a clean cloth dipped in the antiseptic wash and using it to clean the elleth's arms and face.
She accepts the poultice from Elethin with a grateful smile, looking over it approvingly. "Beautifully done, Elethin. Very neat and just the right size," she offers quietly. She looks about to place them on Caelwen, and then halts. "Mellon, we need to get you out of these battered clothes before we proceed. Can I help you?" She looks at Elethin pointedly, indicating a nearby screen with her glance.
Elethin has already retrieved the screen by the time Glasiel finishes her sentence, and she brings it over smiling. "Some room for the guest, if you would," she asks of the others around as she opens it out and sets it in place.
Nimmeril, it appears, has determined and with reasonable accuracy and acumen, that standing near the room's edge and away from those who gather around the wounded is wisest, to keep out of the way. Large eyes of a moonlight hue, silvery grey, rest on Caelwen with sympathy, but she seems helpless and thus best-used as an observer only.
"It has found its end here." Arwen says quietly, but strangely intently. She has obviously decided to simply ignore the preparations going on around them, or perhaps she is simply too deep in thought. This moment is only Caelwen's, and hers. "Peace and healing are here. Your friends will be with us soon, surely. My brother has rarely failed on his errands. He will bring them and the scars of the road can heal until then."
Soothing warmth seems to flow from Arwen's hands into your own in this small moment of privacy.
A figure clad in grey robes slips into the infirmary and finds himself next to the one known as Nimmeril. The dark haired Elf smiles solemnly as he looks to the screen and those working behind it, and he shakes his head softly. Glancing at the maiden next to him, he asks quietly, "I trust everything goes well for the healers?" (Thileithel)
Glasiel carefully sets the poultices against Caelwen's ribs, wrapping them gently so they can do their work. She works quietly, staying out of the way of the conversation. Her humming continues softly as she gathers the used supplies, and as she clears away the tray to leave the rest to Arwen, she murmurs softly in the Heryn's ear, "I've not yet medicated the cuts, but they are clean. And she has not yet drunk any sleeping draught." With that, she moves away, to leave the two to their talking.
"Good day," comes the soft answer from Nimmeril to Thileithel, her lips turned into the faintest of smiles. "As far as I know, all is well; the Heryn is deft at caring for others, as is known. I have no fear for those in her care."
Thileithel nods in reply, and his voice is light in tone, "Twas a rhetorical question. The lady is most capable, indeed. One of the Eldar would have to be near death indeed to be beyond her skill."
Caelwen's tears flow over, her hand tightening faintly in Arwen's. "Thank you," she murmurs again. "I do pray your every word prove true, m'Lady." Like thread snapping, she suddenly weeps well, though closes her eyes and tries to be quiet about it as she slips her hand away.
She moves the bowl aside and arises with a whimper of pain, slipping behind the screen and out of her clothes and is back to her cot soon enough for Glasiel to apply the poultices, covering the rich, black bruises that decorate her torso and back. Eyes clenched tight against the pain with tears yet leaking through the fiery lashes, she still whispers her thanks to the Healer when this is done.
"Forgive me, mellon, for speaking what is obvious, for such things are, I fear, sometimes lost on me." Nimmeril slides a hand behind one leafy ear, taking with that gesture a shank of errant pale hair, then continues sotto voce, "The Heryn is quite an amazing lady...and a healer of spirits as well as bodies, judging from the reaction of her kind words."
A faint nod to Glasiel is Arwen's answer to the herbmistress' statement. She stands still for a moment, then puts a hand on the Galadhrim's forehead, very gently. "Rest now." she says quietly. "I shall leave pleasant company for you, and go to see if word has already arrived of your companions." With that, she motions towards the cot, perhaps for Caelwen to lie down, and then waves a hand for Nimmeril to come closer, a brief smile flickering over her face as she notices Thileithel next to her.
Elethin comes over to help Glasiel to the cot, draping a light, clean robe over her shoulders as she arrives. "I will bring you water," she says quietly. "It will help you heal as you rest."
Caelwen's eyes close as Arwen's hand touches her brow, and she nods numbly. "Aye, I do long for sleep." She lowers herself to the cot with difficulty, face set against the pain, then curls to her uninjured side and pulls the robe closer about her. "Thank you, mellyn. I'll tell my family of your generosity," she speaks softly, eyes still shut. It seems the young Indiri does not sleep yet, but her voice is not heard again as she shrouds herself behind her shuttered gaze, circlet knocked askew and tangled in her hair.
Smiling in return, Thileithel nods to Undomiel, then with a pat to Nimmeril's forearm, he slips out of the infirmary, not wishing to disturb the patient any further.
As Nimmeril joins her, Arwen trails a hand over Caelwen's blankets, looking thoughtfully down at the young elleth, then smiles encouragingly, and takes Nimmeril's arm to lead her maid out, heads together in quiet conversation.