================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Dawn About 5:33 AM
IC day is: Orbelain Valar-day
IC date is: 42 Laer Summer
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent 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: Wed Oct 16 17:51:06 2002
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Wine Cellar
This deep cavern may once have been used as a cell, judging by iron rings in one wall, but it is now stacked to the ceiling with casks and bottles of wine, of all vintages imaginable: casks shipped from Gondor to Mithlond and brought by mule train to Imladris, rare bottles of Dorwinion wine from the far Sea of Rhun, and of course a precious stack of bottles of Miruvor, the cordial of Imladris, made by a secret process from local fruits and berries.
The gentle sound of elven footsteps are heard on the stairway in the wake of Naurelin's voice, slow and uneven. An elleth sporting fine scrapes and bruises nearly everywhere hangs at the doorway, coppery curls falling about her while she glances shyly in. She looks over the pair gathered here without any real interest, then longingly beyond them to the casks and bottles gathered within. A silvern flask is clutched within the slim, sliced fingers of one hand, but she still hangs back.
"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, dear potato," Rhulalaith replies extravagantly. "I don't like white. Let's find a nice flask of red and drink it on the sly. I don't think we'd best take the miruvor; I hear it's watched zealously!"
The Lalaithdir pauses, alerted by the soft footsteps on the stair. He turns, frowning a bit. "Why ... what have we here?"
Naurelin says, "You don't dare call me a potato or I shall call you something... something.. " she frowns, her brow furrowing over the bridge of her nose as she tries to think of an equally dastardly name, ".. a gourd! A bitter gourd, for the time I had you kicked out of the Healing Hall for making a ruckus while preaching their follies to those who went to seat the gates in Moria!"
When Rhulalaith addresses someone, Naurelin turns around, a curious gaze looking over the new comer and guest of Hir Elrond's house. "Welcome." she greets Caelwen with a smile, "Would you like to share the wine we are ...err.. stealing." She winks, "Be careful while getting down the step, though.""
Rhulalaith sniffs haughtily, twanging several harpstrings randomly. "I had my reasons," he declares, before beckoning to the elleth in the doorway. He squints. "Oh my. Naurelin, are your eyes keener than mine? Methinks I see scratches and bruises. Someone hasn't taken my words of warning to heart!"
A weak smile attempts to lift the stranger's lips, but it ends up just trembling them and falling again. "Mae govannen.. Is it not allowed to have wine?" Her face falls even further into disappointment, and a lustful glance is cast again to the wine. "I am Caelwen, Lady of Dinlom." She bites a parched lip and takes the final steps down. "I should like to help. But is it not rude for a guest to steal from the host?"
Naurelin says, "Hah! Permission to have wine?" she looks at Rhulalaith, a wicked grin curling along the edges of her mouth, "And mellon, you would not be stealing, we are.. I am, rather and the Lalaithdir is most likely an accomplice if he does not protest or try to stop me."
Hunting around the place, she finally finds a good bottle of deep, raspberry red coloured Eldaril, "This looks good, no?" Naurelin sticks the bottle for all to inspect and popping the cap open, she sniffs it. "If it smells good, it is probably good to have." She knows nothing about the quality of good wine, and that is no mystery... as long as it gives her a happy buzz, she cares not.
The voice drifts down from the top of the staircase, followed soon after by a dark head and deeply curious face. Ailiell stoops under the frame and peers into the cellar, a worn book in one hand and a lifted pastry in the other. There she pauses, blankly looking on those assembled. "What on earth?"
Rhulalaith chuckles. "Indeed, we shall drink this wine. We steal it, you drink it. We can share. As a professional of laughter, I can prescribe wine to relieve sadness. Alleviate it! Destroy it entirely. " He pauses. "Guest ... a woodsy-elf then?"
Caelwen eases closer to Naurelin and the tempting wine. "Welll... Mayhap if I were to just take what you offer..." She whirls guiltily at Ailiell's voice, then gives a whine of pain and half-bends over, clutching her distress to her for a moment. A gasp, and she straightens, peering now to Rhulalaith. "Aye, I am of the Galadhrim. I haven't seen the rest of them here... well, save Erucolindo. May I learn your names, mel-mellyn?"
Rhulalaith glances up to Ailiell at the head of the stairs. "Come down the stairway," he calls lightly. "We're treating our woodsy guest to a drink. Tell me, woodsy-guest, how was your, ah, trip? Naurelin, we need cups!"
On hearing the sound of pain from Caelwen, Naurelin's free hand reaches out to support the Galadhrim out of habit and instinct that is innate in a healer... just in case anything happens. "Perhaps you should sit down." She offers the bottle to Rhulalaith, "I will try and find something for Caelwen to sit on and get the cups.
She quickly disappears behind some stacked casks and returns with a wooden chair and some clean glasses. "Erm.. here you go." She hands a glass to Caelwen, "I am Naurelin, Healer of Imladris and this is our delightful Jester, Arglin's bane and a general menace stalking all Imladris elves. Oh! Yeah.. and sometimes, he entertains us nicely, planting smiles like Dinaloss plants roses in the Greenhouse." She winks, and from her tone it is apparent that she is teasing Rhulalaith... trying his patience, even.
Gathering her skirts, Ailiell steps more fully into the loamy-smelling place and settles herself on one of the bottom steps. Mildly she takes in the scene, as one at a performance, elbows on knees, chin on hands. "Mae govannen," she offers politely to the stranger. "Ailiell is my name, and I am a philosopher of this house. At times. Now what is this all about?"
"My trip was horrible," Caelwen chuckles mirthlessly. "And the Gladden gave me gifts to remember it by!" Her hand gingerly explores her ribs, and she winces. A warm and grateful smile is lifted to Naurelin, and the Cennan takes a cup in her hands, even as she settles herself with care in the offered chair.
"Then I like your menace already," mirth is stretched thin over the stress in her voice, and she turns her face with a gentle nod of her head to the elleth on the stairs. "Well met. I am Caelwen Hiril nos Dinlom, and a Potter o Lothlorien." The cup is clutched closer to her.
The jester frowns. "Careless woodsy-elf," he murmurs. "So, no dire injuries I hope? Nasty scratches, but nothing worse, I trust?"
Naurelin frowns, "Didn't you say you would -share- the wine, Rhulalaith?" She sticks her cup out in front of her, "Are you going to save the wine for some rainy day? Hand it out, mellon." To Ailiell she says, "Come down, if someone finds out that we are sneaking in Eryndae's Cellar, we shall have much to answer for!" Turning to the jester, a devilish twinkle sparkles in her eyes, "So, why did I catch you here mellon? Oh! And I had something very important to discuss with you."
Ailiell obeys promptly, searching about for a seat and alighting finally upon a dusty case of unknown content. Silently she watches, nibbling absently at the pastry. A pained expression crosses her face then and she winces, murmuring, "Ah, that poor bathril." Gesturing to the jester she begs a glass for herself as well.
"On me, you mean?" ventures Caelwen a bit timidly to Rhulalaith, and a flush darkens her skin beneath the freckles and bruises. "Lord Elladan said my ribs are broken." Her voice lowers. "And worse did happen, but I do not mean to ruin the merry spirit here." She sticks her cup toward the Jester in mimicry of Naurelin, and echoes with a mild lilt. "Aye! Do share." A bright green glance is slid sidelong toward the healer. "Who is this Eryndae? And aiya! I do not wish to gain anyone's wrath while a guest here, in truth, though I would pester the vinters at home any day."
"Give her a cup," Rhulalaith demands of Naurelin, pouring wine into cups one by one.
As Caelwen speaks, the jester frowns, takes a long swig from the bottle itself. In a hushed voice: "No ... severe accidents?"
After Naurelin hands out a cup to Ailiell, she turns to Caelwen, "Eryndae is the Master Vintner of Imladris and she is as protective of her wine bottles as a bear is of her cubs." She takes a slow sip of the wine, "One would have a lot of explaining to do to her, if you sneaked in here and she came to know. Tell, me.. " she cants her head to the side, "..can I help ease your pain and the swelling of the bruises? I know we have picked some fresh boneset root and that shall set the rib bones. Some arnica should also work on the cuts and scratches."
"Worse?" Ailiell pipes up worriedly. "Why, what befell you, mellon?" She tucks her feet under her and unbinds her hair against the chill of the cellar as she awaits an answer to Rhulalaith's query. Taking the offered wine she looks from Naurelin to Caelwen.
"Aye, worse happened," Caelwen takes a deep swallow of her wine, earnest with the drink as a young lover new-come to kissing. Both hands grip her cup with white knuckled fervor. "The Lady's Herald died." Her words come quick now, babbling, and the liquid trembles in the glass. "Lady Galadriel's Herald, I mean. His name was Erinstar. I don't know if you know of him. He pulled me from the river." She takes another several long gulps at her cup, then looks up and around. "Elbereth! I am sorry! I did not mean to do this. Sorry." She hides her eyes behind a scraped palm and takes shallow breaths, obvious in her attempt to calm herself.
Rhulalaith goes white, standing suddenly. He knocks the bottle over, barely managing to rescue it from shattering. "A death!" he gasps.
The paele Lalaithdir's eyes narrow. He is still pallid with shock, but he breathes slowly. Spots of color come to his cheeks. "How many elves," he asks neutrally, leaning forward to pour Caelwen more wine (a _lot_ more wine), "have died in your woods in the past yen or so?"
Naurelin wiggles a nose in distaste, "That is sad." she remarks in a placid voice, not being one for theatrics. She sits or a flask and observes the Galadhrim with an intense gaze, awaiting to hear more on what happened at the Gladden to the company from Lorien.
Her cup held steady for Rhulalaith, Caelwen then takes it back to her and drinks with single-minded concentration. She lowers it again, with her hand over her eyes. "I do not know. A twain in my family. No!" she corrects herself. "My brother died more than two yeni ago." She pauses, silent in consideration and silent in her drink. "I really cannot say. I know very few who would leave the Wood and face danger. 'Twas foolhardy of me to come here, and for the other people in my group." She gives a measured, glittering gaze to each of the three here. "Why?"
The pale Lalaithdir starts back a step. "You wood-elves are insane," he manages, horrified. "Two deaths in as many yeni. A death on a trip." He pours himself a cup of wine shakily, tosses it back. "Insane!"
Ailiell stands slowly, looking quite as shocked as the jester. "Forgive me," she says softly. "I must learn more of this later. Shall I bring you something stronger?" She glances to Naurelin and back. "To calm you?"
Naurelin smiles, "If you would like to get some wine for the guest, I am sure she would welcome it. I think we could all do with some calming right now." Leaning to Rhulalaith's side, she murmurs, "I still need to discuss something with you, when you have time, drop by the Hall of Healing and I shall be in the Lore Depository or I shall come and find you later in the evening in the Hall of Fire."
"Very well," the shaken Lalaithdir replies, starting towards the stairs. He puts the bottle down, nearly empty, and makes his exit.
Ailiell returns the smile, faintly. "Wine you have in abundance. If there's nothing more I can do, then." She nods to the Galadhrim and silently follows on the Lalaithdir's heels.
"Aye, mellon," Caelwen replies shakily to Ailiell. "If you like, 'twould be found most welcome by me. Thank you." But her bright peridot gaze remains on the jester. "My brother and my cousin died against the yrch defending my home. Do they have yrch here?" No sarcasm limns her tone; perhaps the Cennan honestly does not know. "But aye, I'll agree. Such trips as this are insanity, and I will do my best to ensure they do not happen again." She blinks. "Namarie. 'Twas well to meet you." She then shrinks back into her chair, nursing her wine.
Sitting on the flagon, Naurelin sips her wine and after a prolonged moment of silence, she asks a question, "If you don't mind my asking, how many have come from Lorien and what is the official purpose of your coming?" Her eyes peer at the wood-elf, a keen gaze noticing the various scratches and wounds over her body. "You really should have that looked at." she suggests.
Caelwen shivers for a while in the chill of the cellar, finishing the wine in her cup ere replying, looking up to the remaining elf. "I have been looked at. Mayhap.. I should come to the healers here, though, aye?" She sighs and looks briefly away. "I'm not really sure why most came here. There are ten of us, and most are from the Royal Court. I believe it is something about an embassy."
With her interest piqued, Naurelin sits up on the flagon and with her interest subtly hinting in her voice, she asks, "An embassy? But wasn't that why some people from Lorien came the last time and nothing came of it? I wonder why the... what-do-you-call-them.. Prefects? of Lorien's Royal Court would come again?" She raises her glass of wine and lets the rim rest on her lower lip, not really drinking the wine, a blue gaze locked on Caelwen.
Caelwen sinks into her chair even further with a little sigh, resting her cup in her lap. A small, tired smile lifts. "My cousin was a prefect, but they are Counsels now." She shrugs, and winces at the result. "I have no idea why they came. I have no idea why they came last time. I honestly hate to say aught against my own people, but I think it a fool's errand, a fool's idea." Annoyance begins to paint her tone, and her bright green gaze finds the blue eyes of Naurelin. "Why would they risk anyone's lives for this?"
Naurelin's brow knots over her forehead as she cogitates over a reason, "I would not know but I am sure it will achieve very little. To loose so many lives over establish an embassy in Imladris is indeed foolish. Why would you want an ambassador here, when any news will anyways have to be conveyed via couriers. The presense or absence of an ambassador in Imladris will not affect the counsel of Hir Elrond as any opinions worth consideration will anyway come from the Lady of Lorien and her Lord." Shoulders rise in a slight shrug and she shakes her head, "It is truly a sad day when precious lives are wasted over a task that shall prove futile."
Caelwen studies the healer in amaze, blinking softly. Finally, she blurts out, "But does everyone in Imladris think as you do, mellon?"
The healer sighs, "I am not sure about whether all think the same as I, but I am aware of a few. Some of Imladris' intellectuals and also member's of Elrond's counsel do not particularly see the merits of setting up an embassy at the Last Homely House. Well.." she muses, "..not unless they are provided with a very convincing reason why one should be established here."
"I wonder if my companions know of this," Caelwen's voice floats and plummets with thought. "If they did, I would... well! I will have my work cut out for me, then. I do sit on the Royal Counsel." With a groan pouring from between parted lips, she levers herself from the chair and makes her careful way toward the stairs, where again she settles herself. Picking up the abandoned wine-bottle, her gaze seeks Naurelin again. "Well, I imagine they probably do have a good reason, aye? Even if they are Raavindonserke." Wine is poured, singing, into her cup.
Naurelin offer a kind smile to Caelwen, "Well, now that you an idea of how we place things, you might see the folly of setting up an embassy. There is really not advantage to either side from it. Apart from hosting a Galadhrim in Imladris.. " the expert healer coughs, "..which I am sure the Hir and other Imladhrim would be glad to do, an ambassador's presence in the Valley serves no purpose." An inquisitive look takes to her face, "Tell me more about what happened at the Gladden. Was your company attacked unawares by the savage hordes from Moria?"
Caelwen nods a few times, and takes counsel from her cup for a while before replying. "We were attacked by wolves. Lothdaimoth and I were separated from the main group." Bright green eyes flick to the healer. "Oh, Lothdaimoth is my cousin... I don't know if you know him. In any case, we were chased for days ere my cousin managed to get them to let us alone." Her face winces tightly with grief, but she takes another mouthful of wine and calms herself.
"Later, we were.. climbing up a ravine on our way here, in a terrible flood and storm. A tree fell, and I had to pull Lothdaimoth away from it, so I fell so far! into the river." The young Indiri's body hunches into itself in an unconcious reaction to memory. Her gaze is now only given to the wine. "I was hurt. I was caught between bolders. Erinstar.." tears begin to fall anew, but she still continues speaking, almost as though forgetting the presense of another.
"Erinstar was suddenly there, and he pulled me out. We went ashore, and I should have reached for him, but I didn't and the river took him instead!" She shakes with weeping, body tight-set against the pain, and drinks the wine weakened with teardrops.
The Arnethril scrambles around, her hands searching her pockets and finally, finding a kerchief from her satchel, she hands it to Caelwen, "There, there now... what has happened is the past. You cannot beat yourself over things that were out of your control." Her tone softens and it is touched by a slight timber of sadness. "I am sure your friend will travel beyond the relam of the living to Mandos's Halls, where he shall be welcomed with open arms. I am certain he shall find greater peace in a world distant from our own, which is still striving to maintain a balance of order between good and evil."
Caelwen suddenly finds another hankerchief thrust into her hand, and she abandons her cup to the stair while she weeps for a moment into the little square of cloth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cries. "It's been weeks now since this whole terrible thing started and I don't know anyone here, and my family is all so far away except for Lothdaimoth, and he is off again and who knows if I will see him again." her babbling words finally die off, the young Silvan's sobs becoming more stacatto as she tries to quiet herself.
Naurelin quirks a brow, "I think I might know Lothdaimoth. Is he a courier for Lorien? I think I might have met him on my trip to Lorien a few summers ago." She ponders, "I wonder if you would happen to know my cousin, Erucolindo..." Her hand lifts to her mouth, where it rests on the tip of her chin. "He might be able to comfort you, he is very supportive and caring. I am sure, were he present at your tragedy, he would be a hero and save this Erinstar, this friend you lost."
"Lothdaimoth is a Counsel for Lothlorien now, but aye, he was here," Caelwen replies between the sniffles and hiccoughs that remain in the aftermath of her new little cloudburst, little whines of pain surfacing now and then. She lowers the hankerchief, and her reddened, bruised and freckled face looks up toward Naurelin again. "And I do know Erucolindo, but he really isn't fond of me. Which I can understand." She looks over the healer a bit more carefully now. "I didn't know he had family in the Valley."
The healer looks at Caelwen with an odd little expression on confusion marked on her face. "Not like you?" She tries to stifle laughter, which still breaks forth in the form of a grin, "That is impossible! My cousin loves everyone." She takes a sip of her wine, which was lying near her feet at the base of the flagon. "Erucolindo cannot be mad at a single soul. I have tried and tested his patience numerous times in the past and apart from a good payback in the form of some dastardly trick, I have never really heard or seen him get angry at a living soul!"
The Cennan shrugs a bit listlessly. "I did not say that he is angry at me. I don't know if he is or not." Caelwen's fingers toy with the rim of her cup, and again she drinks deeply. "But I can see how he would dislike me, and I blame him not for it. But I do not believe it my place to tell."
Curiosity is blatantly presented in her what Naurelin says next, "You must tell me what happened now? Why would my cousin dislike you?" Her brows furrow as deep likes etch into her forehead, "I think I like you and after what you have been through, if Erucolindo tells me he dislikes you because you did not allow him to wear an extra quiver of arrows to a scouting trip in the forests of Lothlorien, then he shall get quite a rebuking from me!" she exclaims, her tone filled with a perplexed irritation.
"Nay.. 'tis nothing so frivolous. You heard that I am Indiri o Dinlom? It has to do with that." Caelwen stands slowly with another groan. "Anyway.. I am very tired now. I am wounded.." a weak smile lifts. "And I can't seem to sleep enough. Thank you for letting me tell you of my sorrows. Namarie." And, carefully refilling her cup, she takes it and the flask with her as she uncertainly makes her way back up the stairs.