================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Late Night About 3:56 AM
IC day is: Orbelain Valar-day
IC date is: 54 Laer Summer
Moon phase: Full
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: Sun Oct 20 17:18:57 2002
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The starry pre-dawn sky above the cliffs is mostly clear, with only an
occasional cloud. The Misty Mountains loom against the sky in the east, shadows
against the stars.
Vineyard
As you walk into the vinyards, what strikes you is the size and number of
fields. Though it is dark, you can still see them stretching off into the
distance. You can make out the leaves, flourishing along the vines, their
colouring ranging from dark to light. As you look at the thought out
arrangement of the fields, the landscaping effort is evident in the geometric
patterns formed by their layout. Curiously, though, you can see some empty
spaces in the rows. One field, just nearly, in particular is completely bare,
except for tiny seedlings which are visible reaching up for the sky. The rest
of the vines cover the landscape, running in long hedge-like rows into the
darkness. There is a pathway leading through the fields to the east, and a
small wooden shed is visible in that direction. The moon bathes both you and
the field in silvery light.
Clear and cool is the night, though not cold for it is high summer and the
Peredhel's valley is sheltered from the blasting wind that pour down off the
nearer mountains. A few lacy clouds drift with the wind; silver in the serenity
of moonlight. And over all stars that spatter the deepness of the blue-black
sky move to the soft rhythms of Arda.
An almost palpable sense of peace blankets the sleeping vines, their green
leaves turned to black by the night. But just below the edge of hearing, if one
could only listen hard enough, is the sound of furious headlong growth. Now is
the hour. Now the fruit long awaited and cherished is ripening and there is no
time to be lost.
Amid this collision of silence and fury, one tall elf stands motionless in the
moonlight. His head is bowed over cupped hands and unfettered hair falls
loosely down pale cheeks. Around him, the vineyards spread out full and fair,
their trellises marching in neat lines from field to field. Around one arm is
tied (still) a simple white bandage - at last, the cloth is clean, little or no
blood staining its edges.
Like a silver bit of solid moonlight set to rest against blackened and vigorous
vines, Caelwen stands in silence at the edge of the vineyard. Her skin is
unmarred save for foriegn freckles that dapple it like leaf-shadow, but her
torso thickened again and every breath laborous, face set against pain. She
watches her cousin for a time like this from afar, then finally begins to creep
closer, eyes wary and careful
One hand moves faintly, turning around whatever he holds, and the Counsel
raises his head to gaze off across the long rows that surround him on every
side. And so a wisp of ghostly pale, standing vertical catches at the corner of
his eye and brings his face around. A flicker of some indefinable emotion moves
under his face, and he takes half a step towards her before hesitating. Torn
between going or staying, he thus remains unmoving.
Caelwen, too, hesitates when he does, her chin ducking down toward her labored
chest, eyes wide and watching. Sorrow of some sort flashes across her face,
tugging down the corners of her lips. Finally, warily, she begins to move forth
with the careful step of one approaching a skittish woodland creature. Even her
voice is soft and soothing. "Cousin, are you..." Suddenly, her face crumples,
and her voice becomes a wail of hurt. "Why does it pain you so to see me?" She
steps back as though startled at the sound of her own voice, and passes a hand
before her eyes.
"I..." Lothdaimoth's voice is soft and shamed. The fragile layer of peace that
has begun to build itself up again slips aside, revealing depths of guilt and
self-despite that still smolder in his soul. Again he tries to speak and again
fails. Until despair bows his head and presses his eyelids closed. "Cousin..."
Caelwen stares at Lothdaimoth in swift, horrifying despair, her own mask much
thinner than her cousin's and often nonexistant. "I'm sorry, I'll go, I..."
Already weeping, tears pouring from her bruised eyes like a flood, she simply
grasps the trellis nearest and slides with a loud whimper to her knees, then
buries herself among the vines. She presses her brow to the wood, and just sobs
at her heartbreak, though she attempts to hide the sound. Both hands curl
slowly around a single vine as though to strangle it.
The sound of footfalls--light and unshod--precedes the entrance of a slight
figure to the vinyards. Slight, that is but for the growing round of her
stomach, an appearance a bit at odds with the rest of the elleth's lithe and
graceful air. Nyashcala walks without purpose, but almost immediately upon her
entrance she pauses, one foot still rolled on its toes in the motion of a step.
She tilts her head, hair cascading in clumsy waves, and turns bright eyes to
the source of her interest--the sound of sobbing, quiet but clearly audible to
elven ears, within the grape-vine trellises. A frown crosses her brow, and she
takes a few soft steps towards the noise.
Horrified, Lothdaimoth stares at the spot where his cousin /had/ stood and
slowly shrivels at the sobs which are easily heard. Beneath the now-crushing
weights of self-loathing and guilt, his head sinks lower, shoulders slumping,
empty hand slowly curling into a fist. Unable to go to her, unable to leave, he
simply stands in the midst of the moon-bathed vines; a tormented anguished
figure. The sound of footsteps, normally so easily caught, go unheard.
Caelwen simply wraps herself in a world of sorrow and vines and ripening
grapes, and gives vent to her woes, weeping growing more violent and wracking
her form until she gives a cry of pain more of the hroa than fea, and wraps an
arm protectively about her ribs. For a brief while, her sounds are silenced as
she pants against the hurt, tears still leaking unminded down her cheeks. As
soon as it begins to subside, the young Indiri starts to cry again, eyes
pinching shut. Sounds of footfall or the lack thereof are muffled by her own
noises.
The sobs have become more ragged, and more intense, and are now accompanied
with a strong undercurrent of pain. Nyashcala's pace quickens, and for a moment
the statuesque edhel is ignored. Instead, the drummer-elleth moves among the
grapes with no attempt to quiet her motions. Soon, she is near to Caelwen, and
crouches down by the Galadhrim with a faint and concerned frown played over her
face. Her voice is soft, and caring, the voice of a mother even if she has not
quite made it that far. "Hello, what's wrong? What are all these tears splayed
upon the grapeleaves for? Shh, quiet, the crying will not do much but augment
the pain..."
Caelwen does not seem truly startled at the sudden appearance of an Imladris
elleth at her haven of vines, but takes a moment or two to attempt to still her
weeping a little ere turning her face to the newcomer. Her voice is low, as
though speaking in confidence, and is oft interrupted by latecoming sobs. "'Tis
not me... 'tis Loth-Lothdaimoth. Hhhe is very hurt, and he is right here... and
I try to stay away..." Her tone begins to raise into a weeping wail again,
bruised, tear-filled eyes fastened upon Nyashcala's kind pair. "But I can't and
I'm afeared and I don't have anyone else in this strange place!"
Still, Nyashcala's face looks troubled, and with a flicker of her wrist, she
produces a hankerchief from the apparent air, and uses it the gently wipe away
the tears that spill all across Caelwen's face. "Shh, shh, I'm here, and I
don't eat other elves, I promise." The drummer smiles in what she hopes is a
comforting way. "I don't believe I had the chance to introduce myself before. I
am Nyashcala...I am a drummer here in Imladris."
The soft murmur of voices finally penetrates Lothdaimoth's cloak of grief.
Raising his head, he peers towards the sound. Someone else has come while he
paid no attention. Tensing still further, he relaxes just as suddenly when he
realizes this is someone he knows. Softly, tentatively, he makes his way down
the field towards them; stopping a few paces away as if unsure of his welcome.
Shallow, shuddering breaths wrack the young elleth's form as a hankerchief is
brushed gently across her face, and Caelwen's skin grows yet more white in the
darkness. "I am.. sorry," hiccups in the aftermath of the sobbing interrupt her
speech and cause her to wince in pain. "I am acting... like a child. I.. am
Caelwen, a potter in.. Lothlorien. ...we do not have drummers at home." Her
shoulders hunch, but her weeping subsides, though her eyes are still wide and
haunted in the gloom. "H-have you met Lothdaimoth? He is a Vinter and Royal
Counsel." Her voice grows smaller. "I am very proud of him, and it is odd to
talk about him as if he were not right here listening." Her hand relaxes the
least bit on the vines, but her gaze stares fixedly at the kind elleth's face.
"We all have our moments of distress, Caelwen-mellon, and from what I have
heard of your passage here to Imladris, you are more than in your right to be
grieved." Nyashcala smiles, softly, and offers the handkerchief, which also
smells softly of goatskin and oil, to the other elleth so that she may retain
some of her dignity by cleaning herself further. "I have met him, by way of
Faerlin he introduced himself to me at the Opening Ceremonies." In another
pause of her speech, Nyashcala looks up, her brillant sapphire eyes reflecting
the moonlight as a cat's, and for a moment settles her gaze directly on
Lothdaimoth as if she has known of his presence the entire time. The look is
not unkind, but rather welcoming, with a touch of question. Then she returns
her attentions to Caelwen. "Well, perhaps he will make the situation somewhat
less awkward, and join it. It seems you both have much to discuss, much to
heal."
And at her words, the Counsel takes one last step and crouches down. "Mae
govannen, Nyashcala," he says, but unhappy eyes remain on Caelwen. His free
hand reaches out to her, but stops mid-air and hovers before being drawn back.
Softly, hesitantly, he says, "Caelwen... ? Please ... I - I am sorry."
In the dark of night, an elleth hides within the shadowy clutch of a grapevine,
her tearstained face peering at a pair of Quendi who crouch before her. Caelwen
takes Nyashcala's hankerchief, pressing it to a cheek. "The Opening Ceremony...
all a blur to me." Her chin ducks down, and she looks a bit frightened at
Lothdaimoth. "You did naught wrong. I kept pestering you when you did not want
to be pestered." Her lip trembles again as though tears hover on the brink
anew. "I've always pestered you without asking if you wanted it. I am sorry. I
know how... I know how.." She takes a deep breath to calm herself, then
whimpers in pain at the result, eyes squeezing shut for a while. "How things
have been. And what you need." Her damp lashes lift again, and peridot eyes
peer from the darkness.
Nyashcala rocks backwards on to her heels, just enough that she can see both
Lothdaimoth and Caelwen comfortably. She nods an acknowledgement to the edhel's
greeting, but does not speak. She apparently has decided that, which her words
would only interfere now, that her presence is non-obtrusive. So the drummer
stays, a quiet support for her new friends.
Still uncertain, Lothdaimoth's hand again stretches out towards his cousin.
Dark eyes are filled with pain, but by some effort, he keeps his voice even.
"What do I need?" Half under the sheltering vines himself, where star and
moonlight are scattered and lost, he appears made of shadows himself. And the
vines droop a little further than before, or maybe it is only a trick of the
memory?
"I thought," Caelwen begins, every word questioning, "You needed to be left
alone?" Still faintly wary, she studies her cousin then looks to the pregnant
elleth beside him. Clad in white with pale skin, the young Cennan almost seems
to glow in the darkness twined by night and shade. "But, actually, maybe you
just need to not see /me/." Her voice grows even more sorrowful, but she seems
more free to talk with Nyashcala near. "In which case it was completely wrong
of me to look for you. I m-mean.. I do not remind Rosgwaen of Lanthir when I
can help it." She drops to a whisper, and with a confused glance to
Lothdaimoth's hand, she begins to raise her own.
Still, the elleth does not speak, but her bright eyes flicker back and forth
between the two Galadhrim. If Lothdaimoth is shadow, and Caelwen starlight,
then Nyashcala is the earth between. She does not reflect the light around her,
but then she does not fade into her surroundings. Rather--she is a part and
apart both from the scene, a shoulder and a heart to lean upon, but not an
obstructing force.
"Rosgwaen?" Lothdaimoth looks somewhat bewildered at this non sequitor. Then
the frown clears and he nods to himself. Sliding from his crouch into a
cross-legged seat, he drops his hand to cover hers. A sigh slumps his shoulders
and he stares down at the moist earth searching for words. "I.." he begins
slowly. "Twas no fault of yours, mellon - save that your presence reminded me
of my own grievous failures. And .. and when Galena.." He stops and swallows,
unable to continue for several minutes. When next the deep quiet voice joins
the hum of the night, he has gone to a different subject. "I am sorry." Still,
dark eyes remain fixed on the ground, black hair yet uncombed fall past his
cheeks and screening his expression from view. Very quietly, he adds, "Knowing
how I hurt you only made it worse."
Caelwen's brows draw together and she glowers during the silence that follows
Galena's name, her hand tightening around Lothdaimoth's larger one.
"Failures..?" she queries in gentle confusion, then turns to speak to
Nyashcala. "He protected me from wolves, you know. There would have been naught
for Erinst-star to save if not for him. And when I was half-dead from my own
despair, he got me here, and I am sure he did not wish for the constant burden
of his little cousin."
Both her hands now grip the Vinter's, the hankerchief abandoned to her lap, and
she turns her attention back to him, tear-tracks yet glimmering in starlight.
"You are my dearest friend.. that's why I was trying to help you. And my pain
is none of your fault. I tried very hard to not let you see it; I'm sorry you
did..." Her words trail a bit helplessly.
The drummer shifts on the ground to better spread her weight over her legs. At
the mention of wolves, her brow knits, and she shakes her head softly, speaking
quietly so that she does not interupt the flow of the discussion. "I would say,
Lothdaimoth-mellon, that if you are the reason that Caelwen still breathes, all
other failures should be put past. Erinstar lives, and he will heal in time...I
would hope that is enough to mend the hurts you both have suffered over the
events..."
"I left him." Lothdaimoth's head bows further. The tearing anguish born of such
choices catches at his voice, deepening it still further. "That he lives is no
doing of mine, for I abandoned him to die. Not only once, but twice. Galena..
Galena was right. I bring only pain to those about me." Finally, he looks up,
dark eyes searching for green ones in the dim hush of night. "How could I not
know? You are my cousin. I have known you since you were born, yet you think
you could hide your grief from me?"
"Galena is a terrible person and I don't like her at all." Words pop from
Caelwen's mouth, and afterwards she looks guiltily from person to person as
though ashamed of thinking such thoughts. She then creeps closer to her cousin,
settles herself beside him and slides her arm behind his back while she looks
to Nyashcala "That we lost Erinstar at all is my fault, not his, and I am /so/
sorry..." tears creep into her voice again, if not her eyes. "So sorry for all
the pain I've caused. What were you to do? I was really hoping you'd abandon me
and find him instead." She sniffles; her voice grows lower. "You've never
brought any pain to me."
A wince of pain, not physical, twists Lothdaimoth's face. Carefully lifting his
arm to rest on her shoulders, another wince joins the first; this one
evidentally caused by his wound. "How could I leave you?" Despite the healing
that has begun since Erinstar's return, his eyes still are haunted. "You were
growing so ill, how could I have ever lived with myself again had I left you
there alone?" Still quieter, "After I myself advised you to come?"
Drifting up the path from the direction of the House, a gentle melody is
carried on the breeze, heralding the arrival of a slender elleth. She carries a
basket, and seems to be just passing through.
Just passing through, that is, until she spies the trio of elves
resting under a vine. Her song fades, and she approaches them. She nods to
them, and greets them tentatively. "Mae govannen, mellyn?" Her tone is puzzled,
and her expression concerned, as she gets close enough to see the edhil's
faces, and to feel the disturbance of fea that seems to be the norm in the
presence of two of them. . .
"The whole situation is just horrible," Caelwen sniffles, sorrow limning her
soft voice. "And every turn the worse for you, and naught could I do to stop
it. That Galena did that to you is inexcusable." She glowers again, fiery brows
lowered as she glares at the moist dirt, then looks up as a song fades and
Glasiel approaches. "Mae govannen," is her gentle reply.
The continual mention of Galena's name is making Lothdaimoth more and more
tense. Furrows deepen in his face, mingled pain and distress and at last he
lets his arm slide down from Caelwen's shoulders. Some of the pain subsides
then. "And for you.. and I only made it worse."
Distant music is followed by a soft greeting, and the Counsel stiffens again,
hesitating before looking around. In that small space of time, he has composed
his face to calmness. Surprise flickers through dark eyes at the sight of the
healer (again!). "Good even." A glance is given the star-filled sky above and a
tiny smile tugs at one corner of his mouth before disappearing. "Or morn,
should you prefer.."
Glasiel smiles gently, crouching down to reach the others' eye-level, resting
on her feet only. Her basket she places beside herself. "Good even,
Lothdaimoth. Do not distress yourself over my presence, I looked not for you
this time." A fleeting glance lands on the edhel's arm, however she does not
mention the injury. "I only walked this way by custom, on my way to gather some
herbs from the woods on the other side of this vineyard."
Her gaze travels over each face before her for a moment, and she grows
increasingly concerned in her expression. "I hope all is well? . . . and that I
am not intruding on your privacy? I can leave, it you prefer." She doesn't
sound confident of the first question, nor of the second, and seems sincere in
the third. Her tone is much more soft and calm than it has yet been in
Lothdaimoth's presence.
Caelwen's eyes fly anxiously to Lothdaimoth's face as his arm is dropped, and
she studies fretfully the familiar planes of it. Her own arm behind his back
shifts uncomfortably.. but then steadies and stays where it is. This worried
face is then turned to Glasiel. "/Please/ stay," the Indiri says rather
intently. "Please.." her eyes widen as though she is trying to hint at
something.
Lothdaimoth has opened his mouth to speak, but Caelwen forestalls him. And
whatever he might prefer, he merely nods his head in agreement with his
cousin's wishes. In the silver-filled night, green leaves rustle a little -
perhaps a small breeze has stirred them. One reaching tendril curls vaguely
through the air, drooping and tracing a path across the counsel's dark hair
before being tugged loose again.
Glasiel seems to take no notice of Lothdaimoth's reticense, offering Caelwen a
warm smile instead. "The vineyards here are lovely, are they not? They allow
such an unobstructed view of the elenath on nights like this one. 'Tis why I
pass this way as often as I can, on my way to the forest. How heal your ribs,
mellon? Are you feeling more like yourself yet?"
"I am," Caelwen says, subdued. "Although I don't imagine I'll truly feel myself
until I am home again." Wide, moon-like eyes peer urgently at Glasiel through
the darkness, and she flickers several glances to Lothdaimoth. On the side away
from her cousin, a slim white hand gestures toward him, hidden from the
Counsel. "The vineyards here are fair, aye... 'tis so strange how they build
wooden frames for them instead of allowing the vines to grow naturally on
trees. But I think I've said that before."
Still quiet, nigh-motionless, Lothdaimoth sits and listens only. Clear
moonlight pours down, bathing him in its white light - save only where shadows
cast by leaves dance across his figure. In the distance, a sleepy chirp; and in
the east, the sky brightens imperceptibly. Morning comes apace, though yet it
is dark and the stars shine unhindered.
Glasiel answers Caelwen's spoken comments, and whether she sees any other
requests in her manner, her face does not betray their acceptance. She nods,
smiling. "Aye, it was long before I felt about these vines as I do now. And yet
still am I fond of my memories of Lorien's vines. Fret not, mellon. You shall
see them again soon, I'm certain of it. And yet I am glad of your visit, and
your friendship." Her tone is calm and soothing, and also melodious. Barely
noticeable behind the words, a melody can be felt, the same healing melody she
hummed once before.
A smile, wide and easy and contrasting with the tearstains, blooms on Caelwen's
face, teeth shining through the waning darkness. "Oh, yes!" she replies
chattily, mien lightening as though a burden were suddenly lifted. "I forgot
you were from Lorien. How long have you been here? You are of the Laiquendi
clan, are you not? Know you Methenauth or Andeldaiel?" Her arm tightens faintly
around Lothdaimoth.
A slight squeeze and Lothdaimoth turns his gaze from contemplating the fields
to look at Caelwen questioningly. But she is speaking to Glasiel. Laiquendi?
Dark eyes lift and regard the healer. All previous emotions have been
successfully locked away again, nothing shows save a faint interest. The
melody, almost below the threshold of hearing, goes unnoticed. Or does it..
Unnoticeably, he relaxes the smallest bit. And the bit of vine that bobs in the
air touches his shoulder and bounces back again.
The faintest light of satisfaction shines in the back of the Olvaristdil's
eyes, as she continues to 'chat' with Caelwen in the same singsong tone. "Aye,
mellon. However long one stays away from Lorien, it never leaves one's heart.
My own parents still reside there, and are in my thoughts often. Often when I
rest and meditate, I can see the mallyrn rise about me, their golden leaves
sheltering and restoring me, even though I came to serve at Hir Elrond's House
many years ago now."
Caelwen's smile falters a little. "I miss Lorien a great deal. I hope my family
does not worry too much... but why would they, I suppose, when one of them came
with me?" A fond look is cast over Lothdaimoth, a look that measures him a
little before she turns back to Glasiel. "Why did you leave?" she queries in
faint bewilderment. "Do you plan on coming back? Everything is so... odd out
here, is it not?"
Silver trunks and golden leaves. Glasiel's description of the beloved mallyrn
of Lorien brings them into sharp focus and Lothdaimoth's eyes lose their focus.
Somewhere in distant realms, a brook gurgles, soft green moss creeps, tiny
star-like flowers echo the gems that adorn the heavens - and all speak of home.
Almost imperceptibly does Glasiel's smile widen. She again answers Caelwen, in
the same tone, leaving Lothdaimoth to his reverie. "I came to Imladris to
follow my muindor's footsteps, and we both came hither to serve in our father's
place, since he could not bear to leave the shelter of the mallyrn, and yet was
indebted to Hir Elrond for past kindnesses. . ." Her song falters for the
tinyest of moments before continuing again. "In any case, Elda was always of a
wandering nature, and though I at first found this strange, I also missed him
in his absence. And so I followed him here."
"Well, then," the Dinlom Indiri says, with a faint note of approval entering
her voice. "I do understand serving as your father does." Caelwen sighs, lashes
fluttering faintly as she, too, briefly sinks into some memory. "Will you
return home to visit, then?" Her eyes snap open, even as a few stars begin to
give way to the lightening sun in the east. "Nay.. what am I saying? The trip
is far to dangerous to warrant any travel." She sneaks another glimpse of her
beloved cousin's face, and whatever she sees there brings a new smile to her.
Indebted. Wandering. Danger. A small frown brings black eyebrows together, the
peace on his face giving way to sorrow. After all, Lorien is too far to hear
the brook. The mallyrn aren't visible. Around him, grapevines sway uneasily.
And somewhere, closer now, wargs howl under a glowering sky and greedy flames
flicker.
The smile on Glasiel's face dims just slightly, and her melodic answer
intensifies almost imperceptibly as she again answers Caelwen and leaves
Lothdaimoth to his silent meditation. She shakes her head. "Nay, I haven't made
plans to return any time soon, though after seeing so many here from that
golden forest, I am starting to think on it." Her expression softens even more,
and she reaches out to touch Caelwen's hand in comfort. "Rest easy, mellon. I
will take no chances. Only if a perfect opportunity arrises will I risk the
journey, and will not travel in solitude."
Despite her melodic tone, her eyebrows knit gently. This is not a good
topic. Her eyes flit quickly from Caelwen's gaze to her cousin's face, then
return just as fast. "I meant to ask you, will you be feeling well enough to
watch the competitions planned for the week, mellon? They look quite
entertaining." As one sharing a closely guarded secret, she adds, "I myself
will compete in at least one event."
Caelwen's head bows a little, bright copper curls swaying forward as dawn sends
a few piping notes of color into the Valley from the east. She looks rather
dubiously at Glasiel. "Well. If you say so. /We/ were in a group, you know."
For a moment, she falls silent and allows her own memories to hunch her a
little with fear, pulsing echoed terror. But then, she slips a look sidelong
through her curls at her cousin, and continues in a forced merry tone. "Aye, I
certainly do hope to watch, and I hope Lothdaimoth and the others will in
particular join the archery contest, so the Imladrim may see the Galadhrim's
skill."
Drawn by grief, Lothdaimoth seems to have fallen into brooding. Until another
music entangles itself in the song of the grapes and his face eases. It is only
a few moments more though when Caelwen's words fall through the night into his
mind. And beyond grief, anguish twists his expression. The slow deep rhythm of
growing fades as he drops his forehead into one palm. "I'm sorry..." It is a
husky whisper, barely loud enough to be heard.
Glasiel's eyebrow arches, and she looks at Lothdaimoth skeptically. She asks
Caelwen, "Do you think he's healed enough for that? When I finally was allowed
to see to his arm, it was not yet healing." A pause. "However, much has
changed, and it may well be that his recovery has begun." She's still looking
at Lothdaimoth, even though her words are directed at Caelwen.
Like the echo of a bell, Caelwen's face crumples into grief and heartbreak a
scarce moment after Lothdaimoth's. "Nay! I'm sorry, I didn't mean.." she
babbles unthinkingly, then forces her mouth shut while tightening her arm
around her cousin and resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her eyes lift, she
watches dawn-light for a moment, and calms somewhat with a few deep breaths.
Her regretful and faintly wounded eyes fall to Glasiel. "If he thinks he is
healed enough to shoot, I don't see why he mustn't."
Stirred to instinctive reaction by Caelwen's distress, Lothdaimoth lifts his
head. "Nay.." he says softly. Cobwebs of thought and memory take a little while
to clear themselves from his dark eyes and he shakes his head a little, as if
uncertain of just where he is. "Caelwen. Don't cry." His arm tightens about
her, bringing an unconscious tightening of the small muscles about his lips.
Forcing his voice to normalcy then, he asks, "Shoot?" Only the faintest of
tremors betrays him.
Glasiel's gaze moves back and forth between the two young elves before her. Her
arms ache to gather them both in comforting embrace, rocking them until their
sorrows ease. Instead, her conversation ceases, and instead she sings to them.
Softly, gently, tenderly as a mother to her children.
She sings to them of healing and peace, of joy and rejuvenation, of calm and
serenity. Her hands reach out and hover over each of their heads for a moment,
before traveling down. First to their cheeks, then hovering over their hearts.
She does not actually touch their bodies, but her slow and deliberate hand
motions are a calming influence on the fea.
Caelwen sniffless. "I'm not crying," she speaks in a tone that may very well
make a lie of her words. Still caught somewhat in the aftermath of her fear,
she allows her eyes to fall shut as she huddles beside Lothdaimoth, arm still
firm about him. A song is cast over her, and her breathing stills yet further.
Eager, the shattered maid opens herself to the healing, trembling under the
soothing calm that salves her hurt.
The last few stars shine briefly in the west before being losing their light in
the glorious sun. Seeking rays of golden light probe across the vineyard,
bringing all that they touch to brilliant color. And one caressing shaft lights
on Lothdaimoth's head where he sits cradling his cousin in his injured arm.
Caught unawares by the healing touch that he would vigorously deny he needed if
asked, the counsel's eyes widen and he stares at Glasiel, rather in the manner
of a trapped deer. But something within responds to her song, and inspite of
himself, he relaxes. Just a little.
Glasiel's eyes close, her face smoothing into serene lines as her song
strengthens. Ever so gently, her hands hover over the edhil's hearts, moving
gently in circular motions. Even without looking, her hands seem to know where
to hover, never moving closer nor further from their bodies.
As the sun's rays warm the vineyard and it's guests, so does the Linnor's song
grow warmer and more uplifting in it's melody. And yet, though its strength
grows with each measure, its volume remains soothing and quiet, for the ears of
these two only.
But the younger cousin loses herself into the song with an almost desperate
haste, relaxing more fully in her lean against Lothdaimoth. Another shaft slips
between a hole in the leaves to alight on Caelwen's face, and her brow furrows
faintly. Bright peridot eyes lazily open, and she looks up to Glasiel, then
beyond, to the bright sunrise. A memory finds her, and surfaces as a smile.
The sudden extra weight against his side brings Lothdaimoth's gaze away from
Glasiel and down to his cousin. And a smile gleams across his face to match
hers. Almost as if they two feed upon each other's emotions, he relaxes in
concert with Caelwen. At least until he realizes anew what is happening. The
smallest of wriggles moves him backwards in the dirt, so that the healer's
hands are further away. No other protest does he make, seemingly content to
allow her to continue; perhaps for Caelwen's sake if not his own. Slowly,
purple-green tendrils of song twine down through the layers of pain and guilt,
uncertainty and self-condemnation; and at last they begin to thin like clouds
before the sun.
Glasiel's eyes never open. Indeed, her face has turned upward, as if to absorb
the warmth of the rising sun while she sings softly to these two. And yet,
though she sees not Lothdaimoth's motion, her hand moves with it, almost
imperceptibly, until it again rests at the same distance from his chest.
A peaceful expression grows in her features, experienced senses picking up the
reactions of the patients' fea to her efforts. Finally, after her song has
continued for many verses, she reaches the end. Her eyes open once again, and
her hands return to her lap. Softly comes her spoken voice, floating on the
gentle breeze like soothing balm. "The new day has arrived, mellyn. Yesterday's
woes are behind us now, are they not?"
Light warms Caelwen's curls, finding gold to play with and bright copper to hum
through. The Cennan is disturbed by Lothdaimoth's backward's motion, 'twould
seem, for she raises her head to look questioningly up at him. Still, fiery
brows fret mildly together as she studies him after Glasiel's question. A brief
sigh. "I do hope so, mellon." But still, the younger cousin is relaxed, and her
worry seems to lie softer on her shoulders.
Far above all the trouble and turmoil of Arda, the depthless blue sky floats
serence and still. And beyond all, the Music of the Ainur plays across time to
its foregone conclusion. Still, here on this little space of land, surrounded
by burgeoning life, perhaps the tide for those bound to the earth turns towards
good. For Caelwen sits easier and Lothdaimoth's burden lightens for it. As
well, some of the troubles that have sat heavy on his own heart are eased,
though not all wounds can be healed so swiftly. A wicked little breeze comes to
play among the vines, setting them dancing and a smile crosses the counsel's
face as he watches.