================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Late Night About 12:16 AM
IC day is: Oranor Sun-day
IC date is: 68 Laer Summer
Moon phase: New VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 3 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA3027
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RL time: Fri Oct 25 08:45:43 2002
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Herunnur's Porch
At any time of year this place is the special province of the stewards of the Last Homely House. They come from the kitchen, the stables and the grounds, and it is here that they share their most merry moments.
Decorated to be comfortable after a long day of work, the porch is strewn with long and cushiony chairs. They are designed to look like enormous blossoms, so that the seated person is found nuzzled in the warm heart of a rose or a daisy. There are also tables with drink and food aplenty, for this porch finds itself directly next to the kitchen and is often the spot to discover the cooks' latest experiments in the culinary arts. All in all, this place is about comfort and relaxation for those who deserve it best.
(Imlad's weather)
A layer of clouds covers the late night sky above. The Misty Mountains in the east are lost in the clouds and darkness.
These are the hours between midnight and dawn, often considered the darkest; and tonight perhaps it is true. For thick clouds cover the sky hiding moon and stars. A high wind sends them scurrying rapidly from east to west, yet more come and still more. The gale above barely reaches into this protected valley however - only the tops of the highest trees wave a little.
Far below, on a sheltered nook handily provided with food and drink, Lothdaimoth sits, perching on the edge of the porch. Bare feet dig idly at the grass, and leaning against a pole, he stares idly off across the shadowy meadow.
A spark flashes in the meadow, and gradually lenghtens to an emerging elven form. Twisting hair curls about her like the shadows cast by fire, and Caelwen paces slowly closer to the House, head down and a song humming lightly betwixt her lips. As she comes closer, her head finally lifts, pale face turning toward Lothdaimoth. A smile spreads easily across her face, and she hastens in her step to him.
A faint sound of humming precedes the actual figure of the elleth and Lothdaimoth is already looking that direction when Caelwen appears. An answering smile lights up his face and he waves towards the small laden table. "Come and join me. I have found an unguarded table.."
A laugh twinkles up to the hidden stars. "Such a thief you've turned into! Aye, I'll rest for a moment, but I'm not hungry right now." Swish-swish-swish come her feet as they slide through the grasses, toes tickling blades and making them whisper apurpose. Caelwen turns and settles herself near him, hands catching her knees, and she watches him a moment before her eyes fly to the cloudy skies. "I have so much to do. I haven't spent any time at all in the library, nor have I been able to get many crafters to talk to me about their craft. I'm never leaving Lorien again, and I've wasted my time here."
"I am not a thief!" Lothdaimoth protests indignantly. Dark eyes twinkle with amusement. "The shoes were given me... although in a very odd manner. And this - obviously it is for any who happen by. Else why would it be set out so temptingly?"
Caelwen's giggles dance circles around her words, sly eyes peering at him from their corners. "Ai ai! You happen upon shoes, and just assume they are there for the taking. I'll never know what you needed with three pairs of elleth's shoes, either." Her laughter falls into a sigh, and she props her hands behind her as she leans back. "Ah.. that was a good day. I'm getting nervous about the trip back; are you?"
"No, no. The shoes 'happened' upon /me/." Lothdaimoth starts to laugh. The last bite is popped into his mouth, but Caelwen's final words send the smile fading, the laughter disappearing. Leaning forward a little, he reaches out to grasp her shoulder reassuringly. "Do not worry, cousin." A shrug. "I know it is easy to say; not so easy to do. Still..."
Caelwen's head shakes in a dismissive gesture, curls tangling with lace. A fond smile curves her mouth as she looks at him; she leans over and nudges his ribs lightly with her elbow. "And I bid you the same. I'm sure 'twill be fine. You made it home safe last time, despite war-hammers, aye? We'll be fine," though not frightened, her words seem half to herself rather than Lothdaimoth. Her smile grows more at ease and confident, however, and she winks to him.
Caelwen's words are ignored. Instead Lothdaimoth stands up and stretches, looking out and up at the cloudy sky. Teasingly, he looks down at his young cousin. "I hear there is to be wine.. and you are here? Do you feel well, mellon?"
Caelwen's head tilts far back as she looks up at Lothdaimoth, easy smile lingering. "You distracted me apurpose!" she laughs, then uncurls herself to arise to her feet. "Mayhap I will see you there. Namarie, then." She rises a-tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek near the ear. A brief pause, and she turns to continue on her path to the House. A door opens and shuts, and she is gone.
"And I am not allowed to come as well?" The question falls on empty air as the door swings shut closed behind Caelwen. Lothdaimoth regards it bemusedly for several minutes, then grins and follows after.
We moved to the Wine Festival put on by the Imlads
Night brings no darkness to the garden, even when moon and stars sleep silently beneath a blanket of clouds. Strings of twinkling lanterns lend a golden warmth to the cool silver of twilight, strung liberally beneath the lower branches of the elder trees in mingling with their fragrant blossoms. Beneath their light billows fine white silk in sweeping sheets, diffusing lantern light into a shimmering glow reminiscent of the stars' last hours before the rise of the sun.
In this light do several quendi walk the garden lawns, footsteps near silent on the lush grasses that wind between wildflower beds. Laughter mingles with merry words as two small tables are set up beneath the broad reach of the largest tree, then draped with fine white linens embroidered with silvered vines along the edges. Overseeing much of the bustle is a lady tall and fair, her raiment of moonlight crowned elegantly in stars. The Miruvorthaer Eryndae holds a veil of quiet enthusiasm around her, swathed in serenity like the silk of her white gown. She murmurs to a pair of Seinthaer, who then set out towards the house with steps hurried past any who arrive.
Caelwen strides with unhurried footfall toward the gathering, a smile still lingering on her lips and eyes paying no heed to the Seinthaer that rush past. As she draws near the gathered elves, bright eyes dance from one face to another, and her steps slow, head ducking a bit shyly. Thus she hangs back at the edge of the garden, watching in the soft light.
Clothed in sea blue and grey, colors that remain muted despite the warm light of the lanterns, the Randir and Hirvaethor Thileithel comes down from the north Garden, a serene expression on his face, but this serenity is also touched by a hint of anticipation. As he draws near the tables and those who are already present, his eyes fall upon the Miruvorthaer and linger there.
And amongst those to arrive, strides with dignity in his pace, a tall elven man, his head shrouded in darkness, this veil of raven locks. Bright and keen is the glint in the gray eyes, sweeping to and fro to envisage aught that appears or passes. In this wake of wariness, does the Awardan Randinen appear to the summons of this feast; walking now amidst those responsible for the final preparations.
His raiment seeks the grace of Elbereth, cloth blessed with the soothing hue of silver, a delight to all those of the Eldar spirit. Upon his chest, to distinguish betwixt the blue field and the shimmering patterns, prides the mark of Nos Olormaranwe, to mark him as the Arphedor of this House of renown.
And as the Awardan halts, his eyes pass the Miruvorthaer albeit briefly and only once! For the slightest moment, the stars strike a different spark upon his mien; a line of sorrow to weave into the proud expression, ere it is vanquished by the cold breath of respite. Other arrivals he acknowledges with curt nods, gathering his arms to himself to ease the flowing gray mantle, a light burden upon his shoulders.
Still a few paces behind, Lothdaimoth comes up behind Caelwen as she slows down. Bending his head, black hair sliding along his neck, he whispers, "Boo!" In the lamplight, golden lions embroidered on the black silk of shirt and tunic seem to stretch and roar.
Dressed in a flowing glown of silver and white, the Olvaristdir Dunedhelgur exits from the Infirmary into the South Garden. The usual fragrant aroma of herbs and heavily scented air from the surrounding roses greets the approaching edhel. He waves to a group of gathered edhil, some already seated yet some lingering around the table enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere of past days events.. a bit of gossip maybe. "Good evening, mellyn!" greets the edhel with his usual warm, chirpy voice.
Caelwen's smile grows wider and her eyes twinkle at the whisper near her ear, but she simply takes a step back and slides an arm behind Lothdaimoth in a half-hug. "Do you know anyone here? I only recognise one or two," she says in a shy murmur, then chuckles. "Here, I am acting like a shy child." The Cennan looks up to the Counsel's face. "Do you want some wine? I'll see if I can get some," and without waiting for a reply, she has left his side and is heading for the gathering around the tables.
From the garden porch, a group of merry voices can be heard emerging from the house and making their way through the garden. It seems the Seinthaer sent to the house went with the purpose of summoning this group, and well it should be that these Quendi now streaming into the light of lanterns would appear here. They are, apart from a few of their numbers sent ahead to prepare this party, the vintners of Imladris. They are called from a council of their own to this celebration of their craft.
A tall lady, clad in violet, the auburn of her hair quite alike to the colour of wine, approaches the assembly of elves from the north. Although her steps are fast enough to be called running, she takes them with grace and dignity. She is carrying a rather large bottle of red wine.
As Neltilwen reaches the others, she lifts her voice to a cheerful greeting. She makes her way quickly to the Miruvorthaer. "I hope I do not arrive too late! I needed to fetch this," she points to her wine. "I have been waiting for decades with it, but now I think it is mature. I would be most interested to hear what others think of it," she offers, and places the bottle on the table.
Thileithel crosses the remaining space and comes around to stand with his cousin Eryndae. "Mae govannen, I trust all your preparations have gone well and this wine will meet your expectations?"
Argent eyes follow the pair of Seinthaer until their disappearance to the north leaves her gaze with those who now arrive. Eryndae regards Caelwen and Lothdaimoth with a gentle smile smile that flickers next to Randinen, though fleetingly as his expression leaves a puzzled sparkle within the lady's eyes.
It all but disappears however, as Tatharwen's approach earns Eryndae's attention with the other vintners. She addresses the procession with a cheeful wave in indication of the tables lying empty before her, save for a tray of numerous crystal goblets and a basket of... silk scarves?
Neltilwen and Thileithel bring a note of excitement to the Miruvorthaer's address. "Preparations are complete, now that the other Gwinthaeri have arrived. I am glad to see you here, cousin. And you, Herunnur! You are far from too late, though indeed your offer of wine would have remedied all. Tell me, what of its making? Shall we have two new vintages to taste this eve?"
As she nears the wine table, Tatharwen looks back to where several Seinthaer are carrying crystal decanters of various shapes and colors, sparkling as they catch the firelight. Graceful fluted blue, pink, and clear cut-crystal bottles in themselves would be considered art, yet they contain 'art' as well. She nods briefly in greeting to the Miruvorthaer and to those standing near, and gives whispered directions to the Seinthaer to distribute the bottles on the table. Those standing nearby would hear her refer to them as cordials.
Behind them stream more of their number, bearing wooden casks and bottles of what appear to be predominantly red wines, which they begin arranging on the table as well.
Caelwen stands back, watching with interest the Vinters arranging the fruits of their craft. In particular her eyes linger on the crystal bottles, ere her attention strays to the gathering of strangers around her. Eryndae's kind smile is returned by a bright grin flashing back in the lamplight. The only other person her glance lingers on is Randinen ere the bright gaze returns to the bottles and casks.
Thileithel looks at the bottles bearing the reds and a grin forms. "I hope this white of yours, cousin, is worth the tasting. I would not want to spoil my palate before I have a chance to savor all the fine reds you've liberated from the cellar this night."
While the Herunnur's eyes peer the surroundings, she nods to Eryndae's direction. "Indeed, it is quite new to all those who are here - because it is actually very old. It dates back to the days when I first begun to study the art of winemaking... For you, that may not be so long ago, but nevertheless it is a long story, which I'm not going to tell here," she winks to the Miruvorthaer.
Walking together under the flower-twined trellised arch that leads hence from the moonshine-dappled terraces; Herion Elladan and the Randir, Lithriel; the latter with her arm upon the former's, and achingly beautiful in a gown of purest white, whilst Elrond's son himself is, as ever, faintly effulgent in his unassuming finerly; both wander out onto the lawn of the homely houses' southmost garden; mayhap having met by chance of the night, and, having tarried in each other's company above the rushing waters of the Bruinen, meandered back over patio and in between the collonades, again to happen, by happy chance, upon a small company making merry under the stars, whom they near at length.
"You will find it refreshing, I would venture to guess," Eryndae answers with a smile that might appear mischevious if not for the sincerity alight in her gaze. With slender fingers she tilts the neck of an emerald green flask away from those that stand near it, and towards Thileithel, a thin-stemmed crystal wine flute offered in her other hand.
Then back to Neltilwen she turns, curiousness meeting the interest already present upon her countenance. "The the purpose of tonight will be two fold. For though I have tasted the wine of victors, your wine presents a new opportunity. I do hope this is a story I will here someday alas?" she chuckles, meeting the Herunnur's wink with one of her own before the arrival of Lithriel and Elladan draws away her gaze away in a faint smile brighter within than would show without.
None of the arriving elves, succeed to drag the Hirvaethor Randinen away from his perch. He moves not nor he seems willing to remove himself, able to survey most of the South Garden. Occasional nods flow from him, akin the clinging leaves in Autumn, loath to glide, lest they fall for then they are swift in their passing.
The company nigh the Miruvorthaer earns more than his waning courtesy. Be he inspecting those to gather hither, or simply admire and wonder about the bottles in their display; fond of such vintage.
Even then, as the Arphedor bends his brow ever deeper in thought, his attention is caught, and his lean frame wheels to behold the arrival of Elladan and Lithriel. A faint smile dawns upon his lips, a firmer nod now given, should it be acknowledged.
For once - for once - the Randir is collected, behaved, and not awash in song. Walking close by Elladan, Lithriel speaks softly to her companion until they indeed chance upon this collection of Quendi. She pauses, question in the aquaceous depths of her irises, then returns Eryndae's smile with a reasonably bashful one of her own. One might even ascribe the term 'subdued' to her mannerism at present.
Tatharwen stands back and surveys the progress of the wine being laid out, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. She seems to be satisfied with the work, then, for her glance moves around the garden clearing filling with Quendi and already filling with song, though as yet only the song of voices and laughter. Attention drifting back to the wine table, she notices a wine there that she did not expect to see. The Herunnur Neltilwen stands nearby, and thus Tatharwen makes a guess at the wine's source. "Herunnur, an offering of yours?" she asks brightly. Catching the Miruvorthaer's comment, this seems confirmed and she adds, "If that is so, I too hope that it will be the first one I taste tonight."
Caelwen's attention turns as well to those arriving, and a deep bow of her head is offered to Elladan and his companion. Still seeming faintly at odds with what to do with herself, she takes a hesitant step or two backwards toward her cousin.
Thileithel watches the wine pour into the goblet that Eryndae holds in her slender fingers. "No doubt, no doubt. I'll just go sample this and let you attend to your guests."
Linnor Faerlin can be glimpsed away to the east, in the herb garden, for an instant before she is obscured from sight again by a particularly large rosemary bush--that just happens to be of virtually the same shade of green as her attire.
A mere moment later she appears, pushing the scented leaves of the herbs aside with one hand, observing the gathering closely and making note of who is present for just now the quendi seem as plentiful as the roses that bloom here."Ah, but wait!" Eryndae calls somewhat sharply to Thileithel. "You do not intend to simply sip, I hope, for that is not the manner of the even, cousin!" Gaze half menacing with a hint of mischief, she witholds the goblet a moment longer, reaching then for one of the silk scarves from the basket ere she steps out from behind the table.
Thileithel looks back as his cousin, then his gaze drops to the scarf. "Hmm? Do I wear that around my head as I drink?" It it his turn to smile mischievously.
With a sidelong glance almost imperceptably offered to Tatharwen, Eryndae steps fluidly behind Thileithel, the degree of her amusement barely hidden in all but a widening smile. "Around your eyes, to be more exact," she lilts, a lively melody not often heard in the Miruvorthaer's voice. "If we are to hear what you really think of the wine, then all else must fade from mind. Not a challenge of swordplay, aye, but is it once you will except?" she muses bringing the scarf up to around the edhel's shoulders before peering around to await his reaction.
Neltilwen nods to Tatharwen with a thankful smile. "That is what it is, indeed, and I would be honoured to have you start with it," she replies. She reaches for the bottle again and opens it with accustomed moves. "Shall I pour you some?" she offers to the Gwinthaer. "Unfortunately this is all I have, but I will gladly pour it to any who wish to taste, as long as I can," the Herunnur adds to all the quendi near her.
"Well, now;" Elladan declares, "Quite the gladsome occasion this seems;" Regarding then the company, his piercing gaze glancing from each to the other; says he then, "I see here some of our friends that are soon to be away;" he inclines his head graciously towards Lothdaimoth and Caelwen both, "No sooner than they are come, it seems they are going, and gone;" Then he looks to the Miruvorthaer, "I should think that a drink in parting would be well. What libations have we here?" So asking, he looks aside to Lithriel, brow raised in inquiry, "Some wine, perhaps, my lady?"
Faerlin slips between the elves, whispering greetings to some as she goes and nodding in answer to other greeting, till she is in such a postion to see what fate will befall her Uncle, Thileithel, at the hands of the Miruvorthaer. Quietly she stands with her hands clasped behind her back. Conspicuously without a glass of any kind of wine.
A smile passes over Tatharwen's face and lingers in her eyes as she watches Eryndae begin the 'festivities' in earnest. She steps forward and picks up another scarf, in both offer of help to the Miruvorthaer and, as she glances around at others in the garden, a subtle challenge for one of them to step forward. She leans over to the Herunnur and says in quiet mirth, "I think my own tasting will have to wait, but would you set aside a glass for me? I want to properly enjoy such a rare surprise as one of your fine old wines."
Thileithel nods. "I will accept your challenge." The scarf around his neck is softly scented with some fragrance, and he takes a deep breath as he waits for Eryndae to tie it fast.
The Herion's words draw Eryndae's eye, and clearly her voice. "Ah, Master Elladan, and dearest Lithriel!" she calls, now in more formal greeting to the pair. "What drink you might seek will surely be among those here, even two newer vintages for so fine an occasion. Would you care to sample as well? Though I must caution you..." Here the vintner and warrior pauses, smile flashing all the more brightly as she ties a red silk scarf snugly over her cousin's eyes. "...Agreement shall lead you to a fate much like that of our good Hirvaethor."
"Few things could better complement the company in which I have been so blessed and delighted tonight than a cup of wine," Lithriel concurs, gaze lingering on Ellandan mayhaps a half-heartbeat longer than would be requisite or proper. Then she looks toward Eryndae and Thileithel, adding, "Though I suspect somehow that a modicum of merry-making may be in the offering, despite the lack, by the norm, of such joviality within those we join. I shall be interested indeed to see whether those we join have enjoyed their libations sufficiently long to enable such cheer and comfort of behavior." In other words, they been drinkin' enough to remove ramrods from spines?
And again Caelwen's head set in a nod toward Lord Elladan. "I am eager to be home again, but the kindness your people have shown ours has been wonderful. I will certainly drink to that." Her gaze roams back toward the gathering idly.
A nod of deep respect and gratitude is returned to Elladan before Lothdaimoth moves nearer to Caelwen. Softly he murmurs in her ear, nodding to several among the crowd. As his eyes glance across the crowd, a flashing smile is bestowed on those few he recognizes. Most of his attention seems to be given to the wine tables and the vintners gathered around.
In the distractions of building converse, the Arphedor finally breaks free from his lonely perch. Thileithel's ordeal he treats with a warmer smile tugging at his lips. Easily he walks up to the pair from the Golden Wood, addressing them in merry voice, tone hushed.
"I have heard of the departure nigh at hand, wondering if this night words of farewell must be exchanged, or if another opportunity will present itself? If not then I need a word with one of you, mellyn" and evident is Randinen's glance to Lothdaimoth, ere he faces Caelwen and throws her an apologetic grin.
"And have you recovered, mellon? For I remember still the reluctance in your pace when we bid you to visit our Halls of Healing." speaks he, if not before she is done in her address to the Herion.
Thileithel can see little through the scarf, except for the light from the lamps, tinted red by the fabric over his eyes. He stands patiently and wonders whether his cousin has something in mind besides tasting only wine.
A nod or two follows Lothdaimoth's whispers, and a warmer smile is thrown to Eryndae, whether or not she is watching to catch it. Caelwen's attention is then thieved by Randinen, bright eyes lifting. "Aye, I have, and all due to the care of Imladris' healers, to whom I am still well grateful. I wish I had a gift to give to Glasiel o Laiquendi ere I left." Her grin widens, tone growing eager. "And yes, I do believe we leave soon. I don't know when I'll have another chance to bid your people farewell."
Sparkling white wine effervescent within, the Miruvorthaer lifts the crystal flute still delicately in her hand to just beneath Thileithel's nose. Then with careful grace she guides his hand with hers to clasp around the stem of the glass, leaving him free of all but the weight of her gaze unseen beneath the strip of fabric. "Now, good cousin, enjoy at last! Though do share your experience with us, for I am eager to hear what blind assessment comes close to in reality. Pray tell, what do you smell and taste?"
She now stands before Thileithel, hands clasped elegantly just below the sash at her waist. From a ways away, Caelwen's words reach keen ears, lending a more subtle smile in the direction of the two of the Golden Wood.
"Of what nature you would wish this gift, mellon?" inquires Randinen, his voice still soft, if warm with eloquent words. And such a gentleness seaps into the cold folds of his mien, furrowing his brow in mild interest. "If your departure comes that swift, then indeed time is scarce! Then I am joyous, for the preparations made by some of the Valley's finest..."
A short pause steals into his voice, "... to present us an opportunity to share a cup of a fabled vintage."
Lothdaimoth looks down at Caelwen's eager tone and chuckles. Curiosity mingles with politeness as he looks back to Randinen. "I am at your disposal, did you wish to speak with me," he says courteously. Despite words and tone, his gaze returns ever and again to Eryndae and the wine.
Avarthol comes out from the house, stretching a bit as he had just been resting. He remains on the Garden porch for a while before stepping into the garden. Remembering today's wine testing, he grins a touch and heads towards the south end of the garden where the other elves are already gathering. As he approaches the group he greets them warmly, "Mae Govannen, mellyn."
Thileithel's touch goes from the soft skin of Eryndae's hand to the firm glass of the goblet. He brings the wine up slowly, letting its aroma filter slowin to his nose. "Hmmm." The Hirvaethor hesitates as he breaths deeply, noting every aspect of what he is smelling. Finally, he brings the rim of the goblet to his lips and takes more than a sip, but less than a full gulp, and he holds it before swallowing.
Keeping a straight face, he notes, "This is interesting wine, cousin. What do you call it?"
Presently, but not before an arch glance to Lithriel, and an almost roguish smile; the son of Elrond removes himself to the linen-draped, drink-laden tables near to hand, and, with the adroit skill of a connoiseur of fine wine, selects a bottle of the very best, then charges two glasses generously, and returns to the Lady-Randir's side, one of the flutes preferred to her grasp. "Verily," he answers her whispered word at the last, smiling blithely; "But I wonder what it is that you intend to do about it?"
Attention caught by Lothdaimoth, Randinen turns to aptly grin at the edhel, "Yes, if you have a moment? I wish to share something with you in secrecy, mellon." and following the glance of the Galadhrim, a bright chime of laughter escapes the Awardan's lips.
"Though fear not I would consume much of your time. Not if other interests desire your most attentive presence."
The sound of voices--so many echoing from the South Garden--attracts a wanderer of the lower gardens as surely as the flowers attract the bees. She walks carrying tools uncharacteristic to her usual hobby; instead of drum and beater she has a small wicker basket in one hand, with folded lengths of white cloth folded over the same arm. Nyashcala's brows hint towards each other as she approaches, pushing her hair behind one delicately pointed ear. She does not speak, not quite yet, but obviously is quite curious as to the proceedings and their cause.
As she watches those who are tasting and talking and savoring and speaking, Lithriel lets her fingers brush ever so lightly upon the Herion's hand as she recovers the glass from his grasp, murmuring, "I am charged with behavior beyond question this day, and thus I pray you do not tempt me to do what comes naturally with one that is thusly compromised." Her eyes, however, twinkle with merriment and mischief.
"Why, something of my craft, of course," Caelwen replies promptly to Randinen's first question. "But I was too weak to try out your wheels at first, and now there is not enough time." A sigh, and unclad shoulders lift in a shrug. At his mention of wine, her fond and hopeful gaze raises to Lothdaimoth's face. Glancing between the two, the young Indiri chuckles a little. "Ai! I think I see Nyashcala. If you'll excuse me.." and toward the drummer she walks.
Slipping from Thileithel's side with a light touch fleeting across his shoulder, Eryndae calls back to him admist her retreat into the growing crowd. "A trusted Eldaril, Thileithel!" she chuckles. "Amazing what one notices in an old favorite when bereft of the aid of eyesight, do you not agree?" Thus with renewed laughter and quickened footsteps by bare feet over dewkissed grass, the Miruvorthaer fades into the gathering with more scarves in hand.
Tatharwen, following Thileithel's sipping of the wine, nevertheless steps out a few paces and holds up the white silk scarf in her hand. "Mellyn, who will test one of the wines on offer tonight?" Her eyes sparkling with laughter, she continues, "Or perhaps it is you who will be tested! Your senses, at the very least."
An equally merry laugh rings in response. "I have been caught. My apologies for such dire rudeness, mellon." Lothdaimoth bows extravagently. "Shall we step aside? No doubt there will be plenty of time for 'other interests'."
"You are charged?" Elladan inquires, curiosity piqued; he continues, mien mirthful; "Who was it that placed you under such restraint? Surely 'twas not I." Some might wonder if he were not goading the Randir toward some uncharitable act.
"No need, mellon, no need!" speaks Randinen, quick to assure the Counsel.
"Their ears," with an idle flick of his wrist the Awardan gestures towards the crowd of quendi, "... are captivated by other converse, as their eyes stray with the displayed vintage. Verily their mind is not set, nor their eyes keen, to unravel the soft words I confide now to you." Stepping closer, slowly the Hirvaethor leans towards the Vintner, a whisper to tremble his lips.
Thileithel remains standing, his sightless gaze directed straight ahead as he sips the wine in his hand. The results of his tasting are not readily apparent, as his face is still rather serene, neither displeased nor satisfied.
Randinen +whispers to you, "Your commendable efforts in the archery competition were not fruitless, nor left unremarked. I have discussed the matter with the Tournament Comittee and forfeited my first place in the Second Group; you to come in second. And thus not I, yet you are to claim that prize. My congratulations and I pray your prize shall be given to you ere you depart. Otherwise the more reason I have to come visit and bestow you with the honour earned in the Herdir's Vale."
Laughing all the more, Lithriel casts a speculative look toward the blindfolded Thileithel, chews a mite on her lip, and heaves a sigh. "I promised myself that I would be more proper an elleth this evening. You are dreadful to inspire me to my normal mood, Herion!"
Several 'volunteers' step forward, and Tatharwen is joined by more Gwinthaer who fix the silk scarves securely on eyes and glasses in hand. The choice of what goes in the glasses appears to be made among any and all of the wines and cordials on the table. Alone a large barrel in the center of the table remains yet untapped and untouched. In fact, it has been 'blindfolded' itself, being wrapped in blue silk tied with rope, as if to conceal something that might be found on its side.
Faerlin still stands on tiptoes and spies Nyashcala, judging from her smile it was the said elleth that she sought. Furthermore she procedes to thread her way between the elves towards the basket carrying elleth calling "Oh there you are mellon! I have been looking for you...do you remember.." She glances around then as if she were going to speak of some secret.
Nyashcala's face brightens as she sees Faerlin moving towards her, and almost at the same moment that Faerlin calls, she begins to speak. "Faerlin-mellon! What is it that is going-" The drummer cuts herself off in a small fit of giggles, and waves her hand in a continuing gesture. "Oh, do go on, my curiosity may wait. Do I remember what, my friend?" She does not seem to quite pick up on Faerlin's sudden secretive behaviour.
Leaning a little inwards himself to listen, silk sliding with muted whisper on silk, Lothdaimoth's grin freezes at the other's muted words. Straightening, both eyebrows shooting skyward, he stares at Randinen for several moments. 'But.. he protests and then abruptly lowers his own voice to a murmur. "I.. I thank you, mellon, truly. But I did lose in fair contest - I need not to take your prize!"
Faerlin leans closer to Nyaschcala and whispers "Mellon, a certain bottle of wine we put away some considerable time ago, an experiment more than anything. Shall we go and see if we can find it? It might be fun if nothing else..." She laughs then but glances at the other elleth's basket.
Raising a hasty facade of being taken aback, Elladan answers Lithriel thus: (With voice and expression seeming almost genuinely innocent) "Why, lady!" he exlaims, though, with jollity scarce-contained, "I must say I am shocked to hear you say you think me dreadful; much less so underhanded!"
Delicately, sweetly, softly does Lithriel, in answer to such innocent eloquence as just espoused by Elladan, snort. Once.
Clasping the Vintner's shoulder, Randinen shakes his head slowly, furrowing a deep frown, as if the Counsel were to speak in jest, "Nay, mellon, 'twas not my prize to be. I had been asked to be the Herald of the field, rules do exist he with that task ought not participate! And neither will I see your brave attempt, shamed by my expertise. In that the challenge was unjust, and 'tis why you must accept the prize, for I mind it not and my heart gladdens to see one of our guests bestowed with appropriate honour."
Withdrawing his hand the Awardan wheels around, 'Spare a moment, I shall return shortly.' Briskly Randinen weaves through the crowd, eyes intent on the Idherveld; Tatharwen.
Tatharwen watches the testing of several wines with evident pleasure in her craft, answering now to this one, "Yes indeed, a Culyave! But that was easy." And to another, "You are right about the strawberry in the cordial, mellon. There is an herb as well...but that is the only hint you'll get from me." Stepping to Thileithel's side, she taps his arm gently, as if not to startle the unsighted edhel. "The Miruvorthaer left you at white, but would you like to try a red?"
The light sounds of laughter and silvery clink of glasses lure a curious interloper from the direction of the herb garden. Her fingers and nails -- and knees of her skirts -- quite smutched with soil, Ailiell hesitates in the midst of the merriment. Brushing back her wild locks, and thus leaving a loamy streak across her brow, she murmurs vaguely, "Oh dear me...What have I wandered into?"
"Oh, of course I remember this bottle, Faerlin!" Nyashcala shifts her basket to hang off her arm, also, so that she may press her hands together with the excitement. "I am afraid I should not share in it..not now..." She smiles apologetically. "The healers told me that I must stick to water and juices, that the wine will not be good for the child...but I would be more than delighted to help you find it...and perhaps I can indulge in a sip or two." She shifts the fabric over her arm as if trying to get it to drape more comfortably. "I am sure there is someplace safe in the cellar that I might put my sewing while we look."
Caelwen stalls in her approach toward Nyashcala and Faerlin, and discreetly watches the whispering ellith. Color rises faintly to her cheeks, and after a moment of hesitance, turns instead to stride toward Tatharwen, smile friendly and open. "Need you still volunteers, mellon?" Her eyes slide to Randinen as he walks toward the same elleth, and she looks over her shoulder to glance at Lothdaimoth.
Pouring himself a glass of some red wine, Avarthol smells it first before taking a sip, enjoying the taste emensly. As Ailiell arrives, the tracker smiles, "A bit of wine tasting, mellon. There are several to choose from." As if to accent his point he takes another sip of his choosen wine.
The Counsel opens his mouth as if to protest, but his words are stilled even before he has chance to begin. "Then I thank you again. I am honored by such generosity of spirit." The warmth and pressure of Randinen's hand are withdrawn, the other elf disappearing into the crowd; and for several minutes, Lothdaimoth simply stares after him bemusedly.
Faerlin nods in understanding to Nyashcala "A sip and no more, neither the healers or Ansraer would forgive me if I let you drink overly of it but come on, I'd like to see if I can find it!" Without further ado the Tellenistril is picking her way northwards through the gardens.
Nyashcala follows eargerly behind, skirts and cloth all held up to avoid being trampled upon as she tags along with her friend.
And ere the Idherveld may realize what impending doom draws nigh, the Arphedor appears at her right side, a demanding hand placed on her shoulder. Wordless he remains, awaiting, finding time to discover Caelwen; the elleth is thrown a grin and a sparkling visage, for mischief is fondly kindled.
The Herunnur has sat on her place awfully silent for a long time, quite absent and oblivious to all that's happening around her. Although she has let her glass be filled with quite a few different wines, she has not uttered her opinions of them. Perhaps it was the thought of the stories behind her own bottle of wine that sent her so deep into her thoughts.
And after a while, she stands up and at all the merry quendi around. "Forgive me, mellyn, but I think I should go," she mutters. "Namarie, and enjoy the wines - feel free to taste mine as well," Neltilwen states her good-bye, and leaves towards the terraces, leaving her bottle on the table.
Snorted at, as it were, even whilst setting his glass to his lips; Elladan betrays no surprise at the happenstance, though for a surety none has ever shown him such audacity, either in good humour or bad. Clasping still the crystal flute between his fingers, the Herion imbibes thereof, then lowers the vessel. At length, he clears his throat. "Randir," he says gravely, "You are, as ever," he pauses, quite serious, "A thorough delight; whose wit is surpassed only by her beauty." With that, he takes her hand in his, and lays a kiss upon it softly.
Looking rather feral with her blackened nailbeds and grime-streaked face, Ailiell, nonetheless, smiles quite tamely at the tracker. "A wine tasting? Hmm. What is on offer?" The young healer meanders towards the table and those gathered about it.
Tatharwen smiles warmly as the elleth of the Galadhrim approaches the wine table. Leaving Thileithel's side a moment, she bows her head lightly to Caelwen. "If you would taste one of our wines or cordials, it would be my pleasure to offer one. I am Tatharwen, Idherveld and Gwinthaer." Noticing Randinen approach as well, she says, "Awardan, have you come to taste something as well?"
Caelwen's eyes widen faintly at the glance and grin thrown to her by Randinen, but it is only a moment longer ere a giggle spills from her mouth like bubbles popping, and another glance is cast to Lothdaimoth, this one suspicious. A curtsy is dropped before Tatharwen, a sweeping of skirts that still relishes the grace of the healthy form. She arises again. "Your wines and cordials are all marvellous here, and yes, I would like to try them again."
Another council of vintners? For these craftsmen seem to be slowly gathering around the wine table as if in expectation of something. One of them steps forward and begins tapping the silk-wrapped barrel on the center of the table that has, as yet, been untouched. Others prepare glasses as if to serve a large number.
"Taste?" echoes Randinen, drifting into playful contemplation, ere he shakes slowly his head; and he hides not the twinkle in his eye, "Nay, I fear not. These wines are too common, truly would you have brought a delight to my heart, to provide us a different brew; yet I see, such desires must be kept longer, till a party ventures forth to realms whither we may obtain these draughts."
"Though I do have a request, if you will but listen." continues he, voice growing more solemn. And anew he whispers, secret words entrusted to the Idherveld.
Tatharwen returns Caelwen's smile and, glancing around at her fellow vintners' activity, she says, "If you will but wait a moment, I think we will soon have something special to offer you." This answer seems prophetic to Randinen's words which then reach her ears, and at his mention of a request, she leans in to listen.
The kiss laid upon her knuckles has a substantial and to-be-hastily-denied effect on the otherwise fearless and unflappable Randir: the moment Elladan praises and kisses, Lithriel turns colors most often found in wine cups and on rose bushes. After a stumbled few syllables, she relies on a drink from her glass to burrow whatever answer she attempted but could not in fact manage.
Randinen +whispers to Tatharwen, "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ...! ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...? ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...?"
Caelwen nods once to Tatharwen and steps a few paces back at the whisperings, pale toes curling in the grass while her fingertips are hid within her sleeves.
Avarthol finishes up the last of his wine and slowly withdraws from the crowd, heading back towards the forests to attend to his duties there.
Tatharwen +whispers to Randinen, "... ..., Hirvaethor, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...."
A nearby Seinthaer is summoned from his work of arranging glasses on a tray, and at Tatharwen's words, nods and makes haste towards the house. Turning back to Randinen, she says less quietly now, "The medals are still being polished by the artisans, I believe. Perhaps you know of someone who could be sent to request it?"
Perusing the colorful assortment with a curious eye, Ailiell hums lightly to herself. Her gaze lilts slowly over Randinen, an intrigued smile flickering over her lips. But it is an elleth who truly catches her attention. "Ah, Caelwen!" Brushing once more at her errant curls, she smiles warmly at the elleth. "Good to see you awake and on your feet. I trust you are feeling entirely well now?"
Whether or not the Randir's reaction were lost on Elladan, or well known to him; remains unknown. He himself drinks at length from his glass, saying nought.
Caelwen's gaze returns to Tatharwen, curiosity enwreathed by peridot irises. Her name pulls her attention aside. "Oh! Aye, mellon." A smile surfaces, and she steps closer to Ailiell with some relief. "Much better indeed. As I have said before, I shall say again: I am indebted to Imladris' healers and will never forget what has been done for me and my kin here. How fare you?"
Decively the Arphedor nods, performing a short bow, chuckling while he regains his tall stature, "Thus it has been decided, for I wished it not else. Yet no service do I hold over you, mellon, lest you wish to volunteer for the venture I spoke of earlier?" flashing a grin the Hirvaethor steps a pace way from the Idherveld's side.
"I leave to you to see arranged what we discussed, though I will take great pleasure in presenting what accompanies the prize you just uttered."
Laughing, more at ease, Lithriel gives Elladan a brilliant smile, the sort that sings of amusement from the very base of her heart, before asking, "Are people indeed going hither and yon whilst we still have before us an edhel whose vision is obscured by cloth? Surely there is fun to be had."
The barrel now tapped, a rich, dark red wine pours forth into crystal arranged on trays. As trays are filled, the Gwinthaeri disperse themselves among the crowd and begin offering the glasses to all, with whispered requests not yet to drink of the wine. It seems a speech will be given first, for the Miruvorthaer Ninglorind steps forward and addresses the gathering with a cry of welcome.
Thileithel finishes what proved to be an exceedingly deep goblet of wine, or was it so distasteful, he could only stomach it in sips, if that? The Elf hands off his empty vessel to a passing servant and looks around at those around him, trying to judge by their expressions how they are reacting to the wine. As his head turns, Thileithel notices the red being poured, and he moves in that direction with a determined gait.
A cup of wine finally fitted to her hand, Caelwen's face is turned to the welcome cry
"Speak not of debt," says Ailiell gently. "There is nothing owed. Only be well and happy." Happily unaware of her smudged state, she continues on smilingly. "I fare well enough on this lovely day." She takes another breath, which leads nowhere in particular as an edhel wanders past with a tray of glasses and attention is called.
A glass appears underneath Lothdaimoth's distracted nose and he looks at it uncertaintly for a second before taking it with a smile.
The Miruvorthaer waits for the noise of the crowd to diminish before continuing. "The vintners of Imladris have been most pleased to host this Feast of Games along with our Guard, and like all of you we have cheered along with great feats of skill and have feasted in merriment. For our part in this tournament, we offered a new vintage of wine, a bottle of which has been presented to the winners of each of the events. Now we present this new vintage for the enjoyment of all." He reaches over and removes the silk wrapping from the barrel, revealing the writing on its side which names it 'Mandramorn.'
May it bring joy and health to you all!" With this, Ninglorind takes a glass and holds it in toast, then drinks, an invitation for all to do the same.
"So it seems," Elladan answers Lithriel; "But then mayhap these others here have not a taste for your rather unique brand of 'fun', Randir?"
As the rising of the welcoming cries, Randinen grows silent. Thus he draws himself in a demeanour both attentive and wary of Ninglorind. And his eyes speak, where his lips do not, a grey hue, flickering as with the sea, with waves relentless and ever afoot; shallow depths hinted at within his reflection.
The well-wishes spoken, even the Arphedor lifts a glass in hand, sipping tentatively, a frown to plague his brow.
"It is my experience, esteemed Lord and Son of Elrond," chortles Lithriel, "that many are those who enjoy laughing but few are those who do so in concert with me, for my amusement is a rarified thing." She giggles - scarcely dignified with the gown she wears and the otherwise dignified mein she has chosen for tonight - and promises, "I shall leave poor Thileithel be for now, but mind you do not scamper about thusly blindfolded, Elladan, for I shall not be so merciful with you."
Lifting her glass with mild trepidation, Ailiell quirks a brow, sniffing surreptitiously. Finding no need of caution, she sips of it, casting a sidelong glance to those nearby.
"Why is everyone so wary?" murmurs Caelwen to Ailiell, but her glass is lifted alike to others, lace sleeves swaying, then brought to her mouth. A sip is held between lips to linger there ere the swallow is taken. The cup lowered again, she licks at a lip and smiles.
Tatharwen watches her father address the crowd and raises her own glass to her lips, tasting the deep, smoky warmth of the wine as if for the first time. She glances around as if looking for someone, perhaps the Seinthaer she has sent on an errand. Upon spotting his return, she makes her way through the crowd and receives a bottle of wine from his hand. This she brings to the Hirvaethor Randinen, and discreetly offers it to him. The look in the warrior's eyes unsettling her, she ask, "The wine does not please you, Randinen?"
"Perhaps I shall do as you say;" Elladan laughs, brushing a wayward whisp of raven hair from before his eyes with an elegant hand, the ruffle of his sleeve fluttering across his brow, "Or perhaps not; I am rather intrigued."
The glass he holds is lifted up to catch the light, Lothdaimoth examining the rich red of the contents with interest. A small sniff brings a smile to his face and he takes a little taste, swirling the liquid in his mouth while his expression goes contemplative. At last he swallows and takes another sip, his smile growing.
As if disturbed amidst the pondering of a great dilemma, Randine looks up; expression puzzled, "Hmm?" says he, blinking from the offered bottle, to the glass in his hand, to the Idherveld.
"Nay!" hastens he then to continue, ere a wry grin captures his lips, ""Tis not the taste I fear, yet the unlooked for attempts of your fellows to rob me of my visage."
As she moves Elladan's hair from his eyes, hair that was stubborn in its desire to hang before that noble brow and across those vivid irises, Lithriel murmurs, "Do not think your lofty rank shall forestall such abuse; among those in Mithlond knees still tremble at mention of my horrid nature!"
Smiling, Ailiell answers Caelwen softly, "I cannot speak for the others. I have had my own...adventures...in wine." She lifts her current glass with an appreciative smile, however. "The vintners here are beyond all reproach." Her dark glance wanders over the gathering, seeking someone in particular.
Moving over toward the cask, Thileithel catches a vintner by the arm and whispers in the young elleth's ear. She smiles sweetly as she walks away. Swiftly returning, she hands the Hirvaethor a fresh goblet filled with the new red. He thanks her with a smile, then proceeds to taste it in the same way he tasted the white before.
"Well, now;" answers Arwen's brother, "I am rightly warned, it seems;" but he smiles beguilingly, "Yet still I may defy the danger of your jokery."
"Adventures?" queries Caelwen, another sip stolen from her cup with a smile to fit the swallow. Curious, her eye befalls Ailiell anew. "What happened? Would you tell of it?" She smiles, lips stained a deeper hue near the crease.
"Fine, fine," Lithriel allows as she puts aside her empty glass, "but let the onus be on you and the wrath of your father upon someone other than me." Then she tugs a bit on Elladan's sleeve. "Shall we cease standing apart from the others so as to enjoy the nearness of others before I oblige your challenge and abuse you something fierce?"
Slowly coming out from the Herb garden, Olathlinn walks, nodding to every one there. She is calm and smiling, but may be not in the mood to taste wine. She walks her way in the crowd.
From within the house arrives Helegrhofel, smiling at the present quendi. He quickly glances at Tatharwen, still bewildered since their last contact. "Well met!", says he as he comes south from the porch, "I was working at the Hall of the Istfariath above, but your voices and the scent of fine wine was more than enough to lure me", he adds, "...and here I am"; a grin is drawn on his face. "Well, I guess I can serve myself", he wonders as he comes closer to the gathered.
The elisthir blinks and wave gently to Randinen, even if she is sure he is too busy to even notice she is well and no more stiff. She disappears, almost running into Helegrhofel. (Olath)
"And here I was so enjoying sole claim on you," Elladan sighs, "But, Lady, if it is your wish, then I shall not deny others both our company." He inclines his head, noticing that both he and Lithriel hold empty glasses, "For now, though, another drink?"
The passing of many elves distracting her attention, Tatharwen has left the comment of Randinen unanswered. Realizing her discourtesy in doing so, she turns back and apologizes. "Forgive me, Awardan. Robbed you?" Puzzlement is still in her eyes even as she nods in greeting to Helegrhofel and Olathlinn.
Thileithel turns his head and catches sight of Olathlinn departing rapidly after her glance at the Hirvaethor. He shakes his head in some amusement and turns back to his goblet, which has swiftly been emptied in the last few minutes.
With a heavy sigh, as if the burdens of a millennium were upon her shoulders, Lithriel remarks, "Oh, alas, I care not for the fermented grape, but if I must amuse those who apply their days to the tasks of winemaking, then I shall partake of another glass. Woe is me."
And at that innocent word of reply, Randinen hastily returns his glass to the table, glancing across his shoulder. "Aye, it seems the scarves are our foes tonight. Oft I trust more to the eye than the ear, forgive me such antics. Think ye I may have a chance to rouse the attention? If so, I suggest we so to it, this bottle and the prize, are given to their rightful owner?"
From around a cluster of quendi caught in animated conversation, Eryndae strolls back toward the wine table with an empty cask in her careful grasp. With effortless grace in so simple a task, she exhanges it for another of blown cobalt blue glass, uncorking it nimbly with the aid of a small silvered wedge. The Miruvorthaer then pours a half glass to lift to pale lips in a modest, yet lengthy draught.
Absorbed in enjoyment of the wine, Lothdaimoth lets the ebb and flow of chatter and laughter around him go mostly unnoticed. By now, his glass is nearly empty, though each sip has been slow, the better to appreciate the wine.
"It is his to enjoy indeed," Tatharwen says in answer to Randinen, "If I may then be reassured from your words that the wine is enjoyable, both in color and taste. Lead on, then, for it is yours to present to him."
A faint blush starting high in her fair cheeks, Ailiell chuckles and lightly clears her throat. With a quick glance to her companion she begins in a very hushed voice, "I...er...thought it wise to sample Eryndae's finest one evening." She smirks into her glass, taking another tiny sip. "Following a harrowing interview with Master Elrond. Needless to say -- merriment ensued."
Thileithel slips over to stand beside Eryndae. "Are you enjoying your concoction, cousin?"
"Woe indeed!" Elladan laughs, whilst pouring another glass for the Randir and himself both, at the table; then, returning to her side, he hands over her glass once again, "Now then, are the vintners suitably amused with your discomfiture, I wonder?"
Helegrhofel walks to the barrel, gets a glass from the nearby table and slowly fills it with a dark red beverage. He takes a sip whith closed eyes, feeling the noble scent and smooth taste, as if in a ritual.
A dark brow, elegant and slender, crooks upward above Lithriel's left eye. "What discomfiture?" she queries. And it's a trick of the light that her cheeks seem rosy too.
And lo! queer are the ways of an Arphedor, his mind bend to heights when their lips shiver with speech, to capture the attention of all. And what better way to survey aught, to find a height to tower from... thus Randinen, by aid of a gracious leap, is upon the table! Stirring a few unguarded empty glasses -- though none fall to their doom.
"Lothdaimoth!" cries the Awardan in strong bidding voice, eyes intent upon the Galadhrim he calls so openly by name.
"Step forth, Lothdaimoth so all may gaze upon you, for there is more to be said, ere you pass the borders of the Herdir's vale; to return to the Care of your Lady fair!" and with proper dignity Randinen wields the bottle of wine in his hand, as it endures his gestures to support his speech.
"Why, lady;" Elladan says, blithely ignoring the maid's rose-hued cheeks. "Your self-confessed discomfiture at drinking wine, to what other would I refer?"
More giggles spill from Caelwen's mouth into her cup, and she lifts same cup kiss anew. "Ai! I must admit I did the same when first I approached Lord Aegraum about the crafters. The Craftmaster can be unsettling as well." A louder laugh glitters forth. "And what shame is there in merry-making, mellon?"
But here, Randinen leaps atop the table, and Lothdaimoth's name is called. Bright eyes so unlike her cousin's in hue turn to the Counsel-Vinter, and Caelwen's laughing grin shines fondly upon her kin and no other.
At Ailiell's quiet aside to Caelwen, Eryndae enjoys a quiet chuckle of her own, silvered eyes sparkling over the lantern-lit rim of her goblet. Thileithel's company would seem welcome by the fleeting smile as her glass lowers from lips anew. "Well enough, indeed. Though it brings me not as much joy as to see others so merry. And what of you? Have you enjoyed the wine?" she inquires, leaning back against a tree trunk, poised shoulders now fully relaxed.
Lothdaimoth looks up startled. The faintest hint of red stains his pale cheeks, but he takes a few steps forward before stopping again. The black of raiment, with its golden broidered design of the lions of his house, shimmer in the light of many lamps. A grin, small at first, but growing larger each moment is given to Caelwen before it turns to the edhel perched aloft.
"Indeed, the offering of a new spirit is a cause of joy for those who enjoy and know of such things. I have not your skill, but long have I tasted." Thileithel holds up his now empty goblet in mute testimony. "What is the secret?"
And 'tis till this moment Randinen stilled his tongue, nodding now, approval in his glance.
Anew he speaks, eloquent and for all to hear, "For it must be well known, hither, in this merry company, that our finest in marksmanship were not able to best our honorable guest from Lothlorien. Thus he earns your praise and lofty cheers, for as we know their travel was fraught with ill fortune; the more remarkable and commendable his achievement."
Lapsing into a short pause Randinen hops off the table -- succeeding to not shatter a single glass, "Therefore I present you this vintage... yet there is more."
If 'twere possible, Caelwen's grin gleams wider and her eyes gain a distinctive prideful glint to them. Still she watches Lothdaimoth more than Randinen.
"Well, that having been said," Lithriel chortles, quaffing the wine in one fell swoop - gulp, in actuality - before taking Elladan's arm. "I believe, my Lord, you owe me the pleasure of victimizing you? Have you delayed thus long enough?"
The wine perhaps was expected, but more? Words of thanks die still-born as confusion layers itself upon surprise. And Lothdaimoth's dark eyes remain fixed on Randinen.
"Ah, so, mine is the pleasure of being victimized?" a smile curls the Herion's lips, "So be it;" and, draining his own glass (which he then sets aside on the table) he then bids brief farewells to those others nearby.
A flaxen eyebrow quirks with amusement at Thileithel's inquiry. "And if I were to tell you, would it remain a secret, cousin?" Thus with a wink followed by an enigmatic smile, the Miruvorthaer turns her focus to Randinen and Lothdaimoth, an occasional glance cast back to Thileithel before she concedes this much in a hushed whisper. "It is all in spirit, and care taken to put one's heart into the wine. I will tell you more of it sometime, if the will still be yours on another day."
Smiling simply because of her proximity to Caelwen's beaming, Ailiell follows her gaze to where Lothdaimoth stands in honor. Quickly finishing off her wine, she hands it off to a passing elleth -- leaving grimy fingerprints on the glass -- and awaits Randinen's words.
At the Arphedor's side an edhel pops up to present him a small box. Accepting this Randinen smiles, turning his attention back to the Counsel. "I doubt the wine shall last that long, therefore we present you this..." now the box he gives to Lothdaimoth, removing the top, "A mark of your skill, more able to endure the decline of time and your taste for vintage." Thus he reveals a silver brooch, crafted skilfully in form of a longbow.
Reaching out his hand, the Awardan clasps the other's shoulders, "Be proud and fare you, and your company, well. I pray we may meet in times soon to come, with Sulimo's blessing." Then Randinen steps backwards, the first to raise a cheer, using this moment to slip into greater groups.
Thileithel smirks as he follows Eryndae's gaze. "I suppose I should simply remain ignorant of such things and just be content with the tasting. But I am the prying sort, I suppose. Why else do I wander?"
Caelwen's happy face turns to Ailiell, and low she speaks, "I would congratulate my cousin. Do you want to come?" She nods her head sideways toward the tall Counsel, then turns to pace toward him, mirthful voice lifting. "Let me see! What did they give you?" Faster she walks, and soon the Cennan stands by Lothdaimoth's side.
And after all, all Lothdaimoth can find to say is, "Thank you," repetitive as it may seem. The silver pin is turned over and over in long slender fingers until Caelwen appears at his side, begging to look. "See?" He hold it up between thumb and forefinger - then fumbles a little with the clasp, attempting to pin it to the heavy black silk of his tunic.
"To satisfy your curiosities as I do mine, I would venture," Eryndae chuckles in quiet aside. "I am sincere in my offer, cousin, though equally so in my wonders of your travels. It has been long since mine own feet roamed the wilder lands, though somehow it is not dearly missed."
Another sip here, and the lady's wine is drained. "Another day then. It has been too long since we have talked." With this, Eryndae places her empty goblet carefully on the table and slips off with a wave to Thileithel, and a flicker of a smile to the others, ere she passes into the night.
Thileithel smiles in return and sets his own glass down next to his cousin's. Looking around to see who all is still present, he notices for the first time the disappearance of Elladan and Lithriel, among others. "Hmm."
Caelwen reaches for the brooch, and at the same time offers her cup to her cousin. "Here-- I'll put it on for you, if you like." Again the merry elleth finds laughter trickling from her mouth. "You must have impressed the Imladhrim well with such a good shot you are." A blush reddens her ear-tips.
"Thank..." Lothdaimoth is beginning again when he starts to laugh. "Soon people will think I know of no other words." The brooch is relinquished and the tall counsel peers down to watch the proceedings with interest.
It is late summer and the night sky has begun to brighten visibly in the east. The peaks of the mountains are silhouetted against the rays of Anor as she climbs into the sky far to the east. Yet in this deep valley, the Elves remain in the deep dark shadows of the Misties. But dawn cannot be far off now.
Caelwen turns the brooch over in her hands, slim fingers tracing the lines. "Such a fine make it is," another giggle-- it seems she cannot stop laughing. "Your mother will like it, aye?" Her fingers slip beneath his collar to hold the ebon silk from him as she fastens the little silver longbow to his tunic-front. She takes a half-step back to admire silver against black, then forward again to place a soft kiss to his cheek as she steals her wineglass from him. Another step back, and a long sip stolen of the red drink.
Peering past the potter, Ailiell nods her approval of the gleaming silver. "Lovely. And well-deserved," she smiles. Noting the subtle pale shifting on the underbelly of the high clouds, her brows knit almost imperceptibly. "Your party sets out again this day, aye?"
With Elven grace along with long experience out in the wild, Thileithel seems to melt away into the night, retreating to a secluded corner of the Garden, a fresh bottle of the 'Mandramorn' under his arm.
Helegrhofel stands up, being sitting in a corner all this time, enjoying his wine, absorbed in thoughts. A page is in his hand. When he comes into the scene he says, "Well, this wine was more than good after all, and thus, I can recite one of my few poems now", he adds with a warm smile. "Although not finished, it is in the final stage, in case you wanted to listen", says he, indirectly asking the others for permission.
An amused indulgent glance is given Caelwen. Perhaps she has had a bit more to drink than strictly necessary, but it is a party. A nod to Ailiell, "Yes. Later today." A shrug banishes such less cheerful thoughts, although a frown of his own pinches black brows together until distraction comes in the form of poetry. "Certainly, mellon. I would be delighted to hear it." (Lothdaimoth)
Caelwen's bright eyes meet Lothdaimoth's glance with a twinkling clarity caught within. "Ai, so soon. I did not think I'd be sad to leave." She then turns her attention to Helegrhofel, a nod shaking her curls in the dawn to echo Lothdaimoth's wishes.
Helegrhofel waves to the quendi to come closer and slowly unfolds the sheet of paper. "Well, mellyn, words are needless", says he. With a gentle and smooth voice he starts reciting the poem:
"For long in the East I stayed,
among beloved and friends,
living my life in love and peace,
with worries, however, and threats.
I wasn't yet blissful though,
something had not yet been shown.
A deep desire hid in my heart,
in peace waiting for some sign.
Hearing the playful seagulls sing,
over the foamy coasts of the East,
the sea spoke to my heart,
alluring words were sang.
The deep desire awoke with might,
ruling my soul like the Silmarils' light."
Nodding once, Ailiell thinks for a moment, a small frown marring her brow. "I've something to send along with you," she murmurs to Caelwen. "Excuse me for a moment..." With an apologetic glance for Helegrhofel, she hurries from the garden towards the Halls of Healing.
Caelwen's head tilts, curls falling over a naked and freckled shoulder, as her peridot eyes remain intent on the poet.
The fingers of one hand move to run idly along the smooth silver arc of the pin, while Lothdaimoth listens intently to the quiet words of the poet.
Helegrhofel glances at his listeners now and then. As the second verse ends he takes a deep breath and goes on with the last of it:
"Thus, a ship I decided to build,
and over Belegaer the Great sail,
crossing the waves, fighting the wind,
for endless nights and days.
The lights, I saw at last, of Avallone,
and secured my ship in its haven.
Years later I set sail again,
heading to the Land that is Blessed.
Shorter this time the journey was,
the Bay of Eldamar I crossed,
until one day the land appeared, afar,
and happiness finally filled my heart.
I ended my journey at last,
putting my feet on undying grass."
Nodding in approval and appreciation, Lothdaimoth says, "Very nice indeed, mellon." Softer, almost shyly, he goes on. "Before we leave again.. a friend was saying she could not picture the Mallyrn and I thought.. perhaps you would care to listen to a small description of our home?"
Lifting her skirts from the dawn dew, Ailiell reappears from the shadows of the herb garden. Catching the Counsel's words she slows, smiling. "We would be honored, I'm sure. If only Nyashcala were here to listen!"
Caelwen's smile is unwavering through Helegrhofel's poem, though occasionaly a wine-glass hides it. She, too, nods in agreement, curls bouncing as day whitens the valley, then slides her eye to Lothdaimoth. "I certainly would," she speaks low. "I miss the mallyrn a good deal by now."
A wide grin appears on the face of Helegrhofel, "Since my bowstring was broken and I had not much time to practice, I had time to spend on my poems. And the wine surely helped". Hearing Lothdaimoth, he laughs, "But I know of the Golden Wood very well, mellon, you see I was born and raised there. And I too know how the Mallyrn look like. However, it would be great to listen to your poem and remember of the past"
"I did not know that. Alas that only now have I discovered others from home - when there is no longer time to speak with them." The Gwaepedir pauses, gaze unfocusing - dark eyes seeing something now that lies long distance away. Softer, quieter, his voice is the warm roughness of dark velvet
"Green the grass that verdant grows
on tiny knolls beneath the trees
soft the moss that stepping swift
and silent feet do silent tread.
Sweet the fragrance flowers thread
among the moss beneath the trees
Golden flowers bringing ease to weary mind,
and peace to weary feet.
Silver trunks: their golden leaves
whisper in the silken breeze
The breeze that winds its golden thread
'round silver string of brook's soft rippling.
Lorien:
Even the silence is filled with singing."
Lothdaimoth's still deep voice comes to a halt and he stands, still lost in reverie and memories of his beloved Golden Woods. The sky brightens and lamps dim as the sun creeps ever higher.
Closing her eyes as the edhel's voice echoes over the still garden, a smile slips over the healer's face. As silence falls, she applauds softly, continuing on her path towards him. "I miss the mallyrn now, Lothdaimoth," she says with a quiet, rueful chuckle.
Helegrhofel claps his hands in applause for Lothdaimoth. "It is really great", he sighs, "and reminds me of Lothlorien, truly", he adds. "What a pity, you are not staying longer", Helegrhofel murmurs. "I will soon visit you, though, in the Golden Wood", says he with a smile, 'soon' with the elvish meaning and according to their perception of time.
Caelwen's head dips a little to her cousin's familiar voice, and her eyes drift shut to dim the unfamiliar world around her. Circles dance in circles as her hand trembles the wine in her cup, and when the poem is done, she opens her eyes and drains the glass. "Ai! I am so eager to be home again!" her wistful voice chimes. "And a fair poem, that one. One of my favorites. You are skilled with words as ever, cousin." But she avoids looking at Lothdaimoth, and a free hand is plucking at her scalp.
Several copper hairs are given to Helegrhofel. "Here," she says simply. "For your bow." Her cup is abandoned on a table, and a wide curtsy swept to the small group. "Namarie, then. I believe I have forgotten to pack a pair of slippers." She is soon gone.
"I always miss the mellyrn." Lothdaimoth's smile has turned wistful tinged with the slightest hint of sadness. "I am glad you enjoyed it..." Black silk rustles softly as he sighs. "I too will be glad to be home."
Helegrhofel, amused but happy at the same time, looks at Caelwen and wonders at the ease with which she pulls the hairs from her scalp. "Namarie... and thank you... Caelwen", says he, "we shall meet at Lothlorien again", he adds with a warm smile as the elleth disappears in the house. "Well, I seem to be lucky", Helegrhofel grins and gazes at the copper hairs on his hand. He closes his fingers, strongly holding them. To Lothdaimoth he says, "Please thank her again. It is the best gift I have been given a long time now", he sighs as he drinks the last sip of his wine.
"And soon you shall be safely home. Now," Ailiell says quietly, slipping alongside the Counsel. From a leather pouch about her waist, she draws a corked, cobalt blue bottle, etched with a fine, fair script -- healing words. "I would that you would take this, mellon." Lowering her voice, as though holding to the belief that to name an evil is to bring it upon oneself, she continues. "May you have no need of it. But it is geranium root, and will stop any bleeding. And here," she lifts a small pouch alongside it. "Tulaxar for the same. Should the need arise." Her dark eyes are kind and gentle as she adds more loudly, "May no shadow cross your path. And may the peace of this valley go with you, as a memory of rest when you are travelworn. Namarie." Bending a warm smile on him then, she steps away.
"I will." The words are directed to Helegrhofel. "She will be pleased to hear it." Unexpectedly Lothdaimoth finds several small things pressed into his hands, and he lifts sable eyes to meet those of the healer. "My thanks. May your words rise to Manwe's ears and beseech his blessing on our journey." Very quietly, he whispers - to himself perhaps as no one else is near enough to hear, "That we all come safe again to our home."
"I shall be going to get some rest now, mellon", the historian says as he moves to the north. "Will you be coming with me to the house?", he asks and quickly adds, "I hope you will have a safe return journey. May the jewels of Varda lit your path. And by the way, can you come to my quarters to give you some gifts for my family and a letter for them?", he questions him politely, "Oh, and something for Caelwen, for her kindness. We shall see", he finishes.
Recalled from a long distance, Lothdaimoth's eyes focus at last on Helegrhofel's face. "Of course," he says with a smile. "Lead on." One arm sweeps out widely. "I will follow."