================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Early Morning About 8:34 AM
IC day is: Orithil Moon-day
IC date is: 19 Echuir Stirring
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous HIDDEN
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 4 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3028
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RL time: Sat May 10 18:51:27 2003
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Healing Talan
This hushed talan is a quiet place of healing for those Galadhrim injured in battle. White robed Quendi, one wearing a bracelet, easily walk about, tending to visitors, offering refreshments, and various other small jobs. Meanwhile patients lie on comfortable, sparkling pads, gazing out at a sweeping view of the wood. Sunlight streams though the leaves of the mellyrn, casting dancing shadows on the wooden floor. The air has a fresh, clean feeling. You feel better just resting here for a moment.


It must be peaceful in the Wood lately, for few are here. This space is filled with midafternoon light, and birdsong, and that faint, damp scent that informs the nose that spring is thinking of arriving soon.

Caelwen strolls restlessly about, her feet stroking the familiar talan-wood beneath her toes and heels in slow step. A clean silk hem licks at her ankles, and her hands do not know what to do with themselves... but her eyes do, as their place seems to be with Lothdaimoth.


Propped up on several fat cushions, Lothdaimoth is resting - more or less. His face is pale and lined with fatigue, but his eyes are open and alert. They follow Caelwen's fretful pacing with something close to humor. At last he says, "Come and sit, Bara-nin." And he pats the floor beside him soundlessly.


She turns with the very next step obediently, tucking her legs beneath her neatly as she kneels. "You should sleep," is her gentle, soft scold, after she has studied him a bit deeper for half a moment. "You are tired. I am surprised you do not."


"I am not tired enough," he banters back, reaching out for her. "Do not worry so.. I have spent much time asleep of late, surely I can stay wakeful for a little?"


"Not tired enough?" Caelwen considers this, and catches his hand, but instead of weaving her fingers through his, she turns it over and traces a finger along the lines of his palm with absorbtion. "Do you hurt, meldanya?" Her eyes flick shyly up to him, as if uncertain what to do with a wakeful Lothdaimoth.


Lothdaimoth watches his palm, and the track her finger traces, with absorption. "What?" he asks after a minute. Then, "Oh. A little, melda. Not so much as before. My leg aches some."


"Do you want something?" Caelwen asks immediately. "I can get something, I think." She drops his hand and is already shifting to stand.


"No." The minister reaches for her hand again. "It is not so bad. Stay." He stops and then says, looking at her a little uncertainly for her reaction, "Tis not my leg that bothers me."


"Oh." Caelwen weaves her fingers in his and takes some time to consider /this/ for a while, her eyes dropping. "So... what troubles you?"


There is silence between them for a time; filled by the near-silent tread of healers and the whisper in air of their gowns. A bird chirps outside once, tentatively, and then breaks into a cheerful trill. "I still cannot remember," the minister confesses at length. "People tell me - I was in the mines with Gilrowen, and there was a cave-in. But... I do not remember going there. I do not know /why/ I would have gone there. And of the rest, all I find is darkness and something falling." He stops again before continuing tentatively. "And a cliff? But why would I remember a cliff?"


Caelwen shifts a little uncomfortably, her eyes flying fretfully about. "Well." She pulls his hand in so that his knuckles might touch her stomach as she clutches him. "Mayhap you fell? I have heard the mine has... these holes in it." Nervous fingers start stroking his fingers.


"Aye." He sighs a little. "Aerwaen also said this. But it does not seem right somehow. Ah well." Another small pause before he says softly, "How are you, little one? They told me... you had not left my side all that time?"


Caelen's head bows, her skin growing dusky with a flush. "Well, you know," she answers after a bit, then adds in a hushed breath, "You were /hurt/." The subject of the cave-in is gratefully left behind.


"And," Lothdaimoth pursues, "Did the Craftmaster truly come? It seems to me that he was there... but it seems like a dream, and I do not know if it was true or no." He curves his fingers about her hand and squeezes a little. "I am well in truth. I will heal completely soon. Do not fret yourself so."


"Ai, I am /very/ glad, Darthalion," Caelwen returns, a wealth of relief in her tone. She wiggles closer to him, looking intently into his face for a moment. Then: "Aye, he came. Was it not good of him? He told me you were well, and was a /great/ help to me. He said you would be well, and you /know/ he knows." A smile contrasts with her still-blushing skin.


A small weary smile plays around Lothdaimoth's lips, and his eyelids close for a moment and then open again. "And he was right, you see?" His free hand sweeps down himself as if to emphasize the point, eyes flickering to a point over her shoulder and then back. And a rush of displaced air accompanies the swift progress of an attendant passed them.


"Do you know," Caelwen's voice gains the hushed quality of a secret told, and she stops, glancing furtively up at the attendant until she is further away. She leans closer, eyes catching his and voice still low. "Did you know, that at first, you lived but I thought your fea was not in your hroa anymore?"


Lothdaimoth's dark eyes widen in astonishment, tiredness gone for a second in sheer amazement. "You didn't? What... where... what did you think then? Why did you think that?" His fingers lay slack in hers, his hand stops mid-motion above his ribs.


Caelwen takes on a cautious slant to her eyes, timid, yet continues. "You did not hear or see! You would ask 'where' but then you went on as if I did not answer. You said some odd things-- I... well... I thought it was not you?" Her own fingers tighten, trembling.


"Of course, the words of the healers who were watching over you were not convincing to her at all Minister." A voice says from behind the woman as he enters from his own private Talan that is attached to the healing Talan. "Hello Calwaen." He says as he bows to her, hovering over Lothdiamoth as he lays in the bed. "I'm just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?" He asks quietly. (Lebedgail)


A frown, one seen so often on the minister's face of late, wrinkles between black eyebrows. "I had such strange dreams," he says at last. "I do not remember what was real and what was not. I remember... you were there, were you not? Often I felt you, even when I could not see you." His mind is a swirling chaotic clash of image and sound. Then Lebedgail enters and all this recedes. "She never was wont to listen to any she knows not well," he says, summoning up a weak chuckle, which dies almost at once. "I am growing tired," he confesses after a moment. "And my leg pains me some."


"You did feel me?" Caelwen asks with a good deal of delight, then spends a moment admiring Lothdaimoth's face with such a wealth of affection, until her eyes flick aside and up at Lebedgail. "Oh. Mae govannen, mellon. I am sorry.... and you /should/ sleep," she scolds fiercely, this last bit directed back to the Minister.


"Sleep is what you need. I have been telling you this since I first gave you herbal remedies to expediate your return to consciencousness. Of course, you fought it then, so perhaps you will now that you have energy." He chuckles lightly and then nods his head, "Well, I am off to the next patient. Please get some rest." He pauses looking at Calwaen for a moment, "Both of you." (Lebedgail)


"I have slept and slept and slept," protests Lothdaimoth. But his eyelids sag a little, and lines of weariness deepen in his pale face. Long fingers curl sleepily about Caelwen's hand and the minister lets his head sink back into the pillows. "If you insist..."


"Thank you, Lebedgail," Caelwen offers. And though she does not sleep, she is still and quiet, and contents herself with quietly watching her beloved for a while-- as if she has yet stopped.