================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Late Night About 2:40 AM
IC day is: Ormenel Heavens-day
IC date is: 44 Rhiw Winter
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous HIDDEN
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: Tue Dec 17 13:33:40 2002
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Secluded spot near the river
Nestled here between the trees you come across a most unusual site. Looking off
to the west through a dense patch of underbrush you can see the Celebrant river
as it burbles noisily along over a small section of rapids. What catches your
eye though is not the river - it's a long elevated wooden trough north of you
which starts at a point upstream by the riverbank and runs in a great horseshoe
shaped arc, all the way to the base of a large mallorn over to the east
standing just to the fore of a grassy mound, and then back to the river again
at a point a little further downstream. The upstream end of the trough is
elevated slightly higher than the other end, and you notice a number of wooden
buckets setting on the that end. You realize that the trough is actually some
sort of sluice; the buckets clearly are used to dump water into the trough
where it flows around the arc and eventually back to the river.
Looking more closely at the eastern end of the trough by the large mallorn, you
notice that there's actually a dark opening in the side of the mound behind the
tree, perhaps the entrance to a small cave. It appears that materials are
occasionally dug out from the ground and then washed in the sluice, though you
see nothing which hints at what those materials might be. The sluice and
buckets are in good condition and obviously maintained, but the ground is
grassy and there's no sign of raw dirt or gravel anywhere in sight. Despite the
upkeep on the equipment, this area seems rarely used.
Stars sparkle coldly overhead, glittering against the chill winter sky. It is
the deepest part of night, but for a people who rarely sleep, not much has
changed from day. Against the dark bulk of a small hillock, a slightly darker
spot indicates the entrance to what might be cave or mine. No wind plays among
the branches this night, to toss and catch at the leaves; and in the stillness,
faint noises are clearer heard. There a squeak, here a small rustle soon gone,
now the scrape of boot on rock. And an elf-sized shadow detaches itself from
the deeper shadow behind. Now, a soft murmur of voices resolves into words.
"Yes. I will tell them." A pause. "Certainly." Now in starlight, the figure
becomes that of Lothdaimoth.
Splashes are heard regularly from the river, and becoming louder. It is not the
deep, plunking sound of a rock being punched into water, and it is followed by
the disgruntled complaining of the current displaced over something. Then a
shadow becomes an elf balancing along the riverbank, feeling at what is beneath
the water with a stave. Caelwen's eyes lift from the water when her form has
clearly turned into a recognizable shape, and she stops walking, lifting a hand
to wave. "Caran-hir!!" Her voice calls across the clearing.
The voice is familiar, the words annoying, and for a minute, pleasure wars with
exasperation on Lothdaimoth's face. "You," he says, rolling his eyes, but then
pleasure and affection win. "What are you doing? Fishing for clay?"
"Yes," Caelwen replies pertly, then whips her stave out of the water to watch
glittering spray fly out across the river with interest. Her eyes turn back to
him, and toward Lothdaimoth she walks. "What are you doing all of the way out
here..." Her lips press together with a grin hidden, and she debates with
herself a while before adding, "...my Lord?"
Lothdaimoth mutters something to himself, so softly that even the ears of the
Firstborn could not catch it. His mouth twists in an expression of resignation
and shoulders heave in silent sigh. But he stops and waits for her to arrive,
bowing slightly and very formally. "I came to speak with the miners, My Lady.
Is there ought I may do for you while I am here?"
Caelwen's grin leaks snickers which eventually progress to a full-on belly
laugh at this, one hand pressed to her stomach. Tears leak from the corners of
her eyes and glitter in the white light of nighttime. "Now... now that's..."
she gasps, then gives up and attempts to school her mien into something more
decorous. It's a hard battle for her, frequent giggles making inroads, until
finally she can continue pompously, "Now that's much better, sir. Never did you
call me Lady when I became an Indiri, and I had thought you had never noticed
at all."
"My most humble apologies, my Lady," replies the Minister gravely. Tone and
expression are sober, slightly apologetic - and he makes no sign that her
laughter is noticed at all. "I certainly noticed; will you forgive me for my
laxity in speech?" Possibly a glint of humor lurks in the depths of those dark
eyes, but equally it is equally possible it is nothing more than a reflection
from the stars above.
Caelwen's eyes narrow a little and her chin uptilts as she considers the errant
Minister before her. "I /think/ I could," she finally concedes, reluctantly.
"The Dinlym indeed have longer memories than most, but do not let it said that
we are unforgiving to our own." Her voice has become gracious indeed by the end
of this little speech.
"Your kindness if far beyond what I deserve." As Caelwen stops walking,
Lothdaimoth offers her his arm. "Were you heading somewhere, and might I offer
my escort?" A grey cloak falls away from his arm as he holds it out, revealing
a glimmering white shirt that catches at the starlight and turns itself to
liquid silver against the night.
"It is," Caelwen says delightedly, and takes Lothdaimoth's arm to stand beside
him. "I /am/ generous, aren't I?" She starts to giggle again. "To the stables!"
She sneaks a sideways look at him, then abandons this ruse to allow her eyes to
roam over the planes of his face openly and happily. Finally she adds, "You
don't look as delicious when you aren't purple, but you still look fine indeed
anyway."
Still grave and even are his words. "Thank, my lady." Slowly, with measured
stride, he begins to walk towards the stables, his head bent courteously down
towards hers. "It is kind indeed of you to say so." Several minutes pass in
silence before he asks, "Might one inquire what errand takes you first to the
river and then to the stables?" Booted feet pass almost noiselessly over the
leaf-strewn ground.
Caelwen's lips twist a little, and she eyes Lothdaimoth, "You are trying to
teach me a lesson, and I shan't be taught, I tell you." A grin. "Checking where
the clay is again-- and then getting a horse to help me carry it back to the
city."
A grin tugs at his lips and is swiftly banished - to be replaced by bottomless
innocence. "I thought you chided me for my previous informality and wished to
be addressed with greater honor," he protests. The gleam in his eyes sparks a
little brighter.
"Now, Lothdaimoth," Caelwen's voice takes on the gentle, soft tones of a kind
teacher correcting her student. "You must learn to know when I am teasing and
when I am not if we are to be wed. I know that I /sound/ serious all of the
time, but really, at times I am not."
The grin flashes appreciatively, but again is hidden and Lothdaimoth alters his
voice to sound meek and again apologetic. "I'm sorry, m'lady Indiri. It is so
good of you to explain these things to me... I hope you will be able to find it
in your heart to forgive me my slowness in such matters. Or perhaps.." he
droops a little. "You will decide you no longer wish to marry such as I..." One
bright eye sneaks a sideways look at her face.
A variety of expressions flash across Caelwen's face all at once-- swift
denial, a worried glance to Lothdaimoth, the rumors of a grin-- ere she turns
her face to the fore again and uptilts her chin. "I think I shall manage to
forgive you. Do not forget that you are, indeed, worth all the trouble, for a
marriage to a Minister and a Journeyman Vintner is an honorable thing indeed."
Lothdaimoth stops walking, and unless she wishes to continue without him,
Caelwen perforce must stop as well. "What about marriage to just Lothdaimoth?"
he asks softly. "Is that also an honorable and acceptable thing?" Turning
slightly, so he faces her, warm dark eyes rest on her face.
Caelwen stops and turns as well, the lines of her face softening as eyes melt
tender and watch his eyes. Her hand lifts to trace the outline of his ear as
she struggles to order thoughts into words. In the end, a simple nod is all she
can manage, breath caught in her throat.
Delicate as a whisper, softer than thought, touch runs around the edge of
Lothdaimoth's ear. "I am glad..." His voice is rough, nothing more than a
breath in the night. Caught by her eyes, he stands unmoving, forgetful perhaps
of his errand.
Wide and liquid eyes catch starlight in reflection as Caelwen sinks into
Lothdaimoth's gaze. Entrapped like this, one hand still lifted to the side of
his head, the other forgetfully clutching her stave yet, they remain still and
moving for a length of time that would seem long indeed by mortal standards.
The stars seem to laugh at them.