================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon About 2:16 PM
IC day is: Orithil Moon-day
IC date is: 40 Ethuil Spring
Moon phase: Full 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: Tue Jan 28 19:45:40 2003
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Long Lawn
You stand amidst a long lawn of shining grass. It ripples in the gentle river breezes like tresses of golden hair, sprinkled too with hundreds of golden elanor flowers which radiate with the light of the sun. The eastern edge of the lawn fades into a white-stone beach, lapped upon by the deep and dark waters of the broad Anduin river which flows from the north, continuing southwards forever onto the sea. Joining the Anduin directly to the south is the Celebrant river, which hurries towards you from between the groves of Mallorns to the northwest. Northwards, the lawn is bordered by a high green wall of dense forest growth. With your sharp elven eyes, you spy a small recess in the wall, perhaps a passageway which leads through it.
A river boat has been pulled ashore at one end of the beach. The elven steersmen beckons you aboard.
Lasselante finds herself, not quite by chance, drawing along side the lord of the wood to murmur, "Not one to miss festivities?" The smallest of smirks cross her lips as she eyes the old fossil... err, ancient elf.
Walking out to stand beside the Istyara, Terridan looks over towards the elven woman; his teacher from so long ago. He bows his head lightly, and smiles softly, "Mae govannen, Istyara, it has been a long time."
Green grass shimmers in the warm afternoon sun, bending and rippling from brightnss to shadow before the soft cool breeze that flows up from the river. A narrow border of white stones edge the dark secret waters of the Anduin, waters which are churned into whirling foam at the joining of the Celebrant. Tiny golden flowers bloom in the green carpet; like taller flowers stand a group of elves dressed in all their colorful finery. Voices mingle with the sound of rushing water and a single bird that sings from the branches of some hidden tree.
And Lothdaimoth, in black and gold stands alone near the front. There is an air of surpressed excitement about him as he glances about the crowd. Dark eyes land on Terridan and Lasselante and continue on towards a tall silver-haired elf who stands beside a shorter darker lady decked about with silver jewelry. Between the three smiles are exchanged, and the Minister's eyes rove onwards.
Lasselante eyes, elf, sword, elf, tall elf. A brow raises. "That kind of a ceremony, sir?" She nods, slowly, still appraising Terridan. "A long time indeed, lest you have spent it in idle chat with Ondrim... or similar. Well I trust?"
Allowing a grin now, Terridan shakes his head once, before smiling faintly, "No, no Ondrim have taken me for idle chats. I have remembered your lessons well in that and other things Istyara." He looks towards Lothdaimoth, and then shakes his head once, "And no, I do not believe it is that kind of ceremony. But for my state I come quickly from the borders, and return there soon after."
Mithrinolor mingles sociably with any elves who might happen to drift in his direction, though his gaze finds its way to Lothdaimoth occasionally with a smile.
With an idle shake of her head, Lasselante allows herself a chuckle. Sidelong she looks again at the knight. "So much like... one can easily forget. More troubles at the borders, or simply duty? Or perhaps I should refrain and speak of lighter things?"
A voice is heard from the high green wall-- the plants bounce the sound and absorb it, but still, it is clear enough for elven ears.
"I cannot believe I let time slip by like that. Ai ai! And after I worked so hard on it! He'll think my brain is gone. Are you all right, Ada?"
Caelwen bursts upon the lawn and stops, both hands pressed to her belly as a blush crawls over her face, eyes hunting the crowd. She turns her head quickly, yellow sparks scattering from the gems in her hair, just in time to catch a smiling Moedhim emerge after her.
Aelinwen sits near the river, her deep blue eyes roving over the group of elves, watching and waiting for a sign of the ceremony's commencement. Having greeted and spoken with most of the elves present, she now rests on the bank, idly examining a miniscule flower bloom. Her eyes finally rest on Caelwen as she notes her sudden entrance.
A soft yet sad smile comes to Terridan's face, even as his eyes focus upon Caelwen for now, yet he replies to the Istyara in whispered tones, "Duty now holds me, although troubles loom upon the horizons. For now, let us think of happier things, for a believe that is what we shall witness." His smile turns warm.
As a phantom shadow, Galena moves onto the thick, waving grasses of the lawn. Slow steps draw her to the white pebbled beach as her eyes rove the gathering here. Her arm still holds the large basket she has carried about all day, though she seems to notice no wieght from it. Curious and cool, her verdant eyes take in all about her and she stops just as the tips of her toes dip into the cold water.
Several heads turn almost in unison at Caelwen's hasty entrance and several smiles blossom... one at least is filled with nothing but joy. The tall silver-haired elf seems to be hiding amusement behind the quirk of thin lips, the lady beside him looks forbodingly at the young potter before nodding graciously.
Lasselante turns about, surveying the gathered company. Taking in faces, apparently trying to put them to names in her memory. This causes her, now and then to shake her head. In a near whisper she comments to Terridan, "I should oblige you to do introductions, or at least, give hints. But I shall not impose. Do give me a jab, without sword if you please, when the persons whom this affair is taking place for come into view?"
Indeed, a Baker appears from the verdant foliage, close behind the step of the fussing Cennan. "Aiya, my Collwen!" first he calls, the words tripping lightly from his tongue in a friendly manner which is nigh always given to his daughter. "I am sure he will think no such thing, I am sure he shall not!" The hasty step of Moedhim follows the gait of Caelwen, and his leathern soles tred lightly, indeed, upon the lawn. Brown eyes take a moment, while tongue is silenced, to survey the area, noting elidh here and there, yet still a wide smile is upon his face.
Terridan grins widely now, whispering names of various elves, but not yet stating who this ceremony is for. Finally his eyes fall onto Caelwen, and he motions towards her, "Caelwen, current Indiri of house Dinlom. I believe this matter is for her."
Aelinwen gets to her feet, impatiently sweeping errant strands of dark hair behind her shoulders. She walks over towards the center of activity.
Caelwen is still a moment, chin ducked toward her chest as she looks over all who are gathered here. A step or two are backwards taken, and she raises up on her toes to whisper to her father. "Ada! I do not know what I am supposed to do! Oh-- I think I shall go see Lothdaimoth-- do you come?"
A few steps away, and she hesitates, eyes lingering on Terridan-- perhaps she heard her name. A scarce moment longer ere she smiles in his direction, then turns and walks quickly toward Lothdaimoth and his parents, smile turning to a grin.
A figure emerges from the forest and quickly, yet smoothly makes her way to the front of the crowd. Armiel wears a bright smile upon her face and gives a nod to Lothdaimoth as she reaches the front. She smiles to Caelwen and scans the crowd in search of someone, she frowns momentarily and returns her gaze towards the front, her smile returning.
Galena carefully lays her basket in a dry place before her and rises to her full hieght again. Gently swaying in the tender breeze, her prestine white gown shimmers in an almost silver sheen. Verdant and interested, the bard's gaze follows Caelwen carefully, straying rarely. Her thoughts are hidden, yet speech seems to rest silenced upon her toungue.
Lasselante nods to Terridan, eyeing the maiden he pointed out. Folding her arms she watches the maid now while her eyes go distant, a relaxed smile matching her mein. She gives Terridan a quick glance. "These affairs, of this nature, appeal to you then, good knight?"
A faint shrug of his shoulders is all Terridan gives now, and he looks back down towards Lasselante after only a moment, "Good teacher, these affairs always appeal to me... for it seems to be my doom to see much in the way of conflict... so I relish what opportunties I have to see members of my house enjoying happiness."
Lothdaimoth's eyes never leave the young Dinlom Indiri, though he nods in return as Armiel walks into his range of vision. For once there are no shutters in his eyes, nothing lurking hidden in their depths, and they warm openly as Caelwen nears.
Nearby, Taenor bends his silver head to murmur something into his wife's ear and she looks up at him with a smile before transferring her gaze to her son and his soon-to-be betrothed.
That was apprently what the ancient loremistress was waiting for. Lasselante's lips curl in almost a grin as she whispers back, "Time for some maid to domesticate the wild barbarian warrior?"
Mithrinolor watches the gathering with a gently scanning gaze, singing softly to himself such that only those within a few feet would be able to hear it. His gaze drifts to the water and the sunlight reflecting thereon.
A teasing grin now spreads across Terridan's face, and he looks back down towards Lasselante with an amused look, "Who has said that it has not already happened, dear teacher?" He says nothing more, turning his eyes back towards Caelwen now.
Aelinwen once more strolls to stand near the water. She sits once more and seems to become lost in her own thoughts.
And the whisper of the young Dinlom Indiri does not go unheeded by the Baker, for a wider smile is found upon his lips, a partly absent nod shaking his chestnut-coloured tresses as he gives reply to the hushed words. "Go, my Collwen," speaks he with a chuckle, even as she is already away toward Lothdaimoth.
But another thing catches his eye: an elleth who keenly watches his daughter. Ah, perhaps she would like to speak! And so treds again Moedhim, this time toward Galena. His deep gaze falls not upon her with familiarity, and he greets with a smile and jovial words. "Mae govannen! Have you come this day to see my Collwen? Does not she look lovely in that gown? It did once belong to my sister." A quick wink he lends to the quiet, white-clad Bard afore his eyes seek again the sight of his daughter.
Lasselante puts on a coy expression, a bit thoughtful. She whispers in reply, "Not enough it would seem. I rather fancy you before a cook stove. Perhaps learning the gentler arts. Have you considered, say, weaving? Or perhaps, librarian?" She turns a bright smile on her victim knight. "Always bemoaning the duties as you do, certainly we could find you some respite, yes?"
"I have no desire to learn those things as well, though I am sure you could teach them quite well, as you have taught me much else." Terridan responds without missing a beat, and then tilts his head back now, "Yet I do not bemoan my duties, I state a simple fact, and do what I must without question." He whispers back, and then chuckles faintly, "Now quiet, less I find a stove to put you on; I am not so small that you may bounce me upon your knee as you used to."
'Nin-belegil!' Caelwen says, after generous smiles and nods given to both Taenor and Lothelei. Close to Lothdaimoth she slips, and again is given to a murmur, this time a nervous chatter. "What do we do? I haven't been to many of these. Is it all right if I hold your hand, or would that be a poor thing to do?" Color burns high on her cheeks. "And by /Elbereth/ you look very fine today." Her hands fidget with her sash, but despite her restlessness, she is all a-grin, bright enough that it makes one's cheeks sore to look at her.
Lasselante only rolls her eyes to the veiled threat, trying not to laugh the while. She lapses into silence to do as bid, observe, with a whispered, "Not forgetting that little comment, will I soon be. We shall settle you once and for all in sparring perhaps. Not so big that a slender willow as myself could not lay low. Not yet methinks."
Yet she betrays her genuine affection for the warrior as a hand gently graces his arm.
Galena watches with a warm smile as Moedhim moves toward her, his coming all that could loose her curious mien from the potter. "Mae govannen,", she calls, her voice calm and dulcite, "I happen here by chance, but she does seem to stand apart here. I heard some mention of a betrothal.. is this a celebration of such?" Between words and welcoming smiles, the apprentice glances ever toward Caelwen. Finally she offers her attention and a curtsy to the baker, her gown and flaxen mane puddling before her upon the white pebbles. "I am Galena Nelladell o nos Laiquendi, bard and apprentice. It is good to meet you."
Melhend walks quietly down to he Lawn, and begins to stroll about the edges of the group.
Terridan's own expression shows his affection for the Istyara, and he bows his head lightly, placing a hand onto the back of hers, "We shall see, you have always been an excellent teacher... and yet I know that I still have much that I may learn from you. Come now, let us watch and see what may happen here."
Armiel giggles as she hears several of the comments and glances backwards, specifically letting her eyes linger on Terridan. She turns then back towards Lothdaimoth and Caelwen," the expression of the Dinlom Indiri causes even the serious Armiel to chuckle. She directs another smile towards Lothdaimoth and clasps her hands behind her back. She turns her head from one side to the other, scanning the quickly expanding crowd.
The music, laughter of the rivers as they converge. The warm spring sun. Timeless and dreamlike, the world about. Beyond the river inn the distance the far green grasslands lose themselves in a golden haze.
The Istyara takes a step forwards and raising her voice, requests,
"May I ask, for myself and some of those assembled, if the betrothed of this event would present themselves to all, so we may better know them?"
"O, aye! Indeed, 'tis!" Mirthful rings the tones of Moedhim as his gaze yet lingers upon the espied form of the widely-smiling Cennan. And it seems her smile is mirrored upon the mien of her father, for an even wider smile is wrought upon his visage, beamed radiantly towrd Caelwen though her eyes rest not upon him.
But at the introduction of the Bard, curiosity is written upon his expression, his jovial manner perhaps waning faintly, but verily, it could not diminish much. "Galena, you say? O nos Laiquendi? Aiya!" Sable brows rise high in question, but the calm tone of the Laiquende seems to deter any fears that may have entered his mind, and after but a moment of this silent questioning, he gives a nod of his brown-tressed head and speaks merrily again. "Well met, well met! For a joyous day this is, indeed! Moedhim o nos Dinlom am I, and father to Caelwen, though you may already know."
Aelinwen seems to snap out of her trance at the Istarya's words. Walking swiftly over to the group, she curtsies gracefully. "I am Aelinwen o nos Laiquendi, Learner of the Glirdain, and there are many of you I believe I have not had the great honor of meeting formally."
Lothdaimoth slides his hand into Caelwen's. His smile widens into a grin at her whispered words and he begins to chuckle softly. "I hope not," he says softly in reply before turning in the bright sunlight to survey those gathered around them. Raising his voice, he says, "Thank you for coming... all of you." Lasselante's request falls clear into the pause after his words, and he nods at her, smiling still wider. "Caelwen and I," he glances down for a second, "wish to announce our betrothal this day." A second glance goes from his parents and then on towards Caelwen's father and he adds, "With the approval of our families," and falls silent.
Terridan grins widely now as he watches the Istyara, and at the final announcement of Lothdaimoth, his eyes widen in surprise, for in this, he did not know. A warm smile crosses his face, and he looks over towards Caelwen with a deep bow of his head, the Champion of house Dinlom giving his silent approval of the match.
A wide smile crosses Aelinwen's face at Lothdaimoth's words. She speaks softly, and perhaps is hesitant to be the first to speak "My dearest good wishes go to both of you! May life for you ever be sweet and joyous." Having said this, she bows her head in respect and contentment.
Anarane enters the buzzing area late..cursing herself with every footstep til she reaches the assembled. Biting her lowerlip, she peeks between bodies to view Caelwen and Lothdaimoth standing hand in hand. Her smile grows and she clasps her hands together happily. She *just* made it to hear Loth's announcement..and if her smile is any indication, she couldnt be happier for them.
Galena's mind reels for a moment as Lothdaimoth and Caelwen step forward, announcing their intent to wed. Pulling herself up from her curtsy, the elleth shakes her head as if to loosen the webs of sleep. "Mellon, my pardon, but do my eyes see clearly? DOes your daughter intend to wed Lothdiamoth? A wonderful edhel and none can doubt that, but tis quite a surprise!" After the shock has passed, the bard smiles and faces the baker. Her eyes glitter with joy and happy surprise though some untold thought does dwell beneath.
Lasselante gives each as they present themselves a warm smile. She looks to the others assembled as she comments, "One would certainly hope at this late date the families indeed give their blessings. Else a short and strange party is shall be." She attempts to see, decide who the parents are. "We all assume no objections forthcoming?"
She gives a good half seconds pause before continuing, "Time enough for them to have spoken, has any thought to bring refreshment so we may raise glasses in a toast?"
Mithrinolor smiles softly, gaze on the couple as they make their announcement. He doesn't speak, conveying as much as is needed with his eyes.
A minute breath of air and the stirring of emerald blades serve as announcement to the arrival of another upon the crowded lawn, a subtle whisper that is all but lost amidst the merriment. Still lingering upon the northern fringes of the clearing, the figure draped in shadow yet does not venture near to the revelers, eyes of silver and blue burning in the darkness as they observe from afar.
Caelwen's fingers are white-knuckled tight on Lothdaimoth's hand, and she fidgets slightly-- shifting weight from one foot to the other, stroking her thumb on the Minister's-- as her eyes roam the crowd. Again they stop on Terridan, and with a laugh sticking in her throat, and she bows her head in return. Only then does a thought strike her, and she murmers again, though louder this time. "Where is Rogin?" Her smile fades, then lifts again as her attention is half-given to Moedhim across the way.
And lo, nestled in the shady grass beneath a great silver-limbed tree, are bottles and glasses and a seated vintner jumps up at the announcement. His cheerful face beaming on all around, he scoops up a tray and begins to wander through-out the crowd. Red wine sparkles and glows with the blessing of sunlight, white shimmers beside it.
A grin displayed toward Galena, happily Moedhim speaks, and it seems he thinks all of this well, truly. His dark-coloured eyes shine with sunlight, and surely with inner mirth. "Indeed, indeed, she does intend it! Is it not an announcement? Oh, a fair announcement! Why, my Collwen--"
The words of Lothdaimoth, though, find the Baker in his chatter, and the words stop short. Even as the words of the Minister come and he is motioned to, the mirthfully-lilting tones of Moedhim are found true and clear so that all might hear his consent. "Aiya! Oh, I do give my permission, mellyn! Oh, do I!" A joyous chuckle follows quick behind his words.
Armiel smiles brightly and gives an approving nod. Moving towards the front she raises her hands for quiet. She smiles to Lothdaimoth and looks back over the crowd. "I do not have much to say, I would just like to be the first to smile upon the union of the two houses. It is not often that we agree on something," she gives a wink to Caelwen before continuing,"House Raavindonserke is indeed in support of this union, from what I know of Caelwen, I know her to be generous and kind, and I can speak no less for Lothdaimoth, Messenger of House Raavindonserke. He is truly noble and I am sure the two will live all of their years with each other in true happiness." Turning to smile upon the couple Armiel gives an approving nod, "Congratulations to both of you" That spoken Armiel merges back into the crowd, with a slightly flushed face, not entirely accustomed to making speeches yet.
Upon Aelinwen's face a joyous expression lingers, yet in her eyes rests weariness and longing. She slips away from the rest and once again takes a seat upon the riverbank, far enough away from the festivities to achieve a sense of solitude, yet near enough to percieve clearly all that goes on.
"I do have one objection," a voice calls out abruptly, quietly resounding throughout the crystal air as its owner steps forth into the light. None save the Herald of Galadriel strides forth then, sable raiment glistening under the sun as he slips through the crowd towards the pair.
Galena brings her pale hands together before her, the motion sending up a silver melody from her bells. On the verge of calling out her congratulations, a darker form newly entered catches her glance. Her lips form the silent word, the name her mind has oft wandered to. At his voice, a tremble of memory goes through her. Lost in her thought, she sees no one but Erinstar, the Herald of Galadriel.
As glasses of wine are presented on trays, Lasselante raises hers, first to inspect what exactly she spies floating in the ruby fluid, then with a shrug, higher, to the assembly. She then lowers her glass to the objection raised, along with one of her brows, waiting.
Aelinwen comes once more sharply to attention at the words of the Herald. Her piercing eyes keenly watch the happenings before her.
"I do not know..." But no more thought can Lothdaimoth give to the matter of his absent cousin, for Armiel is speaking. Listening silently, a wavering blush darkens the minister's pale cheeks and then recedes; his eyes wander across the crowd and a slight frown comes to his face.. someone he expected perhaps has not come.
But the frown vanishes to be replaced by astonishment as Erinstar leaves his silent watchpoint and comes forward. "Erinstar," he says, and in his voice mingles pleasure and question together. "Thank you for coming.." 'I think' might not have been said, but mayhap it could be felt... from rather long acquaintance with the Herald's sense of humor.
Lasselante sets herself in motion taking a circuitous route that brings her behind the royal herald. The look on her face betrays that if this be some frivolity, some jest, said royal herald may get a glass of wine down the back of his neck.
Caelwen laughs as her father speaks, the sounds of her mirth dancing around and over and under his words. She blushes through Armiel's, peridot eyes often drawn upwards toward Lothdaimoth's face, and is considering plucking up a glass of white wine when Erinstar strides forward.
Perhaps she does not know the Herald's humor so well, for her smile wanes as color blanches from her face. A tiny, discreet half-step is taken to place her just slightly behind the Minister.
Taenor looks up as a tray filled with glasses passes before him, borne up by a young apprentice. Deftly taking two glasses from the lad's burden, he hands one to his wife and raises the other towards Caelwen and Lothdaimoth.
Mithrinolor watches the Herald, who clearly has more to say, silently, hands clasped behind his back.
Armiel stares blankly at Erinstar as he approaches. She remains silent but glances around to see other's reactions. Her expression is one of bewilderment and she turns to stare at him directly. "An objection?" she asks questioningly, but a smile tugs at her lips now, as if she doesn't believe him.
Quickly the hand of the Baker finds a glass of wine, the liquid sloshing a bit as a deft motion takes the cup, and even his hand begins to raise until the words of the Herald are spoken. Then is his movement quit, ebon brows raised high at this objection. Wonder and again curiosity is found within his dark gaze as the eyes of Moedhim are cast toward Erinstar, tracing his path, awaiting what sort of thing he might say.
Coming to stand before the betrothed at length, Erinstar moves even so much as to withdraw the midnight cowl away from stony features before betraying any further by speech, "You seek a heavy burden, my friend." To Lothdaimoth now he speaks, with surprising affection, but equal sobriety. "And I see that it is one you are indeed willing to bear, but that is not my quarrel. Nay, it is only that you are not equipped to bear it." A wry smile quirks at dusky lips then, sincere and unfamiliar as it may be. To Caelwen then he turns his gaze, the mirth more apparent as he continues, "For truly, a prize of this calibre will be highly sought, and dearly bought. I fear your skill with the bow alone cannot suffice, and thus is my contention." Pausing for a moment then, he returns his attention to the Minister to conclude, "And one I would now redeem, if you will."
Armiel quirks a brow but says nothing. She crosses her arms and stares at the Herald, her eyes displaying a definite curiousity.
No more enlightened by Erinstar's explanation, Lothdaimoth follows his gaze towards Caelwen and then looks back to the Herald and bows his head once in somewhat bewildered agreement. "Very well, but...?"
Lasselante steps up beside Erinstar, now sipping from her goblet. She casually asks, "If I may, you are suggesting since someone can't hit the south end of a north bound yrch at 3 paces, they are disqualified from ...matrimonial undertakings? Can I get you some wine before we dunk you in the river?"
Confusion plucks at Caelwen's brows. "Lothdaimoth is a fine shot," she says at last, then dissolves into giggles at Lasselante's words. They seem to embarass her, and she hides her mouth against her arm, laughing and blushing and inching yet closer to the Minister, with wary eyes given to Erinstar.
Mithrinolor smirks lightly at Erinstar's words, perhaps reading more into their origin and bearing than their literal meaning. He says nothing for now, however.
Slipping away as all attention is upon the Herald, Galena lifts her basket silently and begins weaving out through the crowd. Her gaze falls on naught but her own steps until she comes to pause just inside the passage. A glance back reveals eyes filled with emotion and thought to any who would notice. At last, she disappears through the passage.
Lasselante raises her glass to all assembled. "To the newly betrothed, to their families, to their future happiness. And I suppose, to his improved aim. I must bid all a farewell."
The sway of her hips, exagerated, brushes the herald, royal, as Lasselante makes her way from the lawn.
The Aracarach's grin grows broad at the Istyara's query, diverting his attention for but the barest moments to answer only, "White, please." To Lothdaimoth again he turns, stormy eyes searching as he lowers a gloved hand with practiced ease to his side. "Accept then this token, and my faith. I pray that it will serve you as well," Unclasping the scabbard at his hip abruptly, he then raises the ancient and deadly Anseregurth by two fingers under the flat blade, "when dancing with death beneath the pale moon." Almost under his breath then, he whispers, "Though I hope beyond hope that it may never be needed so. Keep it well, my friend."
Lothdaimoth's jaw drops and he stares first at the sword and then up into the Herald's face. "But.." the word comes out as a hoarse whisper and he stops and clears his throat before trying again. "Erinstar.. you cannot give me Anseregurth!" His free hand raises to brush the long blade with the tips of his fingers and then jerks back as if burned.
Caelwen's eyes grow wide, and she creeps forward again, studying the Herald's face as she does so. "Oh..." she says helplessly. "Well. Elbereth." A pause, and a loud whisper. "Do you know how to use a sword, Caranteil?"
"Not very well," the minister replies dazedly, all his attention still focused on Erinstar's face. The sun shines as brightly as ever, the grass is as green and the flowers as golden; but for all he notices, he might be in the vast caverns of Amon Thranduil or the great halls of the Peredhel's valley.
Placing his hand then upon the other's shoulder, the Herald quirks another lopsided grin as he replies sardonically, "Then I cannot give you Caelwen either." A bemused glance flickers towards the Cennan, and he murmurs, "You shall need it more than I, methinks." A shrug then, and he turns to depart without waiting for further argument, "Peace, you may learn its ways in time. Somehow, I fear you will not have much choice in the matter." Once more does he draw his hood then, moving to slip away from the gathered at last. "You have my blessing. Now I must seek out that Scholar, lest she leave her wit unattended."
Mithrinolor shifts his gaze from the departing Herald to the couple, casting a critical glance at the blade. Swords are not his forte, but he can appreciate craftsmanship nonetheless.
Aelinwen looks on with avid interest. However, in a moment, an expression crosses her face as if it had been suddenly illuminated. Quietly she slips out, smiling at Mithrinolor as she passes him on her way out. She looks back once at the couple before exiting.
The weight of the sword draws Lothdaimoth's hand towards the earth, and he says nothing as the Herald leaves. But bewilderment still writes her tale across his face, twinned with a darker forboding for the future. "Thank you," he says at last.
Mithrinolor offers a slight bow to Aelinwen as she leaves, giving her a smile that carries through as his gaze returns to Lothdaimoth.
Caelwen's free hand reaches for Lothdaimoth's elbow as people here and there slip away. She rubs at his arm, and her eyes trail after the Herald with only a whispered, gentle "Namarie," to follow him. "Are you all right?" she queries of her would-be betrothed. "What... Erinstar always confuses and unsettles me."
"Yes." Lothdaimoth shakes himself from his abstraction to smile at Caelwen. "Yes," he says more assuredly. "I am fine." The smile doesn't quite banish all the shadows in his dark eyes, but it does a fairly good job. Looking away then, his gaze falls on his father who stands nearby, long silver hair shining in the sunlight. And he raises an eyebrow in request, handing the newly-given sword to Taenor. The aged historian accepts it, his face impassive.
And now Lothdaimoth returns all his attention to Caelwen. Lifting her hand in his, he reaches into a pocket with the other and withdraws a thin silver band, etched all about with thin pale leaves. The Herald's un-looked-for gift is not forgotten, but for this moment it is laid aside; the ring is slid onto one slim finger with no words at all. Only the look, for dark eyes peer deep into green and rest there.
Mithrinolor watches the gathering, particularly the Minister and his partner. Noticing a few elves seeking to draw the attention of the Minister, Mithrinolor delicately heads them off, drawing their attention instead to what would seem to be an engaging discussion about politics.
An indrawn hissing of breath, disapproving and cold, comes from beside the silver-haired historian. Lothelei has never believed that impassivity is a proper response to anything and she glares after the retreating Herald, stiff with indignation. Black eyes follow Erinstar until he vanishes, when finally Lothdaimoth's opinionated mother returns her attention to her son and his newly-affianced bride. All the scandalized fury drains from her face, replaced by fond affection and pride.
Lothdaimoth is studied with such an intensity, it might be a surprise that he does not burst into flames. Yet the worry that tightens Caelwen's face eases somewhat when he turns back to her, and she glances only for a single, fleeting moment at the ring ere she returns to her familiar watch on the Minister. There, green eyes caught in a sable pair, she lingers for a while, tears caught like crystal on the copper wire of her lashes, glittering in the afternoon sun.
Belatedly she remembers her purpose, and feels at her waist, plucking another ring from beneath her sash. By touch only she finds Lothdaimoth's finger, and slips on a warm ring, a flat band carved with stylized stars. Her hands trembling on both of his hands, she swallows once and finds the only words that will fit in her mouth: "Thank you."
The familiar voice of the Courier and his company is soft and barely audible as his conversation continues, save for a brief call to the one carrying the drinks to draw his attention. Occasionally casting a glance at the couple, he picks up a glass and sips from it, returning to relate a story of some kind that holds at least a few of his company enthralled. Always the story teller, this one.
One by one, those who have gathered to celebrate and witness this event, come up to the betrothed pair. Some quietly, some boisterous, all wish them well.
Lingering until most are gone, Moedhim comes up and unaccustomedly silently presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead, claps a hand on Lothdaimoth's arm and hurries off. And last of all, Taenor and Lothelei come. Gravely, the Minister's father returns to him the sword left so briefly in his keeping. With a swift smile for Caelwen, he is gone. But Lothelei feels no such restraint and her cheerful decided voice raises above the noise of the waters.
"Caelwen, you must take very good care of him now. Make certain he has no need to use that sword." The weapon recieves a swift glance filled with disfavor. But then the glinting gleeful smile returns and she leans closer. "Make a proper Dinlom out of him," she says conspiratorially. "I never was able to." After her husband she turns, and Caelwen and Lothdaimoth are left alone.