================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Twilight About 8:37 PM
IC day is: Orbelain Valar-day
IC date is: 21 Firith Fading
Moon phase: Last Quarter VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel shines brightly above the horizon in the western sky.
IC year is: Loa 3 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3027
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RL time: Thu Nov 21 14:52:25 2002
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Library and Study (First Floor)
The library is small compared to the one along the Great Staircase. Only a few bookcases, some filled with parchments, others with books, stand against the wall. You may find aides for the language lessons, as well as some books about history, negotiating and races of Middle Earth. An unmistakable sense of peace lies here, and you'd rather not distrub it. In the corner, behind one of the shelf, a small door leads to a study, where several comfortable chairs allow for some private studying or a quiet chat.


Hushed is the library, as perhaps libraries ought to be, with the books and parchments mutely waiting for their turn to be read. Slowly, darkness gathers in creeping bits, just cautiously enough that the gaining gloom is unnoticed until it presses against the eyes, but lamps have already been lit against it here.

There, at the entrance, an elleth peeps shyly in. Caelwen's bright eyes search the room, passing without interest over the tomes it holds. Dressed in the finery of her house, her fingers clutch at the tarnished silver of her skirts while she creeps silently forward.


From the corner, behind a half-opened door comes the rise and fall of quiet voices. Both deep, the words no more than an indistinguishable murmur, one still carries a weight of age and wisdom that the other lacks.


Faster now, Caelwen's footsteps carry her to this door, and a knock or two she beats against the wood. A pause, and she presses her hand against it to push it further open, head tilted aside as she peers beyond.


A hiccup in the soft even tones is filled by a few raps on the door, and two heads turn as one towards the opening. One, dark-haired, dark-eyed; the other, silvered and green. Lothdaimoth and his father sit on cushioned chairs and talk together. Perhaps there is an overtone of formality or reserve behind their words, for it has not been so long since they began again to speak at all.


A sudden smile lights up the Counsel's face as Caelwen's head appears in the widening gap and he jumps to his feet, taking a few steps towards her. "Caelwen! I had not thought to see you..."


Caelwen's gaze only briefly flits over Taenor before finding a home in Lothdaimoth's face. She grins in answer, and a step she takes toward him. "You hadn't?" Words already tumble fast from her smiling mouth. "Why not? I didn't think to see /you/. I wasn't sure you were in Caras Galadhon yet."

She abruptly stops her rush of speech, turning to the elder elf. A curtsy, small but graceful, she bobs toward him, adding politely behind. "Mae govannen, uncle." Her smile is less certain now, but warm still.


Unfolding slowly from his seat to his full height, somewhat taller than his son, Taenor smiles as well though his long face seems to remain solemn and dignified even still. "Mae govannen." He nods his silver head towards her and then looks at Lothdaimoth. Green eyes, sharp with a burden of years almost beyond measure, grow more intent. But whatever thought may have sparked, he says nothing for now, content to observe.


Both hands reach out for hers as she nears and for a minute, Lothdaimoth simply stands and smiles down into her face. "I only just arrived. I have not even seen Mother yet." At last he turns towards back to his father. "Caelwen met me along the path as I returned," he says, perhaps to justify himself - perhaps not.


Caelwen's hands link tightly with Lothdaimoth's, small muscles along her fingers a little tense. His smile is returned, a bit weak at first but growing wider as she watches deep sable eyes. "I hope your mother is not worried," she says, with a glance to Taenor. "Erm... I mean, why would she be? If she does not know you are home yet." The tips of her ears grow pink where they emerge from her curls.


"I see." Taenor's lips have fallen back into their habitual lines, but they quiver a little as he watches the two youngsters. And deep in aged green eyes, a little spark, very like to humor grows. One thin hand gestures towards the now empty chairs and gravely, he says, "Will you sit with us, Caelwen?" A flicker of glance is given their joined hands, and the humor grows.


"Mother is always worried," Lothdaimoth says with a wry chuckle, one eyebrow quirking. "But I think no more than normal." Releasing one hand, he tugs at hers with the other. "Come and sit," he coaxes.


"Aye, yes," Caelwen answers, one corner of her mouth finally quirking in muted amuse when Lothdaimoth tugs her hand. She makes her silent way to the chair beside the one the Counsel abandoned, her fingers shifting to interweave themselves with his. Settled in the seat, she looks down at the the table for a long while before taking in a deep breath and turning her face to Taenor. "So! How do you fare, Uncle? I have not spoken with you in some time." She smiles brightly.


Lothdaimoth sits as well, between Caelwen and his father, so that their chair around the small table make a semi-circle. Nothing more does he say for now, happy just to watch the fading light catch at her hair and eyes and smile.


"I am quite well, thank you." Despite the elder's quiet even voice, amusement gleams yet more brightly behind the grave expression. "I have spent my time lately quite profitably," the glance he gives his son is almost admonishing. "I have found an ancient copy of one of our songs and I transcribe it to be sung at the festival."


Lothdaimoth catches Caelwen's eye, and she hesitates a long while, studying the familiar lines of his features as her smile gradually grows softer and more tender. It almost seems a visible wrenching when she turns her attention away from him and to his father, and a blush begins to collect at her temples and brow. "I can't wait to hear it," comes her voice, a bit abashed. "I have been busy settling matters in my daernoss, but I hope to return to my pottery wheel soon."


Taenor's lips twitch again. "How very kind of you to say so, my dear. I hope your pottery is going equally as well - have you begun anything new?" Even as these polite words are spoken, he watches. Nothing misses those eagle-like eyes, not the smile, the blush, the still-twined hands; and at last he apparently decides to take pity on them. Turning his attention to Lothdaimoth, he says, "My son, is there anything you would like to.. say perhaps? Any .. new developments in your life?" One pale brow rises in arching question.


The Counsel drags his eyes from Caelwen and looks at the old historian. "Ah.." A faint hint of red begins to grow in his face as well. "Caelwen and I..." The warm pressure of the potter's fingers around his seeps into his consciousness and he smiles, unconscious of the aura of joy that hovers almost tangibly around him. "I love her, Father," he says simply at the last.


Caelwen tugs Lothdaimoth's hand closer so she may clasp it tensely in both of hers. Her entire face tints red as her head bows, and her eyes avoid looking at either of the other two here. She holds to her silence now, but at the Counsel's last words, a large, foolish grin spreads over her face, gaze glittering and dancing though pointed at her own knees.


Green eyes meet sable and rest there for several long moments. For Taenor has seen the passage of innumerable years and little is beyond his understanding. At last he nods and gives his son a small smile. Turning his gaze to Caelwen, his smile grows imperceptibly at sight of her silly grin. And he speaks as if only to her. "I am glad to see this. Though long were we estranged, still I saw the growing sorrow in Darthalion's heart and grieved. It comforts me to see him now so joyful."


And long as well does Lothdaimoth return his father's gaze with clear eyes unburdened now by the past. The nod, approving, brings a relaxing of muscles not even seen to be tense until now. Around them, the room grows ever darker, yet none moves to light the lamps. A cricket chirps in the branches nearby, and could one see them, the stars are beginning to glitter above.


Caelwen's fingers, still tense, ease up just a little around Lothdaimoth's hand. The cirping cricket punctuates the long pause with his cheery, measured song. "It was.. the same for me," she begins, stilted. "I mean, I saw the same thing, to a degree. And now it is.." Her voice falters. She starts over, softer. "I love him." Green eyes flick upward to look for green eyes in an incredibly brief moment before flicking down again. She swallows in silence. "Thank you, uncle."


A glance, brief but tender, rests on Caelwen's bent head. Even as her hand releases its tension, Lothdaimoth's fingers tighten. Softly he says, "I did not realize.. I did not know you were watching. I did not know you saw. Or cared." Whether the words are directed to his father or to Caelwen is uncertain - for they could apply equally well to both. And his own head bows a little as he looks at the floor. Still softer, "I hope not all in the wood..." The sentance is left unfinished.


Taenor's face has lost all of its amusement, and it is with complete seriousness now that he reaches out one thin hand and rests it on his son's shoulder. "I also love you. And I am glad for your joy." Standing abruptly, his other hand descends onto Caelwen's hair - but light and brief is the touch. "You have my blessing, children." Long silent strides take him from the small room, but one last admonishment floats back through the door. Accompanied by, of all things, a soft chuckle. "Be sure and tell your mother soon. I will not answer for her temper should she find out from another..."