================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Twilight About 8:54 PM
IC day is: Orithil Moon-day
IC date is: 21 Iavas Autumn
Moon phase: Last Quarter VISIBLE
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: Sat Nov 02 14:58:20 2002
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Stables
Nestled deep within the woods here is a small clearing, used as a boarding area
for horses by the elves of Lorien. A rustic-looking barn with a thatched roof
and simple gates is situated across the field from you. The stable boy, a young
elf boy with frocks of golden hair, is busy with his chores as you arrive.
The sun has set, but the sky is not completely dark. The waning moon is not yet
sliver-thin and sheds a feeble light down over the dusky woods of Lothlorien.
Wood creaks as a gate swings open and Lothdaimoth steps out of the stables.
Over grey-clad arm is slung a bit of rope and a rough brown sack. Several
blankets are tucked under the other. Stopping in the yard, he looks around,
perhaps wondering if he has forgotten anything.
Another elf is there as Lothdaimoth looks around; Caelwen approaches the
stables, head bowed a little. Stiff, waxed canvas sacks are slung over her
shoulder, and her eyes lift belatedly at the creak of the gate. She freezes
there, eyes a bit startled as they view her cousin, though she is otherwise
bereft of expression. A smile lifts, belatedly. "Mae govannen, Lothdaimoth. I
did not know you would still be in the Wood! 'Tis good to see you." Her gaze
trails his face now, a little wistfully.
Surprise flickers across the Counsel's face. "Caelwen. I had not expected to
see you..." Dark eyes go to the sacks. "You keep clay at the stables?" he asks,
a little whimsically. Mirth lights up his eyes and twitches the corner of his
mouth. "Or .. you have given up pottery and become a stableboy!"
Caelwen's smile becomes more natural and her faintly tense stance eases. "Aye,
yes.. you have guessed it." Her voice begins a little shy, but mirth starts
dancing circles around her words. "I have given up pottery. I am tired of being
covered in dust and mud all of the time." She giggles beneath her breath,
slinging the sacks from off her shoulder. "Why, the other day someone even
mistook me for a Vinter." More self-satisfied chortles, and she holds the sacks
in both hands, a bit more tightly than strictly necessary.
"Do tell," Lothdaimoth invites, his voice very solemn though one eyebrow
quirking humorously. "How could such a (terrible, no doubt) thing occur? Did
they perhaps catch you drinking up all the fruits of your labor?" Quite at ease
he seems, though he moves not from his spot beside the gate. A breeze ruffles
through the branches, bringing shadows to shivery life all around. But where he
stands, moonlight spills through the night unimpeded; sparking off of silver
hairclasp and pin.
"Nay!" Caelwen protests high, laughing, then explains quite patiently, "Because
I was covered in mud." She sighs, and shakes her head mournfully, her curls
swaying in the shadows as they shudder over her. "I really think that I was
drinking wine at the time had naught to do with it." Her smile grows wider, but
she finally rends her eyes from him to look down, a faint flush darkening her
skin in the darkness.
Lothdaimoth's eyes linger on her face for a moment, noting the flush, but soon
they are turned away and he continues lightly, the second brow raised to join
the first. "Oh? Are you saying that we vintners are always dirty?" Down at
himself he looks, his pants, boots, shirt - all are clean. The grey cloak that
hangs in long smooth ripples from his shoulders - clean. And he makes his voice
as mournful as possible. "I think I have been maligned." Sadly he shakes his
head, black hair shining in the moonlight. "I should have expected it. Tis but
a short jump from always blaming one, to slander."
"Slander," Caelwen sniffs, after a careful look to confirm for herself that he
is, indeed, clean. "I did not say Counsels were dirty-- 'tis obvious you are a
Counsel today-- but that Vinters are. And it took a good brushing to get all
the mud off of my gold dress, so you can't deny it." She brings the sacks up to
hug them tightly to her chest.
Lothdaimoth sighs theatrically. "Alas. I am indeed a Counsel today. I must
leave my grapes to the tender ministrations of others and go practice
diplomacy." The feigned sorrow in his expression turns real. "I..." He shakes
it off and returns to jesting. Mock scolding perhaps? "You should not wear such
finery to visit the grapes. They may notice, but it is unlikely - and even
then, they would not care."
From within the barn comes a muffled giggle and the black gaping hole of the
door grows. A small brown head, liberally bestrewn with straw, pokes out.
"Grapes don't notice things!" Rhibi (as usual) is carrying his bow. His single
precious arrow has been stuck into a makeshift quiver strapped to his back.
Caelwen's head bows again, and she lingers in silence for a time, wan light and
shadows shivering over her, giving an illusion of movement where there is none.
"Yes," she murmurs soft. "That is true." A slow, fortifying breath, and she
looks up again, thin smile on her face though her eyes do not alight on the
tall Counsel. Her voice is mostly light-hearted again. "Besides, I did not
dress for the vineyards. I was only keeping Uncle company for a while, and
telling him of my trip."
Her eyes eagerly find the youngest cousin, and a hearty nod is given after his
speech. "See, even Iaurfer knows this is nonsense." She almost winks at
Lothdaimoth, a flutter of fiery lashes.
Sable eyes rest on copper curls and pale curve of cheek. Lothdaimoth shifts his
weight, as if to take a step towards her, but Rhibi's high shrill voice cuts
through the air and he settles back. Turning towards the boy, he grins. "But
you are wrong, cousin. The grapes do notice things. I am quite serious." A
sudden thought strikes and brings a small frown to his face. "Rhibi, why are
you out here? Do your parents know?"
"I like to visit the horses," Rhibi says evasively. "Don't call me Rhibi." The
retort is automatic, containing no heat. Edging out of the door, he raises his
bow and aims at a shadow, drawing the string arrowless back and then letting it
go. TWANG. "Got it," he says happily and runs across the yard to pick up his
prize. A leaf is carefully stowed at his belt and he trots over to stand beside
Caelwen. "Do they truly? You are not just teasing me?" Hazel eyes stare at his
cousin suspiciously.
And Caelwen, late, frowns vaguely to Rhibi as well. "Yes... why are you so far
from the city?" She finally drops the waxed sacks beside her and steps into the
weak silver light, a light hand resting on the child's head as he comes near.
"You will need to come with me while I get the clay. It might not be exciting
for you, but you can ride the horse if you like." Her voice holds none of the
irritation it often carries when she deals with her youngest kin, and her hand
slides down to rest on his shoulder instead. "And what did you just shoot?" She
carefully does not look at Lothdaimoth.
A sly look. Rhibi considers Caelwen's words, returns his attention to the elder
of the two and considers him in his turn. "I might," he concedes. The grave
tone, the solemn look are abandoned abruptly. "A wolf. An enormous grey hairy
one with teeth THIS long! I will have the skin tanned and then I will have a
wolfskin rug for my floor."
Dark eyes remain on the small boy, at first stern and then beginning to laugh.
A swift glance to Caelwen, as to share the joke, and then back to Rhibi where
they remain. "I am quite serious," Lothdaimoth says. "Ask any of the vintners
if you doubt me. Or your cousin here. Ask if she feels that her clay notices
her."
"Why, thank you, cousin!" Caelwen exclaims lightly, with a wink and a smile to
Lothdaimoth. "I should have been frightened had a wolf attacked, and you have
saved us!" She squeezes Rhibi's shoulder. "And... erm, well.. no. The clay does
not so much notice me unless I notice it first, you understand. Clay is,
perhaps, sleepier than vines." More at ease, her eyes are creeping back to
watch the elder cousin again.
Rhibi swells with pride. "You don't have to be afraid, Caelwen. I will take
care of you. I am big now, you know." Sharp eyes take in the various bundles
Lothdaimoth carries. "What are you doing, Lothdaimoth? Why are you taking
blankets away?" Briefly he allows the embrace before worming his way out from
under the potter's hand.
"Perhaps it is. Clay is not alive, after all and the vines are." Lothdaimoth's
eyes drift towards Caelwen then snap back to Rhibi as the boy begins a string
of questions. Laughing, he says, "I am taking the blankets to sleep on. Is that
all right with you?"
Caelwen almost seems to wilt a little when Rhibi moves away from her, but she
clasps her hands below her belt and maintains her smile, though it vanishes
from her eyes. She, too, looks curiously to Lothdaimoth. "Blankets?" she asks
lightly. "Is it already the time of year where it is cold on the outside? I did
not think that happened until later." She shifts her weight from one foot to
the other.
"Outside? Where are you going? Will you be gone long? Is that what you were
talking about..." The gleeful voice is cut off and a faintly guilty look cast
up to Lothdaimoth's face.
"Amon Thranduil, yes and 'was that what I was talking about' when?" Lothdaimoth
looks stern. "Were you listening in when you shouldn't have, Rhibi?"
"Don't call me Rhibi. Nooo... I mean, not really. I mean, I didn't mean to."
Mumbling and abashed, the boy digs one toe in the ground. "I was hunting
Caelwen and she stopped to talk to you and it's not my fault I heard you." Now
he sounds aggrieved, innocence wrongly accused of misdeeds.
Lothdaimoth laughs again and grins at Caelwen. "I suppose I cannot hold him to
blame for that. Shall we let the little miscreant go free of charges?" His
smile fades a little then. "Yes. It will be getting colder. And we go north."
Caelwen's eyes flick from one cousin to the other, following the conversation.
She steps a little closer to Lothdaimoth. "Aye, but please don't go around
listening to what I say to everybody, Rhibi. I mean Iaurfer. Please?" But she
is distracted, looking now at the tall Counsel-Vinter fretfully. "Well! I
cannot believe it goes so quickly from that awful heat to a chill." She
attempts to make her tone light, and even teasing. "Ai! I worry too much. Too
bad you don't have someone to take care of you like I always have for me." This
is apparently for Rhibi's benefit, for she glances down and winks at the lad.
"I won't." Rhibi's voice is absent, his attention caught by another stalking
shadow. Lifting his bow, he begins a stealthy creep around the barn.
Lothdaimoth is watching her steadily now. "It seems very swift, but also, we go
a different way. If you remember, it was cold on the other side of the
mountains - where we saw the eagles?" Uneasily, he looks to one side, to the
ground, to the trees around them; but ever his eyes are drawn back to her.
Hooded and shadowed, the thoughts behind them are not easily read - still they
don't seem to be bringing him much comfort.
"Oh! Yes," Caelwen replies, a weak smile lingering on her lips. "I forgot about
that. I was thinking about other things at the time-- scarcely paid attention
to the wind." She does not notice Rhibi stalking away as she studies
Lothdaimoth's discomfort. Her head bows a little, as though pressed by heavy
defeat, but her smile remains in place as she tucks an errant curl behind one
ear.
"I - I should probably be going." Lothdaimoth makes no move to leave though.
"I..." He stops, and then takes a deep breath. The next words come slowly,
heavily; as if he forces himself to speak. "You will think of what I said?"
"You think this is some sort of childish fancy I've taken," Caelwen's voice
holds no ire at all, but there is a faint vein of hurt running through. Her
eyes peer up at him as though betrayed. "I wish you wouldn't be--" she cuts
herself off, and looks away, wrapping her arms around herself. The noises of
early evening press forth as the maiden does not speak again for a long time.
"I promise I didn't mean to see you again before you left," she whispers, the
leaf-murmur nearly scattering her words. "I wanted us to part on good terms."
"No." Lothdaimoth takes a half-step towards her, one hand lifting and then
snatched back. "I... " He sighs, his shoulders slumping. At last: "You wish I
wouldn't what?" The western sky is dark now, no trace of sunset remains. And
for it, the moon shines all the brighter.
"Belittle it," Caelwen replies, very soft. She darts forward, giving him a
brief embrace, shaking a little. "I am sorry. I did not mean to remind you of
any of this." And just as quick, she dances several steps away, as though he
were fire and would burn her if she lingered. She swallows, and her voice
becomes forcibly light. "Do not worry yourself over it, aye? I know I keep
saying this.. but really, you needn't concern yourself. This is my trouble
alone." Her eyes watch him in the silver light of the thin moon, concern and
wounding mingling therein.
Lothdaimoth stands motionless, his head bowed. Warm arms are slid around him
and withdrawn again and still he is silent. "I did not mean to - to belittle
you." His voice is painfully quiet and slow. "I hoped... I do not want to hurt
you, Caelwen." Then a short laugh, bleak and humorless. "How can you say that?
I have cared for you and loved you all your life, I cannot suddenly now stop
concerning myself. But I do not want to see your life go as mine has." At last
he looks up pleadingly, dark eyes no longer shuttered but filled with a
dizzying swirl of emotions. Grief and loss, longing, despair, confusion.
"Oh!" Caelwen cries, her face grown tight with heartache the instant his eyes
are lifted to her, a distorted echo of her cousin's emotions. She flies to him
again, arms wrapped tight and her brow pressed to his shoulder, but to give
comfort or to take it, who can say? "Do not, do not!" Her voice lifts high with
distress. "I wish I had never said anything, so you would not know. I hate that
I have done this to you! Ai, Lothdaimoth, I swear I would take it back if I
could."
Blankets are dropped, unfolding themselves as they fall. The rope slides
forgotten from Lothdaimoth's arm. Enfolding her in an embrace as tight as her
own, he buries his face in her hair. "I am sorry," come muffled words after
long silence.
Caelwen only shifts a little to press her eyes now to his shoulder, but remains
there a long time in silence, tense form eventually relaxing in the smallest
amount. After quite a few minutes pass in silence, only a lonely breeze daring
whisper, the Cennan's muffled and quiet voice is heard, more at ease now. "You
know, it has been very hard going through this without my oldest friend to talk to,"
she says, a very weak form of rueful humor enlacing her tone. "I suppose it is
what made me tell you of it in the first place." Mournfully, she adds, "I
really ought to have just kept it to myself."
Tugged at by the playful breeze, coppery-red hair brushes Lothdaimoth's face.
Shifting his stance only to hold her closer, an unseen smile twists his lips a
little at her words. After a bit more time has passed, he tries to add to the
joke. "Perhaps you should carry a doll like Hinloth does and you could tell all
your troubles to it, for when I am unavailable."
And unseen alike, a wince of hurt tugs at Caelwen's features at his words, but
her body tenses again as she clings to Lothdaimoth. It is another long pause
before she might speak calmly. "Perhaps," is all she that can reply despite
this, and her head turns, resting a bit closer to him.
Caelwen's expression cannot be told, but the renewal of tension is felt and
Lothdaimoth stiffens a little himself because of it. One hand goes up to remove
a bit of hair that crept into his mouth while he was talking, and lingers there
tangled in bright curls. Hesitantly, uncertain if he can say anything that will
not hurt her, he murmurs, "You could perhaps talk with your brother? I .. I
think he would be very glad were you to turn to him."
A downshift of her head is perhaps a nod, or perhaps it is just to better fit
against his hand. "Perhaps," Caelwen says, a bit lighter. "I already have, you
know. Not that I told him of your name, of course," she hastens to add. She
remains perfectly still now, but does begin to relax again into his hold.
Lothdaimoth's fingers move softly, then halt. "You did?" Around them, the night
is anything but quiet - bugs and crickets, tiny rustling creatures, even the
creak and groan of trees as they sway in the fitful breeze fill the air with
sound. But all this is distant and faint compared with the sound of one low
voice that speaks against his chest. "What did he say?" the counsel asks at
last.
And still her tense form eases. "He said," she begins haltingly, shame filling
her throat. "That I should have a friend ask you if you could... care for me in
such a way... before I told you of my feelings." She swallows once, her hands
shift vaguely on his back, and she almost seems to hide against him. "I did not
care for his advice, because it seemed to me a... I don't know, deceitful way
of going about things. And I chose wrong." Her voice sinks to a whisper, and
her eyes stare blankly at the night-darkened pillars of ancient tree trunks.
Listening, the voice known since it first spoke words, Lothdaimoth's fingers
begin to move again through and against her hair. Some small bit of comfort
might he give perhaps, even if not the full measure - or so he tells himself.
His chest rises and falls in a soundless sigh, and again he lets the night fill
the silence between them before a single word whispers through her hair. "Why?"
Caelwen's eyes close as his fingers again move, skin firming between her brows
in an expression that could be either bliss or sorrow, or a mingling of both.
She whispers back, all emotions caught in her throat, "Because your pain at
this wounds me more than what I would have borne had I never spoken."
"I am sorry," Lothdaimoth repeats hopelessly, turning his head at last so as
not to eat any more hair. Unhappiness pulls at his voice. "But how would things
have been different had you asked another to tell me? I am glad you did not.."
he adds at the last.
Caelwen's embrace of him tightens, her fingers stroking his back in what she
hopes is a comforting manner. "Nay! This is not your fault." Somewhere near an
owl hoots and the stars twinkle in laughter back at it. "And they would have
only asked you if you could think of me in such a manner... and not tell you of
my own feelings." Her head shifts again, to rest against the side of his neck
in better peace.
A soft touch shivers down Lothdaimoth's back and he takes a deep ragged breath.
'..Could think of her in such a manner...' the words echo in his ears and he
stiffens, his eyes flying open. "I.. I must go. Caelwen, I am sorry." Even as
he speaks, he is stooping to gather up the fallen blankets, the coiled rope.
Swift steps take him to the edge of the field, then into dark-cloaked trees and
away.
Caelwen gasps and takes a half-step backwards as though to steady herself, then
grips her upper arms with both hands. "Oh! Oh, aye, well..." but Lothdaimoth is
already gone, even her eyes scarcely able to keep up with him as he goes. She
paces to the side of the path, settles herself against the base of a mallorn,
drawing her knees up. Her calm swiftly crumbles, and for a while, she allows
herself a little time to cry, the sounds muffled in her hands. When she is
done, she stands, gathers up her sacks and continues purposefully about her
business.