================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Late Morning about 11:16 AM
IC day is: Orbelain Valar-day
IC date is: 46 Firith Fading
Moon phase: New VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 4 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3028
---------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Mon Apr 07 19:45:36 2003
=====================================================================

Hall of the Crafters
As you ascend the final few steps of the spiral stair and step upon the talan, you realize that, every bit as massive as the mallorn that supports it, the Hall of the Crafters is truely a marvel. The wide flet of smooth, well-trodden oak spreads about the lower canopy of the tree. Near the trunk of the tree sits a large, octagonal table of gold-inlayed cherry with chairs pulled around. Upon the table is a large silver salver holding a crystal decanter surrounded by ceramic wine mugs. To the rear of the talan, and partially isolated by long, heavy tapestries suspended from the branches above, sits a large desk with a high-backed chair, a cabinet with many small shelves for papers and reports, and a few smaller chairs for discussions.

To the front of the main area of the talan are padded, and in some cases covered, display cabinets filled with a great variety of goods and products produced by the crafters.


Pale is the light on this late autumn morn - even the rays which filter through this massive mallorn carry the wan chill of the outer lands. Even so, there seems to be no lack of comfort in the Hall of the Crafters. The talan is somewhat quiet this morn, with only a few of the guildsfolk sitting at the large meeting table. At the rear of the flet, the gossamer entry curtain to the craftmaster's office is pulled open.


Well-made spiral stairs don't exactly creak, and elven feet are silent unless they choose otherwise anyways, but still something might herald the entrance of someone into the Hall of Crafters. Perhaps it is a stirring in the still cool air. Perhaps a silhouette cast by the noontime sun. But it tells true, for bare seconds later first one and then another figure shapes itself from shadow into form; and Lothdaimoth and Caelwen walk across the smooth floor towards the office at the back.


The craftelves sitting around the meeting table are deep in discussion of various matters of economics. Supply and demand, raw materials, all the boring stuff that must nonetheless be taken care of to hold down a successful trade. One of the journeyelves sitting with his back to the door pauses in midphrase, a thin black eyebrow arching upwards in interest. He gestures for his companion to be silent with a wave of the hand, the sudden halt of -their- conversation drawing a few others to a close. Several pairs of eyes turn to the smith, curiousity plain upon their faces. The elf smiles and looks upwards as if concentrating upon something distant. A elleth from the Weaver's Talan opens her motuh to ask what is the matter, but the smith gently gestures for quiet. "Listen," he commands. "A voice upon the air." All the elves look curious and fall silent, stilling themselves to listen intently. Indeed they can hear a voice from below them. Those with sharper hearing could tell that the voice is deep in song, and that of an edhel. Gradually the song becomes clearer, though not any louder, for it seems the singer is climbing the tree. All heads turn to the stairs as the elf comming up nears the top. The song cuts off suddenly , and a few moments later a head of firey hair pops up and Alosfedhin walks onto the Crafter's Talan. He stops in midstride, looking with surprise at everyone looking at -him.-

"Uhm. Greetings mellyn... Is something the matter?"


Caelwen's steps, though silent and unseen beneath her skirts, do suddenly hasten for a moment to bring her beside Lothdaimoth instead of behind. Her face turns, in concert with the many Gwaith-I-Thein at the table, at a song that pierces the newborn quiet.

Alosfedhin's expression brings a laugh from the elleth, like a hundred glistening bubbles pouring from her mouth, and laughing, she reaches the Aegraum's office and pulls the curtain aside with a slim hand. "Master?" asks this mirth-filled voice before even her eyes look within.


From within the tapestry-shrouded office, after a reasonably distracted pause, comes the impassive reply. "Caelwen nos Dinlom. Please, join me."


Lothdaimoth likewise turns and grins at Alosfedhin. Thus he is a step behind (it is near to a dance, first one to the fore and then the other) when Caelwen calls to the craftmaster. And turning back, the smile remains on his face, as he follows the potter beyond the curtain.


The craftelves all chuckle under their breath at the poor Forester's Apprentice and turn back to their various discussions. Alosfedhin, glances around quickly, then strides over to one of the many display cases that line the front of the talan and examines several pieces of jewelry with a singleminded intent. "... even ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... a ... ... ... again," he mutters under his breath.


"Lord Aegraum, are you busy?" Caelwen asks, words tripping hastily one over the other, and she dips a short curtsy, belatedly, blushing a bit for it. "May we speak with you?" She glances over her shoulder. "Lothdaimoth and I, I mean?" Chattering speech, still, as she approaches the desk.


(Actions visible to those inside the office) Laying down his quill pen, and with a not-all-that-disappointed grimace toward the paperwork in front of him, the craftmaster raises his eyes. The circlet upon his brow glimmers momentarily in the pallid light, the hue at odds with the brilliant gold of his hair.


Watching the young elleth talk herself in front of his desk, the noldo offers a bemused, if small, smile and spreads a hand toward the chairs there, "It would appear that I shall make the time, journeywoman." He inclines his head toward the other then, and with a peremptory greeting of, "Minister," includes both in his gaze. "What errand have you this day, mellyn?"


Lothdaimoth's smile turns from amusement to affection as he watches Caelwen stop at last before the desk, still talking; and for a moment, he does no more than look at her. Until, glancing up to see Aegraum's nod of greeting, he returns it with one of his own. "Master..." he hesitates, sliding a quick look to the potter but when it appears she will not speak, the minister continues. "You know that Caelwen and I will be wed come spring again?" A muted chuckle runs around the table without, though surely they cannot be laughing at him. "We wondered... the talan outside the city, near to the green wall. Is it used for anything now? We thought it would be good to live somewhere perhaps more neutral than the talans of our families."


Caelwen nods at this, lowering herself into a chair while watching the Noldo. At the laugh she throws a quick glance over her shoulder, but otherwise folds her hands into her lap and awaits, eyes flittering between both edhil.


"Your marriage... yes," nods the princeling, suddenly solemn, "I am aware of your intent." He pauses for a moment then, brows furrowing curiously as he glances between you, "One of you will not join the House of the other, as has been the custom among the folk of this realm? Why is there a need to leave the city?"


Caelwen's head bows a moment, braids and curls tangling gold and copper in light. "Well, Master," she answers in a small voice. "I do not wish to leave Dinlom while I am Indiri. And my house is bound as much by fea as by blood, and so if Lothdaimoth does not wish to join us, there isn't really a need." She lifts her head again, elfstone gaze to the Sinda rather than the Noldo. "I asked Indiri Talia, and she said this. She is wed to a Raavindonserke as well."


"And I would not ask her to leave her house if she did not wish it." Lothdaimoth's gaze goes from craftmaster to potter and back again. "Nor do the beliefs and traditions of the Dinlym find much rest in my own heart. It seemed better to live somewhat apart." Noon has come and gone, the faint shadows cast by the fading year's sun shifting across the polished wooden floor beyond the tapestries. "As for going outside the city," he shrugs a little and smiles. "It is not so far and both of us like it there."


Aegraum nods impassively as his gaze rests upon one, then the other of you, apparently with limited interest in the political complexities of the Great Houses of Lorien. "As long as your Indir are satisfied with your plan, and I doubt greatly that you would be seeking such of me were that not the case," he adds with a hint of distaste tempered by pragmatism, "there is little to concern me. But now, of the talan," he continues, easing back into the heavy gilt, high-backed chair, "I can give you my leave, as the master of the Gwaith-I-Thein, that the talan is available for your use. Its has indeed fallen from regular use, and would be little missed in terms of the duties of the guild. Yet," he spreads his hands, cocking his head slightly, "permission for its use is not mine to give. For that, you must pose your request to the Lady or her Lord. Only they may approve the fulfillment of such a desire."


"Oh," a single, startled syllable is followed by more, as Caelwen looks uncertainly at Lothdaimoth. "Thank you, Master." She smiles warmly then, almost affectionately at Aegraum. "It is very kind. Thank you. We shall." She leans forward a bit, as if preparing to stand.


"Thank you," echoes the vintner. He is already a pace away, towards the entrance, but stops to wait for Caelwen. And a small mischievous light comes into his dark eyes. "Perhaps I will pose our request at the Turmath's next meeting, what think you, Caelwen?"


"I shall attend if I may, mellyn," offers the noldo, eyes already cast back downward toward the sheaf of reports there, "to confirm the availability of the talan." He picks up the pen again and, wetting the tip, continues with his work.


"Erm. Aye, Lothdaimoth," Caelwen replies, nearly treading on his heels as she scurries out after him. "Farewell, Lord," she leaves drift behind her, ere they are gone into the regular din and crowd of the Hall.