The Last Homely House RP

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
Post Reply
New Soul
Points: 1 396 
Posts: 769
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:30 am
Image

"Here in Rivendell there live still some of his chief foes: the Elven-wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas."
- Gandalf, from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - Many Meetings

"Frodo was now safe in the Last Homely House east of the Sea. That house was, as Bilbo had long ago reported, 'a perfect
house, whether you like food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best,
or a pleasant mixture of them all.' Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness."

- Narrator, from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - Many Meetings

"It's a big house this, and very peculiar! Always a bit more to discover, and no knowing what you'll find around
a corner. And Elves, sir! Elves here and Elves there! Some like kings, terrible and splendid; and some as merry as children.
And the music and the singing..." -
Samwise Gamgee, from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - Many Meetings


Welcome to the House of Lord Elrond (Played by Tharmáras). Our ruler is absent presently as is Lady Arwen (RPed by Annúnfalas) and Lord Glorfindel (Tharmáras) but Elrond they will be arriving shortly. Please, speak with Counsellor Erestor (Tharmáras) if you wish to have a room for your restful stay.
This place is always filled with folk, both Elves and travellers of various
races though no one evil. Elrond's audience chamber is for feasting; there can be found a long table upon a dais.

A further hall has no tables though there are bright flames in a great burning hearth between carven pillars.
In the Hall of Fire you will hear many songs of sweet music and riveting tales if you can remain awake. Except for High Days this chamber is usually empty
and quiet, a place for peace and reflection; there's always a fire lit but seldom lighted by any other means.
There are panoramic views of the steep-climbing woods of Imladris seen through the windows of the Hall of Fire
and radiant blue stars shining above the vale is always a serene sight for souls longing for solace.
Feeling refreshed you may walk along the terraces above the rushing Bruinen River
and hear the tuneful singing of birds which build their nests in Elrond's gardens.


The time is 3014 and the springtime. Its' a sunny morning in Rivendell and there's a pleasant breeze gently stirring in the pinewoods.


Rules:

If you would like a room, please speak with me who's play Erestor, Elrond's chief counsellor.

You may interact with anyone you like whether it be other members or your own characters. Private RP'ing is okay since we are told by Tolkien that some people just want to sit and think in the Hall of Fire; just mark somewhere in your post if that's the case, if you do not wish to be interrupted.

Please visit the Imladris OOC RThread for out of character remarks / planning / questions. viewtopic.php?f=10&p=259#p259

If you would like certain positions such as cook, housekeeper, gardener, stablehand, and musician let me know. The House needs a staff.

In addition to the canon characters which Tharmáras writes in this thread, mentioned above, he also holds Aragorn and Galadriel when she visits
.
Last edited by Eriol on Thu Mar 18, 2021 9:25 am, edited 4 times in total.

Councillor of Imladris
Points: 223 
Posts: 204
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:30 am
Lúthien Mordagnir hung her bow and quiver, then her cloak, after spending her day guarding the borders. After washing up, she headed to the kitchens in the House of Elrond. She found it calming to end the day with busy hands, particularly with tasks that did not involve risk... Other than the rare incidental burn or cut.

So, when she could, Lúthien joined the chefs and bakers, spending the hours she could making baked delicacies. Tonight, it would be a raspberry pie for the table.

Often, the voices of Elves singing in the valley could be heard singing in the valley through the windows. Though Lúthien was far from fluent in Quenya, she had heard their song often enough to hum along as she baked, occasionally catching onto a phrase or word she knew.

She rolled out her dough, sprinkled some flour on it, and when she was satisfied with its consistency, she placed it in the pie dish, then set it over the fire-oven to bake. Once the crust was in place, Lúthien began working on the raspberries, placing them into a bowl and mashing them together.

But her focus drifted from her task at hand, and her mind wandered to memories of her childhood in Bree, and the parents she'd lost...Then the kindred who cared for her and trained her, until life had led her to the Mordagnir clan. Though most of her life had been spent wandering, she always felt a sense of hope. And perhaps that is why she settled there in Imladris: the feeling that even amidst all of the darkness in the world, there were embers, like flames of hope. Hearth and home, song and family, these renewed the sense inside of her.

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh

The company came at last through a grey stone arch into a wide courtyard dotted hither and yon with the suggestion of paths winding seductively out of sight; graceful marble figures enticing the observer to come explore their hidden treasures. It would have been a wonderful place to grow up, Liria mused, gazing in awe at the lush verdant scene; a delightful venue for some truly magnificent games of Seek ye the Hidden. She wouldn't mind racing through it now, caution to the wind, meeting the trees in blossom and finding out where all the dainty waterfalls plunged to their ends. It all looked so harmonious; the Elven art of binding nature to their will to create something even more beautiful had been mastered long ago in this place. It had an air of ancient elegance, different to Lórien but no less arresting.

She had been here once before, but her memory of it had been dim and tainted with grief. She hadn't noticed the delicate beauty of the valley; even the exquisite domed white lattices of the cloisters had seemed spidery then, enclosing the healing wing in a funerary shroud. Today those memories were dissolved, and the glory of the elegantly sprawling buildings had her marvelling at the architect's vision.

A bell chimed, high in the distance, drawing her back to the present. Liria turned, but evidently she'd missed something, for most of the party were dismounting. A tall Galadhrim offered her his hand, and she dismounted carefully the way she'd be shown. Riding side-saddle had been a new challenge on this journey, and she wasn't sure she liked it; but since she was wearing a shockingly long habit, the very idea of riding astride was laughable.

"Hannon le, Farongaer," she nodded up at the Elf politely. He returned the gesture, a half-smile hovering just out of sight.

"Elrond Peredhil is not at home," he murmured, clearly aware of her woolgathering and subsequent confusion. "We are to wait for Erestor, his kinsman. Our Lady requested two rooms on your behalf and he will have arranged them, but it is his custom to welcome guests."

"Hannon le," she said fervently, suppressing the scowl she wanted to aim at herself for being so transparent. "You've been very kind since we set out. I appreciate it."

He had been kind. Their twelve-strong Galadhrim escort had been excessively attentive and thoughtful the entire journey, which had otherwise been uneventful. Most notably, they didn't comment when she made some error in social etiquette. They must all have younger sisters, she mused.

He demurred graciously, and returned back to his post, already ready to begin the long journey back should it be required of him.

Against all her natural instincts, she allowed an Elf to come take her horse; she was used to seeing where her mounts were stabled, brushing them down and making them comfortable herself. It was unthinkable, apparently, that she do that. Privately, Liria suspected that her fellow scholars just didn't want to do it themselves, but she was at least going to give them the benefit of the doubt before she broke any more social rules.

There were only three scholars actually staying; the two Lórien scholars, Nimfalas and Eliafuin, who would be staying together, and herself. Their stay was to be open-ended, with no planned date of departure, and while such knowledge would have horrified her Naneth, Liria was delighted. There was too much to learn, such a wealth of lore and experience here, to be thinking of leaving already.

She watched until the Elf leading Alagos was out of sight, then turned back to join her companions' conversation, and await the arrival of Elrond's Counsellor.
Last edited by Lirimaer on Thu Jun 04, 2020 10:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

New Soul
Points: 1 396 
Posts: 769
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:30 am
Image


Erestor, the High Counsellor of Lord Elrond, smiled at Aigronding Mordagnir who fell into step with him along the torchlit corridor.

"Still on the mend, Herald?"
he asked, taking a turn beyond a tapestry of melancholy Maglor the harper raising young Elrond and his brother, Elros.


"I need to see Annamíri or another healer at Adab Nestad,"
replied Aigronding. He wore a blue and silver brocade jerkin this evening with his left arm still bound in a sling. Aigronding had been injured helping the Lindon Guard fight some Umbarians and evil Dwarves recently with his battalion in the Elven Host. He took a mace blow to his limb.

"Shouldn't you know how long it'll take by now?"
Erestor wondered, chuckling, and walked down the slender winding steps with Aigronding. "You've been injured how many times?"

"I see you've discovered a sense of humor while I've been gone,"
mentioned Aigronding dryly. "I'm a High Elf, give me a fortnight."

"A month."


"Don't curse me, Varda's stars!"
Aigronding exclaimed. "I have mining to do."

"You have battles to win, more like,"
corrected Erestor.

"I may enjoy swinging a sword than a pickaxe, I'll admit," admitted Aigronding with a broad grin.

"Was Roina hurt?"

"No but she did fall off an Umbarian bireme. We my found wife on Himling."

"Himring."

"Tomato, tomahto as they say in Bree."


"It could have been worse, you know," mused Erestor. "Roina could have washed ashore on Mole Island...." Erestor laughed but awkwardly quieted when Aigronding gave him a blank stare. "I suppose that wasn't funny...."

"No, your jokes need improvement. We'll work on that sometime. I must see my daughter and Tharmáras will be here any second with his wife and children." Aigronding clasped his forearm and departed, walking to the kitchen lured by the pleasing smell of pie crust baking.
*


Erestor smoothed his hands over his indigo belted tunic and emerged from the comforting glowing light of cutglass chandeliers. He gave Sérëlindë Liriasîdh a warm smile in the collumned courtyard and gave a small bow, one palm resting over his heart briefly before taking a small leather journal from his pocket. "Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, scribe of Mirkwood, it is a pleasure to see you as always and I am honored to meet the acquaintance of your fellow scholars!" he greeted her merrily, drawing closer. "I hope you will find your stay in Imladris just as peaceful as it was when you first came to the valley long ago," Erestor said gently, his features softening for a fleeting moment before recovering his happier countenance.

"We have recieved your request aforetime, elleth,"
Erestor exclaimed, glancing at the deckled pages of his journal. "Since you've told us that your stay will be open-ended we have reserved you three rooms for an indefinite period of time. We hope you do tarry here with us amongst the falls for a little season." He paused for a second, basking in the blissful sounds of the waters of Rivendell. "As you know there's much to learn here from the loremasters..." He gestured at Deren Morbendain, the husband of Eilianthel Mordagnir, who passed by them in innocent ignorance with his nose in a book - quite literally actually, he was smelling a tome of Rhovanion lore from Elrond's library. Erestor had to shout at him, reminding the scholar that there was a slender bridge he was about to miss completely.

"We once had a library building for the valley but for now it's been closed since so many of our scribes and researches have left for the Undying Lands,"
lamented Erestor, "however," he continued brightly, "there are custodians who have relocated all the books and scrolls to Elrond's library within the west wing of the Last Homely House which has finished remodeling for more space so, I imagine, you'll be spending most of your there." He spread his hand grandly over the paradise of the river valley. "When you are not studying or working in the library, immerse yourself in the beauty of this place. The Bruinen River is flowing swiftly for summer boat races and there's many pools here for you to relax and swim in. There is Airien Mereniel's spa in Linymaril, the manor of the Mordagnirs. The woods of Rivendell are lovely this time of year for long walks in the sun or under moon." He lifted his gaze toward heaven oversprinkled with burning blue stars scattered amongst a sickle moon gleaming goldenly. He looked back at Liria with a cheerful smile.

"Follow me," he invited her, Nimfalas, and Eliafuin with a sweeping hand to indicate the entrance. He led them into the elegant grandeur of the house. He grinned wider as his role of tour guide and Elrond's trusted steward, knowing Liria and her companions would be impressed by the marvelous carpentry of the richly carved dark beams and the lovely historical paintings adorning each wall. He gasped however in embarrassment when a dog's voice like a deep-toned bell was loosed in the passage.


Image



A huge black female wolfhound with eyes like living sapphires came bounding down the carpeted hall, ears flapping in the rush. She clutched a chicken between her jaws and her long tail was snapping to and fro with jollity that swept down a statue of Gil-galad. A laughing Elf-girl, who couldn't been a day over fifty-three years of age - perhaps eighteen summers in the reckoning of Man or slightly younger - came chasing after her pet. She laughed as she nimbly sprinted forth, beringed hands holding the skirt of her embroidered violet gown. Long red hair swished as she ran in silver shoes and the candelight of Elrond's house gleamed beautifully in her azure eyes.

"Aewrusca Mordagnir, you know better than to unleash your wolfhound in the House of Elrond!"
yelled Erestor, blushing in front of Liria as he caught the statue with the grace of the Eldar.

"I'm sorry, Councillor Erestor!" shouted the elleth.

"When you apologized the first time, I assumed you learned your mistake, young lady!" Snapped Erestor, trying to appear in control near Liria, the scholars, and amused passersby. "You are the Herald's daughter but that does mean your childish antics will be condoned in this valley!"

Aewrusca, drawing closer, thrust out her bottom lip petulantly. "But Losúri didn't listen when I opened the garden door to the kitchen, honest!"

"You let her so Lúthien could pet her because she hasn't been home all day, I know you Mordagnir girls! Only Calselda is obedient! There's a reason she's called Child of Light!"

Aewrusca snorted a laugh, nearly reaching the door which Losúri breezed out of, brushing Liria's leg. "My parents should have named me Lúrëayendë, I suppose." Aewrusca halted at the porch and whipped her ginger hair back as she proclaimed, "The Daughter of Darkness!" with dramatic flamboyance and giggled, bolting off into the starry night in pursuit of her wolfhound. "You spend too much time with Nariel and Veowyn! Tavari and your mother will be hearing about this!" warned Erestor. Moments later he could hear Aewrusca joining the elvish singing "Tra-la-la-lally here down in the valley!" outside and the joyful noise of a shaken tambourine.

Erestor, pale as Gondorian stone, led Liria and the scholars further down the hall. He grimaced, hearing Apsatári - the easily riled High Elf chef reprimanding one of her cooks as the party neared the kitchen. "You have smothered this veal in too much red pepper that it's ceased to look like meat!" Erestor could hear the perfectionist's sharp accusation. "Now it actually looks like the Eye of Sauron, congratulations! You're done. If you don't get out of my kitchen, I'll throw you to Hildorien." Erestor sucked in his breath as a dispirited Elf-boy fled the kitchen, sobbing in his apron.

"I promise you this is a place of peace and reflection," Erestor swore to Liria. He audibly gulped, leading her and the other visitors down an adjacent hall. "Suite 27 is your chamber, Liria," said Erestor, coming to a stop at an oaken door which was decorated with carven motifs of leaves and vines as was the door of the room next to it. "Nimfalas and Eliafuin will have Suite 28. Both resemble each other." Erestor removed three large ornate silver keys from his pockets and gave them to the Elven guests, allowing Liria to open the door of her own chamber. He ventured inside the shadowy room with one of the torches he took from a sconce off the wall outside. Liria's airy chamber featured a wooden floor, Lindonese turquoise rugs, a clawfoot tub with floral accents, and a washbasin that hosted a pitcher set with mahogany stand. There a bookcase, a settee, a chamberpot, and a couple trunks for belongings & clothing. A folding screen depicting the Misty Mountains painted on a lacquered surface provided privacy inside the chamber. A luxurious canopy bed was near the curtained window which Erestor drifted to. He eased back the velvet drapes to show Liria and the Elves the panoramic view of the idllyic river valley.

"I do hope you all enjoy Elrond's garden," recommended the hospitable councillor, opening one of the glass-paned doors leading outside. There were white swing benches attached to the roof, colorful ivy clinging to their chains. Darting amongst the spreading limbs of the tall pine trees and beeches were nightingales trilling and gurgling with powerful melodious songs. "Lord Elrond loves nightingales," Erestor commented to the Elves, "and I do believe when he hears them he imagines Queen Melian, his angelic ancestor, teaching them how to sing once upon a time..." Erestor faced Liria and her companions. "There are double the things you see here for the next door. Do you need anything I may be able to assist with? If must freshen yourselves there are receptionists to speak with who can hot water for your ablutions."

*


Image



Aigronding caught Apsatári's eye and gave her a wink. The slender porcelain chef with the sleek scarlet hair, an Exile he had known all his life who was old enough to be his mother, took one look at his sling and shook her head. Aigronding's luminous blue eyes raked over the kitchen, searching for someone he missed while he was on errantry... It didn't take long to find her. Even before he saw her blue-grey eyes and dark-brown hair he noticed the experienced ease with which she rolled the dough and crushed the raspberries that his adopted daughter was baking tonight. He wandered closer by and smiled sofly as he watched Lúthien sweetly hum as she worked. Fond memories of this Dúnadan girl he counted among his kin flashed splendidly through his mind. Over the years he had opened the doors of Linymaril to young Elves or rootless mortals needing a home, wanting family. Lúthien had been one of those. She was not his blood but she was clan nevertheless and his own children he had with Roina regarded her as a sibling.

"Tell me it's raspberries!"
Aigronding whispered over her shoulder, recalling an amusing moment when his daughter mentioned she was picking his favorite fruit in the Linyamaril orchard and he had reacted with what was comical exuberance. He laughed, taking a step back, to give her space enough to whirl around then he embraced her tightly in a one-armed hug. "I've missed you, Lúthy." He kissed her forehead and hugged her again. "I would lift you up, dear, but your father took a beating in Lindon, battling Umbarians," He explained in richly accented common. Most of the time Aigronding spoke to her in Sindarin which she could understand and speak fluently as a woman of the Dúnedain but there were days when he spoke to her plainly as villagers talked in Bree, figuring she'd enjoy hearing the sound of her old home.

"How goes the border watch?" he asked, his voice sounding more serious. Aigronding had been the Tar-Taidron high captain of Rivendell's host for years but lately many soldiers were sailing to Aman, weakening the military. Now there were militia companies for the valley's defense and to help elven neighbors abroad; his own was called the Gryphon Battalion, named for a majestic creature which solely lived in the Undying Lands and was his father's heraldic emblem.

Suddenly, the door which the cooks used for the kitchen gardens was swung wide open by Aewrusca Mordagnir, the third youngest daughter of Aigronding and Roina. "You made lemon loaf this time, yes?" Aewrusca demanded of Lúthien, seizing her sister's arm in giddy anticipation. "You promised me, onórë ninya!"


Image


"You better not have that brought your gigantic wolfhound again!" snapped Apsatári, striding over. The butterfly ornaments of her hair sparkled in the candelight as she hurried over with an imperious gaze.

"She's not gigantic," Aewrusca mumbled.

"Too big for my kitchen and not sanitary, my darling!"
the chef insisted. "Keep her out of here and away from my herbs!"

Aigronding started to shut the door as Apsatári lectured her but Losúri came barging in with a gleeful dash, chasing a terrified chicken into the kitchen. Apsatári shrieked when the hound snatched the bird off the ground and proceeded to make off with it, running into the hall swiftly like an arrow shot from a bow of yew.

"You owe me a chicken, Mordagnir!" Apsatári told Aigronding, thrusting a finger against his sinewy chest. She narrowed her piercingly bright green eyes at Aewrusca who was frozen in place, trying not to laugh. "Well, get your hound, you silly girl before Erestor has a cow!" she ordered, giving the Elf-girl a nudge. "You will never eat another pastry in Elrond's house again, Aewrusca, do you hear?" threatened Apsatári as Aewrusca sprinted out of the kitchen then she shook her finger at Lúthien. "Talk while you work."

"I was just leaving,"
said Aigronding but Apsatári yanked the Herald's good arm.

"You'll stay, here and learn something," Apsatári said with acerbic force and nodded at Lúthien.

"I have one hand -"

"So did Maedhros," interjected Apsatári. "He's slaughtered Orcs one-handed so there's no excuse." Apsatári smiled at Lúthien. "Teach your father how to bake, lass," Apsatári told Lúthien. "So he can make something sweet for the women in his life. Make sure he doesn't burn anything or I'll throw you both in an oven." She smirked, walking away to insult someone.

"Oh, I'm glad to be home," Aigronding admitted, chuckling as Lúthien helped roll up his white shirtsleeve with daughterly care
.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, a Silvan elf

Her companions' conversation was cut short by the arrival of Elrond's kinsman, and if she looked overlong at his face, he never mentioned it. Erestor looked so like, and yet unlike, her brother, Barahaer, that she was struck dumb. Perhaps it was more in the way he tilted his head as he consulted his pocketbook than a perfect likeness, but his whole bearing was reminiscent of her quiet, unassuming brother.

His greeting, as if they were acquainted, was strange, but since her memory of Imladris was dim, she supposed he might indeed have seen her before. It hurt her pride to hear her home addressed thus, but the Woodland Realm was indeed so private and isolated that perhaps that was how the outside world regarded it - pitying the poor fools living in shadow-infested Mirkwood. His greeting to her companions, who were regular visitors, was obviously in jest, and the gentle ribbing made her relax once more. His welcome was otherwise polite and she smiled in thanks.

It was good to hear she would be permitted to use Elrond's library, and she resolved to visit the west wing at her earliest convenience. There was no mention of maps, but her cartographically-inclined companions would no doubt know already where to find such treasures.

Erestor seemed slightly harassed, but clearly his pocketbook was keeping him organised. It was good to hear their rooms were ready, and she was eager to see them, but the sudden shout from the quiet steward made her start. Clearly the recipient of the alarm was unruffled by the outburst, and with barely a checked step, adjusted his course accordingly. What was wrong with the ellon, she wondered, that he was so unaware of his surroundings?

As Erestor invited them into the House, she fell in behind the respected Lórien scholars. In truth it was like seeing a place for the first time in the flesh after a lifetime of pictures in books, so poor was her memory of the sweeping vaulted ceilings with their timeless lattice of delicate swirling patterns. It would be good to spend some time here, and perhaps she would even get her brushes wet, if time permitted, for everything in Imladris was beautiful.

She was jolted out of her admiring speculation by the primal sound of a large animal, somewhere down the corridor. Her knife, soundlessly drawn without conscious thought as she melted into the side of the passageway, was a welcome weight in her hand, hidden in the long folds of her dress. However, a bright ripple of laughter followed the enormous beast that charged through, heedless of the confusion caused in its wake, too enamoured of the feathered fowl it had stolen. An Elf-maid came into view, highly amused and certainly unrepentant as she apologised disingenously for the chaos she'd unwittingly caused. Liria's eyes followed the wolfhound's retreat in wary appreciation as she slowly sheathed the knife again.

Erestor, somewhat florid and, by the evidence of his volume, almost approaching apoplexy, had caught a tumbling statue with admirable aplomb, and evidently he wasn't above airing his ire in public as he chastised the maiden, Aewrusca. He wasn't actually angry, Liria noted, but exasperated and embarrassed, which she could understand. Nevertheless, his outpouring wasn't something Liria was used to. Her father ruled his house with an eyebrow and softly-spoken reason, and she would never have raised her voice to shout at an elder in the Greenwood lest she shamed her Naneth. She didn't quite know where to look, and adopted the polite averting of the eyes which the Lórien Elves managed so effortlessly. This proved useful as they passed the kitchens, where yet another voice rose in anger. It was a relief when they passed out of immediate earshot, and Liria found herself wondering whether there was another route out of the house - she would be quite happy to avoid the area henceforth, even if it meant a longer trip.

They ascended a wide staircase winding around a large but empty marble hallway, and Erestor eventually brought them up along a curving passageway punctuated by many doors separated by muted frescoes she wanted to stop and absorb. The thought occurred to her that many would have stayed within these chambers, and she wondered briefly about who they had been and which way those travellers had gone after, when their party stopped at last at an ornate oak door.

The door, decorated to within an inch of its edges, opened to a dark chamber. Initially, Liria had been surprised when Erestor took a torch from the wall outside, but the shadowy room clearly necessitated it - at least until the velvet drapes were drawn back and let in the glorious afternoon sun. The room was more than adequate, over ten times the size of her chamber at home, with no noise barring the rustle of wind through leaves and birdsong. It would be a perfect temporary home for the duration of her stay.

She mostly wanted privacy now, to look at the room and unpack, but the offer of a hot soak was very tempting.

Her companions knew her too well. "Thank you for your kind welcome and abundant hospitality," Eliafuin murmured toward Erestor, "but nay, we need nothing as yet, save a small nuncheon to tide us over until the evening, if you will send one up?" She nodded at Liria briskly, "My sister and I will call on you later, mell-hên. You will join us for the evening meal."

"I will await your arrival as Anor sets," Liria nodded respectfully. And then they were gone.

Liria, left alone with Elrond's steward, shrugged an elegant shoulder. "I am a mere babe in their eyes," she explained. "They are all kindness. Tell me, hîr-nín, would it be too much of an imposition to request that the tub be filled with hot water this early in the day?"
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

Herald of Imladris
Points: 71 
Posts: 4
Joined: Fri May 22, 2020 7:13 am
She was covered with a thin film of dust but considering she was about to ride out again that was a mere trifle in the larger concern that was refilling her satchel with some provisions which would last her some time and prevent the need for hunting, if possible. Anárié sighed to herself as she rubbed a circle against her temple and turned a sharp corner to take a shortcut to the kitchens, knowing that would be the easiest of her destinations before she had to deal with other things. In all honesty, it was good to be home, however, because the chaos that was Imladris on its best day was what usually made her smile and kept her going.

Sighing to herself and brushing her arms off as she walked, she adjusted the set of her vambraces so they didn't chafe against her skin even through the clothing she wore. One of them had twisted and ended up biting right into her wrist, but thankfully it had also prevented her from getting any lingering injury while she was at it. Anárié pressed her lips together as she considered whether or not she should have rained more hurt down on the unfortunate trio of goblins who thought it would be a bright idea to investigate whether she was worth bothering. Probably, but it was over now, at the very least. For now.

Hearing commotion up ahead, she craned her neck to see, but wasn't exactly in the best position to do so and instead gave up. Probably one or another of the younger Elves running rampart. She'd have to stop and seek out Erestor before she left while she was at it, though for right now ... the satchel.

Slipping through the doors of the kitchens, she felt her muscles relax at the warmth and earthy smell of the spacious room, before her attention caught on something else entirely even as she opened her mouth to greet the chef, whoever was there that day. Then again, it wasn't EVERY day one saw this particular scene unfold, she supposed.

"Should I be worried?" she asked with amusement instead, eyeing Aig, though it was a slip of the dice of whether it would be the sling, or his attempt at baking. "Looks like I might have to employ you next time I desire some baked goods."

Forester of Lothlorien
Points: 159 
Posts: 70
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 6:24 pm
Sidra adjusted the pack on her shoulder as she made her way up the path towards the Last Homely House. It has taken her several days to travel here from Bree, but she couldn’t complain. The summer days had been sunny and warm, and the nights she had slept out under the stars had been pleasing enough. Still, she looked forward to a hot bath, a soft bed, and good food and company. She stopped beside one of the bridges that led across the waters, and lowered her pack. Stooping beside the river bank she scooped the cool, crisp water into her hands and splashed it on her face. She knew Elf and Man alike were welcome within the valley, but she wanted to look presentable…or at least more presentable than she probably currently looked. Sleeping outside had left her clothes more rumpled and her face more dirty than they currently had been.

She stared down at her reflection in the water, and ran her fingers through her long ebony locks. She definitely looked worse for the wear. She sighed, and stood; picking her pack (along with her bow and quiver of arrow) back up from the ground. Enough Rangers visited Imladris that she hoped they’d pardon her appearance. She walked across the bridge and towards the stone archway that led into the courtyard. She took deep breaths as she walked; enjoying the scent of the pine trees.

Entering the stone courtyard felt like returning home to Sidra – even though fair Lothlorien was where she hailed from, she spent enough time at the Last Homely House for it to feel thus. She looked down at her mud caked black boots and weather-worn clothing. Her black plants and tunic were mud splattered, and her grey-blue shirt had seen better days. She sighed again. What a bedraggled Half-Elf she was. She squared her shoulders as she looked around the courtyard, waiting for Lord Elrond’s chief counselor, Erestor to show up.
Characters: Sidra (Elf), Leilani & Elva (Hobbits), Solia (Human)

New Soul
Points: 1 396 
Posts: 769
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:30 am
Image


Erestor bowed smilingly before Eliafuin and her sister, Nimfalas. "Bread, cheese, and beer it is if I'm not mistaken for your choice of nuncheon, ladies!" Erestor nodded, laughing softly, when Liria mentioned she was a mere babe in their eyes. "Sometimes I feel like a mere babe in the grey eyes of our Lord Elrond though I am older than him," Erestosr admitted, "with him being so wiser and venerable than I. But anyways..."

He shook his head, smiling wider and bowing again. "No, it would be no trouble to bring you the essentials for your bath, Liria. It is a customary request of many travellers, feeling sore and dusty from their journeys abroad. I shall have a housekeeper attend to your shortly, elleth." He clasped her forearm amicably and hurried away.

Image


Erestor approached the nearest housekeeper, a young blonde elleth, Dineth, who was Aewrusca's best friend. She was quickly moving down the corridor with an armful of towels held close to her green cotehardie. "Do you have any tasks to accomplish once you've seen those towels to the appropriate chambers, dear?" Erestor asked, halting her with a sudden motion of his hand.

Dineth smiled tightly but Erestor could tell she was gritting her teeth. "I was going to have a honey mask with Aewrusca once my duties were finished, sir-"

"A what??" Erestor demanded, absolutely dumbfounded.

Dineth took a deep breath and released it in a gusty sigh. "It's a facial treatment Airien Mereniel, Roina Mordagnir's cousin, does at her spa at Linyamaril," she explained, exasperated already. "it smooths the skin and cleans your pores."

The expression Erestor gave her bordered between great puzzlement and profound amusement. "You and Aewrusca....are going to put honey and cucumbers on your face?"

"Y-yes,"
Dineth replied, stuttering in consternation. She blushed vividly. "You can ask the healers at Adab Nestad that facial masks have medicinal benefits for one's skin -"

"You can waste time doing ridiculous things with your friend later,"
Erestor interrupted her curtly, waggling a finger. "I need you to do something important for me at present."

"As you wish,"
Dineth responded glumly.

"Liria needs hot bathing water at Suite 27," explained Erestor. "See to it personally, elleth, and fetch Liria some soap as well. Then you can smear honey and fruit on yourself to your heart's content. Good evening, child." Erestor about faced, a crooked grin forming on his lips as he heard Dineth loose a tiny scream of frustration.

Image


Erestor saw Malcando, Dineth's younger brother around another corner. The golden-haired idealistic Elf-boy was pushing a squeaky cart of food and nearly ran it over Erestor since he cared more about looking at paintings of Elven warriors than he did keeping his blue eyes looking straight forward. "Pay attention to what you are doing, child," Erestor gently lectured him, again shaking his finger. "Once you deliver this food I need you to bring a plate of goat cheese, two loaves of sweetbread, and a couple glasses of Pale Archet ale for Eliafuin and Nimfalas in Suite 28." Erestor crossed his arms, grinning. "Think you can accomplish that swiftly?"

"I believe so sir,"
Malcando replied in a small voice, looking at his buckle shoes.

"You can and you will if you don't dawdle. You can have daydreams about being a magnificent warrior when you are not working, son."

"Have you seen Anarondo and Caramirie?" Malcando wondered, totally off topic. They were his playmates when the children travelled with their parents from Lindon. He heard they were coming today for their mother and father were usually the talk of the valley, being so noble of heart and fair to behold. They also hosted the most extragavant of parties by the sea.

"Yes and no," said Erestor and patted the Elf-boy's head. "Lord Tharmáras has arrived but Lady Nariel and her daughter have yet to appear, seeing friends in the valley on their way to the Last Homely House but I'm sure they'll be here shortly. Anyways, to your task, Malcando!"

Erestor departed briskly, venturing outside to see if anyone needed his help. He was startled to see Sidra of Lórien outside. Not because he didn't expect her here, but because she looked so weary and her rumpled clothes were stained with the hardship of the road. He moved quickly to the Elf-maid with dark hair and bowed, hand over heart. "It is good to see you again, mellon, though it breaks my heart to see you in this unhappy condition. You require a long soothing bath and clean raiment if you don't have wardrobe of your own in that pack of yours." He ushered her gently inside the house. "Don't mind making a mess, it's fine and we'll have a laundress clean your pants and tunic," he assured her. "This is a place of peace and contentment. We'll have someone clean the floor. Tell me, Sidra, how long will you be staying in Rivendell so I can assign you a suitable chamber and do you have any preferences for it? Are you hungry or thirsty?"
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

Forester of Lothlorien
Points: 159 
Posts: 70
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 6:24 pm
Sidra smiled at Erestor and returned the bow, hand over heart. Her grin turned sheepish at his reaction to her appearance, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks – perhaps she looked worse off than she had thought. “It is good to see you too, Erestor!” She said warmly, knocking as much of the dried mud off of her boots as she could before following him into the house. “A bath and clean clothes sounds like heaven! You must forgive my appearance.” She said, “I have been keeping company with the Rangers out past Bree. Mithrandir asked that we keep a close watch on the borders of a small land to the West of there. The half a year spent with them and the journey here has left me looking rather rough.” She said, laughing at herself. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love something clean to wear. I’m afraid all the clothing in my pack could do with a good wash. I can wash them myself if you just show me where.” She add, “I don’t want to bother your good staff!”

She adjusted the strap of her pack on her shoulder. “Any room will suit me fine, my lord. I plan to stay for at least a month, perhaps two depending on how quickly I’m needed back in Bree.” She tried to step lightly and not leave a trail of dried mud in her wake. “I could do with food and drink both.” She said, “And I’ll leave it up to your good taste. But tell me, how have you been since I was last here? I hope guests haven’t been running you off your feet!”
Characters: Sidra (Elf), Leilani & Elva (Hobbits), Solia (Human)

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, a Silvan elf

Once the Noldo had gone, Liria whirled to the balcony to examine the doors. As hoped, it was but the work of a moment to push them back out of sight and fasten them securely against the wall. She would not close them again until she departed, for to be living so close to nature in safety and shut it out was unthinkable.

The view truly was spectacular from her room. She would see every sunset in glorious detail from here, for the whole western horizon was visible from the curved balcony. Tall trees held their branches out invitingly at either side of it, and shorter, fruiting varieties swept along the path below, losing their spring bloom, but no less beautiful. Or climbable, she noted.

Hanging swings, crafted aesthetically from wood so pale it might have been bone, moved gently in the wind, and the thought occurred to her that she could rest out here at night, and be perfectly at peace. It was with no little regret that she returned inside and began undoing the fastenings on her riding habit.

It took her a goodly while to take it off by herself, but it had kept her safe on her journey as promised. It held a concealing enchantment in its warp and weft, but it was also warm and heavy, and of a style not favoured in the Greenwood, so was quite alien to her really. Of course, it did help her deportment vastly, so that was another boon; she would have to clean it and pack it away ready for her return to the Golden Wood, by and by. For the moment she lay it over the blanket box at the end of the bed, and began to untie the braided leather laces of her boots, leaving them also by the bed.

Now, simply dressed in her underclothes, silken shift and breeches, she padded across to the adjoining room, tiled in cool marble, which housed the bath and washstand. It was a pretty room with lots of natural light, but privacy was achieved with ornate latticework screens across the windows which created delicate shadows across the room.

The ewer at the washstand was filled with cool water, and she took advantage of it to freshen her face, washing with the rose-scented soap as she waited for the hot water to arrive.

Back in the main bedroom, Liria sat on the rug by the unlit fire and began to sort through her valise, unpacking neatly. She hadn’t brought a great deal of clothing from her own armoire in the Woodland Realm; in addition to her personal wear, she had perhaps two sets of comfortable clothing for scouting and tree-climbing, and maybe five outfits for more formal study. However, when she’d arrived in the Golden Wood, Nimfalas had taken one look at her valise and sent her off to see the garment-maker.

He had considered her brown travel outfit an affront to all good taste and proceeded to drape her with more finery than she’d ever seen in her life. She had subsequently acquired a dozen formal dresses and robes in in cool wintery shades of green, blue and purple, which would, she was assured, would set the right tone in Imladris, and mark her as belonging to the party from Lothlórien. These she unfolded carefully, and laid them on the bed, wondering which one to wear tonight for the evening meal.

She eventually decided on the muted silvery-teal dress, and she was just packing the others away when a small knock heralded the arrival of hot water. Throwing on a light robe and drawing it around her, Liria opened the door for the chambermaids.

“Hannon le,” she smiled as they came in, her hand automatically making her people’s gesture of formal thanks. It was not long before the whole bathroom was filled with rose-scented steam and the chambermaids were departing.
Dropping her underclothes on the bedroom floor, Liria filled the ewer with hot water before she climbed into the bath delicately. Oh, this must be what the Undying Lands are like! she thought, as the glorious heat surrounded her. It had been too long since she had been able to bathe thusly, and it was delicious. It didn’t take long before she submerged herself wholly and began to wash her hair.

Anor had moved considerably by the time Liria decided to get out, but all the dust and grime of long days travelling was gone and her muscles were deliciously supple. She emptied the bath, then lifting the ewer high over her head, poured the cooled water onto herself like a mobile waterfall. Fully rinsed, she stepped out of the bath to air dry whilst combing her hair.

Her hair always dried quickly, and today was no exception. Teasing some tendrils forward so that they framed her face in loose ringlets, she swept the rest back, styling her hair into its usual waterfall plait, but taking her time and adding carved jade and gold beads to each new plaited strand as she did for more formal occasions. It took a while, but the effect was charming.

Once her hair was done, Liria put on her gown and moved out to the balcony, breathing in the fresh air of the Vale and drinking in the view. She had maybe an hour before annûn, and that was a blessing - humming quietly to herself she reached out to touch the leaves of the trees and shut her eyes in quiet reflection of the wonders of her new home. Home. That was a strange word for this place. She wondered if it would ever feel like home, with those she loved so far away. Perhaps, as far east as they were, the sun had already set, and yet here it was only beginning to turn rosy.

She would stay a few moments longer, before seeking out her travelling companions.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, a Silvan elf

The evening meal was a quiet affair, for the current visitors to the Last Homely House were of a solemn disposition this evening, and the lyres played in quiet counterpoint to their gentle conversations, not intruding or overpowering the travellers. Liria was grateful for it, for she had wondered about the bards hereabouts since the Ar-Golwen had mentioned the skill of the Noldor in his offhand way. She had determined to experience it fully, and if tonight was any indication, the musicians here were skilled in knowing exactly what their hearers wanted.

And yet, for all its elegant beauty, it felt too serenely passive. Perhaps she had been spoiled, with the Ar-Golwen's influence, for she found -in its absence- that she liked the challenge of a more passionate composition, and was missing the piquant tones of his silver flute. It was thus with some relief when her companions decided not to linger in the Hall of Fire.

Her companions went out to take a turn around the gardens, leaving her to dawdle alone in the candle- and star-lit corridors of Elrond's home, which they had visited time out of mind and no longer found worthy of extended examination. Of course, Liria found Imladris fascinating by night. While some corridors were lined with blazing torches, others had nothing but either candlelight or starlight, and the starkness of some of the murals really came alive in the dark, some clearly painted with highlights of isilde, so the nighttime landscapes were particularly beautiful, with Tilion reflected in ripples over sparkling waters.

She eventually found herself in turning back toward their rooms, and as she ascended the wide staircase winding around the large but empty marble hallway, she noticed it was not quite empty. Mirrors which she had not seen earlier in the day had caught the moonlight and were reflecting it upwards. Her eyes followed the path of the light until she saw its destination. High overhead the high domed ceil was painted with isilde: innumerable stars of the Meneltarma shone upon a blanket of deepest indigo. It was so beautiful she stopped and gazed for a long time.

"Breathtaking," she said to herself, and the clear ringing of her voice echoed her word around the hall. She let loose a small cry of delight as she realised this wonderful chamber was created for song, which resounded wonderfully in the perfect acoustics of the hall:

She lifted her voice in song, "Silivren penna míriel, o menel aglar elenath!" and indeed, it sounded like numerous Elves had joined her. She closed her eyes until the harmonics died away, a little overwhelmed with the beautiful sound and feeling like there ought to be always Elves in this place, singing in the beauty of the starlight.

A breath of air made her open her eyes again, and she saw Nimfalas in the doorway, her eyes luminous, while Eliafuin came forward and touched her cheek gently. "Our Sérëlindë," she smiled.

Liria flashed her an embarrassed smile and ducked her head away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I thought I was alone," she excused herself.

"In Rivendell?" Eliafuin said, with a tinkling laugh which echoed brightly. "That would be more of your wishful thinking, yes?"

"Perhaps," Liria said, smiling at the gentle tease, but it wasn't particularly true. She would share it with the Ar-Golwen, who would appreciate it, given the opportunity.

They ascended the stairs toward their rooms together, and bade each other good night with warm embraces. Liria, having removed her shoes, went straight outside onto the balcony, where the warm evening air caressed her skin as it passed by on its way through the valley, heading eastwards to her home. Sinking down onto one of the swings, she lay flat, gazing at the night sky and thinking of the Ar-Golwen. Would she be able to contact him from here? She had never tried from so great a distance before, but perhaps ... perhaps, Manwë would permit the winds to carry her message.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

Councillor of Imladris
Points: 223 
Posts: 204
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:30 am
Lúthien Mordagnir grinned upon hearing her adopted father's voice, and set down the berries she was working on so she could lean into the embrace, wrapping her arms around him and subconsciously patting his back with her raspberry-stained hands, before realising her error. "I've missed you too, Atar!" She glanced at his arm and shook her head. "You must be more careful, you know! I would hate for you to be injured worse than a broken arm," she gently reprimanded. Lúthien knew, as an Elf, her adopted father was less susceptible to injury or illness than her mortal kindred, yet still, she had lost family before, and the worry of harm befalling her adopted kindred was never far from her heart.

"All's well with the border watch," Lúthien answered. "It's rare that we get more than a stray beast, though of course we are vigilant as the shadow of the East grows..." she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Our lands are a haven, for now, but I fear a time may come when danger will be nearer at hand."

She cleared her throat, putting aside her concerns as her sister, Aewrusca, wandered in. Lúthien chuckled as the girl tugged her arm, and pecked her forehead with a kiss. "Nay, Rusca! I recall telling you that I would consider baking you a lemon loaf. Today you should be content with this raspberry pie I'm working on...that is, if our father shares any," she said with a teasing grin towards Aigronding.

Lúthien shook her head in amusement as the civil ruckus went down. Aewrusca saw no harm bringing in her wolfhound, yet for those who actually got work done around here, Aewrusca and her antics could be a nuisance. Once Aewrusca had cleared out and Aigronding's sleeve was rolled up, she handed him a rolling pin. "I have the crust settled and baking, now I just need to finish the raspberry filling. If you can roll the rest of this dough for me, that'll be the top crust for the pie." Once she was sure he knew what he was getting himself into, she resumed mushing her raspberries, then checked her oven to see her browning pie crust.
What is a legacy?
It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.

She/her

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, a Silvan elf

Early next morning, Liria had a sparkle in her eyes and a spring in her step. While she had a great desire to explore the Vale, she felt she ought to present herself at the library first. Before that though ... she dressed quickly in her own garb, a deep green tunic over leg-coverings in a darker shade, tied her hair up with a wooden barb and launched herself over the balcony into the nearest tree, swiftly making her way down to the ground.

The stables were not far, and she was well-used to moving unseen among the trees. She slipped in, and with a nod to the stablehand, found her way to Alagos' stall. The horse whickered gently to see her, and she noted he had been well cared for already, and even given good company, for there was a pure white stallion in a nearby stall having his breakfast. Alagos was still mid-breakfast himself, so as he went back to it, she borrowed a brush and spent a good while brushing his mottled coat and making him almost as beautiful as his friend.

"Alright, muin nín," she murmured. "You are clearly living the high life here, so I shall leave you for a while. Garo aur, Alagos!"

She slipped out as easily as she had slipped in, making her way back to her room via the tree again, where she laughed delightedly at her adventure and set about preparing for the day with a song in her heart.

A fresh ewer of cool water had been placed outside her room, and so she brought it in and washed, upending the whole thing over herself as she stood in the bath, after which she redressed again in a gown of dusky purple, about which she cast a wrap of silvery-grey lace. Her hair, drying quickly in the air with curling ends, was once again pulled up into a waterfall plait, though today she threaded a silver ribbon through it, the fluttering ends falling long down her back.

Breakfast in the Last Homely House was a social affair, and she greeted Eliafuin and Nimfalas with a warm smile for the sisters.

"What are you doing today?" she asked, mostly to make conversation, since she knew their plans.

"We will be riding out with the guard," Eliafuin answered. "There has been some goblin activity -"

"Oh hush!" Nimfalas laughed. "Liria, you look like a mooncalf. Why do you believe everything she says? We're up in the high towers with the great maps today, as you know!"

Liria, whose eyes had indeed widened considerably, blinked and laughed self-deprecatingly. "Yes, of course," she responded. "I did know that."

"She just wants to believe we have more exciting lives," Eliafuin asserted, with surprising accuracy, actually. "Instead of our actual fascination and delight in cartography!"

Liria chuckled and demurred, choosing instead to concentrate on her breakfast. There were many options available, considering the many folks who were staying in the House, and she eventually chose some fruit, ham and a light buttery bread twist onto which she spread some honey butter. There was a warm drink made with mint and pressed apple available, and it was so good that she took another when she flitted off, leaving the sisters talking with one of the other visitors.

Elrond's library was in a secluded section of the House, and while not entirely private, it would at least be quiet for studying. She must have tried at least four of the chairs before she settled comfortably onto the rug before the fire, curled up with a book in her lap and a journal beside her. The Ar-Golwen had told her to explore the great histories of the Eldar so that she might bring them back for the Woodland Realm. He had specifically warned her not to shy from the ugliness she might find, but to seek the truth. It was a rare undertaking, and a solemn responsibility which she took seriously.

It might take some time, but she would commit her findings to memory in prose and poetry. She would begin with the books, and then she would seek out the people and see what she could learn that way. The great lords and ladies might not speak with a Silvan Elf from a minor house, but perhaps those who had been with them longest might deign to answer. And who knew? She might even find books written by the great lords and ladies.

She settled into read her first great tale, Narn i-Chîn Minui Ilúvatar and time passed unheeded.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

Warrior of Imladris
Points: 1 565 
Posts: 1355
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Sérëlindë Liriasîdh, a Silvan elf

About a week after midsummer

Liria spent her days in the library of the Peredhil Lord, reading and taking notes directly into a journal in her flowing hand. It was a quiet place, and it was rare that she saw anyone at all. One of the periannath was there occasionally; an older male whose face seemed to be familiar, though she did not engage in conversation with him. If he was there at all, he soon fell asleep within a short time, and thus she often continued her study accompanied by the light snoring of the elderly hobbit and when she next looked up, he was not there at all.

Her note-taking was rather personalised, for she would write it both in poetry and prose, using separate books. The prose was factual, generally, copied from the sources she found and put together with The poetry took longer, and it was chiefly the poetry that consumed her evenings, for she would wander under the stars with the tales in her head, composing and editing and trying out the rhythm and melodies by the Bruinen, allowing the rushing water to drown her song unheard. The following day, she would write up the songs she had made in her book of poetry, with a little fact-checking and cross-referencing, for she wanted the unvarnished truth.

Elrond himself came seldom to the library, but if and when he did, he did not generally disturb her study, absorbed as she was in the histories of the time before the Sun and Moon, and of course, he had his own business to complete. It had been perhaps a month when he did interrupt her, though.

"Sérëlindë?" he said quietly, standing in the doorway of the room.

Liria had stiffened immediately at his tone, for he sounded somewhat like her father. She looked up, startled.

Elrond's glance took in her entire situation. She was lain across the rug before the fireplace, the general area around her strewn with myriad books open at once, herself with ink-stained fingers (carefully kept away from his precious tomes) writing, writing, writing copious notes. She sat up at once, respectfully putting aside the books and meaning to get up.

He stayed her with a hand. "I have wondered, these last weeks, if you are aware of the beauty of Imladris," he began lightly. "Since you have set neither foot nor finger outside of my library in daylight hours." He kept talking rhetorically. "I wonder if you might like to borrow a book. You might take it outside, or find some other comfortable place for reading."

Two spots of bright colour appeared on her cheeks, and she bit he inside of her lip. "I beg your pardon, hîr nín," she began. "I will go-"

"Nay," he stopped her immediately. "Do not misunderstand me. Your scholarship is welcome here, and you may spread out here on the floor -" here his mobile eyebrows did a comical dance, indicating that he thought the chairs and desks more suitable, but that he was going to say no such thing when his expression clearly implied it without recourse to anything as crass as language, "as you like. I am just offering you an alternative," he explained politely. "You have my permission to take a book somewhere else for reading, or read outside, should you desire. The weather is beautiful and one ought not to spend every day avoiding the daylight."

His gentle tease was kind, and she relaxed.

"Be iest lín, hîr nín," she acquiesced with a smile. "I will take a book and experience this daylight you speak so highly of, when I am finished here."

He nodded. "I am not sorry to have interrupted you," he offered casually.

Having spent almost her whole life experiencing the cutting comments of the Ar-Golwen, Elrond's remonstrance was akin to the buffeting of butterfly wings. Liria bowed her head mockingly and responded with unbecoming familiarity. "I appreciate your concern, O Saelon. I hear and obey."

"In your own good time," he noted sardonically; he was smiling, but an eyebrow quirked with interest.

"As you say," she agreed, though she lowered her eyes deferentially.

He left her in peace then, laughing quietly. And if she went over that conversation wishing she'd not been quite so impertinent, then at least she didn't castigate herself for it too much - she was not a girl in her first century, to be told what to do and when to do it, no matter that he was Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris and she was a guest in his library.

The shadows were not much longer when she felt she was done with her notes. With gloved hands, she put back all of the books she had been using and gathered her things together. She needed a bath, and before that some solvent to dissolve the ink on her fingers. Her exploration of the Years of the Trees was as complete as she could make it, unless new information came to light.

She walked back to her chambers joyfully; a new book in her arms, two books of notes completed. She tied a ribbon round her completed journals and put them away in a chest, withdrawing two more new ones for her next task and a familiar bottle. It was only a little after noon, and with an afternoon and evening of the waning sun ahead of her, Liria poured a small cup of wine and stepped outside into the daylight. The whispering of the wind through the trees was soft and welcoming, and the smell of the Dorwinion was so evocative of home that she felt for a long moment a sharp pang of longing for all that she had left behind.

The small considerations of her Noldorin hosts and the friendliness of her Galadhrim companions were no match for the familiarity and lovingkindness of her loved ones, and for the first time, she could understand her Naneth's concern for her, all alone in a foreign place. It would not be long, she determined, perhaps another couple of months - less, if she applied herself. And she would apply herself, she vowed silently, gazing over the valley and appreciating its aesthetic delights as she was bidden. It was very pretty here, with its perennially autumnal colours dominating the colour scheme, sweeping even the great pines into inky shadows and highlighting the blue of the waters and sky. Comparing them artistically, Lothlórien too was pretty, with its silver and gold, but she missed the understated beauty of her homeland with its lush greens and browns - moreso the vibrant Greenwood of her youth than the spreading darkness that now marred its beauty pushing ever against their borders - the very changeability of the deciduous forest brought interest and fascination and was to her eyes more beautiful for its ephemeral nature. Their King, too, loved the changing seasons, and his celebrations were wonderful - the seasonal ceremonies were among her favourite things. She had been gone half a year and already missed the winter festival, the spring equinox and was now missing all the midsummer feasts; she resolved to complete her work and return home before the autumnul equinox and its subsequent frivolities. It would mean a lot of work, but it would also mean she could go home again.

She laughed softly to herself, knowing herself for a fool. She had not known what she was giving up when in her eagerness to impress the Ar-Golwen she had left her home. She was perversely pleased that she'd done it though, for she would not give up the knowledge that her departure had brought. It was worth it, to discover that what made her happy was what she had had all her life. Even the bittersweet remembrances of loved ones long lost to war against the forces of darkness brought the sure knowledge that Námo had them in his keeping, and their loss had knit their small family closer.

Feeling very far from her close family, Liria took a sip of her cup of wine as she sat down on the swing, turning her mind from minute considerations of the apology her Naneth deserved. Such things could wait, at least until she was closer to that journey home. She stared up at the sky and breathed out, feeling a sense of calm she hadn't had before; as clouds crossed the sky in sweeping drifts westward, she leant back into the cushions and kicked off her slippers, curling her feet under her as was her habit.

The cushions on the swing on her balcony were luxurious, and she soon sank back into them as she picked up her next history book. The thrill of excitement that hit her as she realised she was heading into the First Age was heady. She knew much, of course, for the Ar-Golwen had known a great deal before he had moved on, but from hereon in there would be new information to fit in with the old, new opinions to sift for truth. Liria felt a thrill of trepidation and anticipation, suddenly impatient to get started. Just like the Ar-Golwen, she thought, remembering the look he'd had the last time she'd seen him, that last night in their library, and the memory of him, so desperately hungry for the knowledge she was going to bring back, slid suddenly into sharp focus.
~~ * ~~
They had been in their favourite part of the library, a small chamber out of the way and private, hidden out of the way beyond the Ar-Golwen's workshop. The dark carved wood bookshelves enclosed the occupants in a cosy glade, the hearth warm and comforting with its furs on the flagstones and long low chairs nice and close, for reading or talking by firelight. Lamps encased in glass hung at strategic points, though unlit so as not to distract from the fire's glory - only the occasional glint in the darkness any clue as to their presence. Sunlight, which streamed down through a mirrored chimney above their heads during the day

"I do expect you to return within the decade," he'd jested, when he'd seen her packing a number of empty journals and a shocking amount of ink.

She'd narrowed her eyes at him. "You, whose knowledge surpasses everything we have in the Library, said we need more!" she'd accused.

"Your Library is a little thing," he'd returned mildly. "It holds a little of the knowledge of the Sindar who came from Beleriand, and a great deal of the history of your Silvan elves amongst whom they settled. But the Ñoldor, of Gondolin, of the Edain -" his dark eyes looked haunted as he stared into the middle distance. "Of Andor, and of the changing of the world, we have but half-truths and myth. Little have the people of the Greenwood cared for the history of Arda, especially since the Last Alliance, and still Oropherion cannot bear to talk of that time. Even of great Doriath and its fall we have only tales half-told and no detail.

"There are many things about which I know nothing, or perhaps only in part," he'd said softly. "You are fortunate indeed to have been granted this opportunity, and I- I am fortunate that you would take it. I only jest, take all the ink we possess, for I would know the whole, for good or ill. I would know peace."

She had smiled then, and he'd responded to her ripple of amusement with a sardonic smile. "If ever an elleth did not fit their name!"

Liria had swallowed her smile then, the jest falling rather flat, since she was more than aware that half her name was extremely unfit. It seemed odd .

He'd risen then, and laid hand on her shoulder, "It may be many moons before Liriasîdh becomes you in all nuance and meaning," he'd murmured soothingly. Then he'd flashed a smile at her, "Until then, perhaps you are Bruimîr!"

Liria had tried very hard to be offended, but unfortunately had burst into horrified laughter. When at last she could talk, he was pouring rich red wine into two silver bowls.

"At least you didn't call me Alagoeol again!" she'd choked out.

He had paused in his pouring, delighted. "It is long since I called you that!" he'd chuckled. "Have I not always said you are my best pupil!"

"I am your only pupil," she'd pointed out. "No one else would endure the barbs of your wit!"

"And I would not suffer the dullness of their lack," he'd agreed, holding out a bowl to her. "Bruimîr-nín, since we are agree that you are my best and brightest, let us talk of what you will find in the house of Elrond Peredhil."

Resigned to her newest designation, Liria had taken the wine and supped, settling in to listen to the Ar-Golwen, letting the cadence and timbre of his rich voice wash over and through her as he talked of the Peredhil Lord and his lineage, and the importance of reading such things as he might have written personally, regarding his own history and that of his ancestral line.
~~ * ~~
Liria took another sip of her Dorwinion wine, wondering at the vividness of the memory.

The beginnings of sunset were far off, on this summer's night, but she thought she might bathe and go down for supper shortly. The book on her lap began with the tale of Fëanáro, and thus she flicked through the pages to where she left off, at the point where Morgoth earned his name, destroying the Trees and stealing the Silmarils. She was quickly absorbed again into the mess of lies and deceit that followed, with Fingolfin unwittingly caught up in the Kinslaying and the subsequent further betrayal in the burning of the boats. She felt for him, loved him a little, but couldn't help but think it would have been better (for his fëa, at least) to have returned to Valinor and admitted his wrongdoing to the Valar. Still, as she read of the crossing of the Helcaraxë, she found herself admiring his stalwart heart again, and it was at this hopeful juncture that she decided to pause in her reading, and head down for the evening meal. Perhaps she might even go to the Hall of Fire tonight.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

New Soul
Points: 1 396 
Posts: 769
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:30 am
Image
"Altogether those were good days for us, and the poorest of us had money
to spend and to lend and leisure to make beautiful things just for the fun of it,
not to speak of the most marvellous and magical toys..."

- Thorin Oakenshield, from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Party



"There lies all that is left of Dale. The mountain's sides were green with woods
and all the sheltered valley rich and pleasant in the days when the bells rang in that town."

- Balin, from The Hobbit: On the Doorstep



"I want to see my mother!" Anarondo insisted for the umpteenth time while Tharmáras brushed his golden hair. Father and son needed rest following the Lindon family's long journey from Amon Sûl to Imladris. Tharmáras remained with him in Lord Elrond's house while his wife, Nariel, and Caramírië, their daughter who was Anarondo's twin, visited friends in the valley. They were both refreshed now and ready to leave their lavish river-front suite to find mother and sister.

"As do I, nercëharyon ("little man, prince" Quenya)," Tharmáras assured him in his usual soft-spoken voice. He felt an pang of longing, missing Nariel's slender arms wrung about his neck! He yearned for his lady's kiss, sweet as Shire honey.

"They won't leave the valley, will they, Ada?" worried the Elf-boy. The energetic seven-year-old was blonde like his father but the lad had his mother's blue-grey eyes. He was chivalrous as Tharmáras and tender-hearted as Nariel. Anarondo and Caramírië were inseperable friends and they shared an intimate twin bond. "They should not wander alone in the wilderness of Rhudaur!"

"Your mother wouldn't leave with Caramírië if Mauya or I were not in their company." He laid the tortoise-shell brush aside to guide Anarondo's head to his broad shoulder and rubbed his son's back in gentle circles to console him. "Settle down, my precious boy. All is well, do not let your thoughts be troubled. The girls should enjoy their time with our loved ones before they're with us again. We can't come to the valley as regularly as we'd like." Anarondo favored a bold facade but Tharmáras knew how fragile his small aspiring hero was. The memory of the troll horde they encountered last year south of the Shaws on the first trip to Rivendell with the children still haunted Anarondo's sleep. There were still nights when Tharmáras broke loose of holding Nariel to rush from their bed so he could comfort their screaming son in his room; other times, he needed to welcome terrified Anarondo to snuggle close with his parents when the lad came pounding his fists on their chamber door in tears.

"Don't be so quick to judge, son," counselled Tharmáras. "Your mother can take care of herself. She fought for her survival for eons before she met your father. Elven women train to protect themselves in dire straits and there are ellyth, fearsome ones, who are battle-hardened warriors. Mauya and Ospiel, Tavari and Taurina, they are some of the fiercest fighters I have ever known." Tharmáras smirked and tilted his head, raising one flaxen brow cocked one flaxen brow. "Caramírië is improving her swordplay..."

"She beat me the last time!" exclaimed Anarondo, wrapping his fingers around the pommel of the lebethron sword Tharmáras had carved for him to play with his sister. Tharmáras stifled a laugh, recalling that sunny seaside afternoon a month ago when Caramírië's clever feint tricked Anarondo which caused him to lower his guard; not two seconds later her brother was wailing as he tumbled down the sand dune while the tide washed ashore, showering the Elf-boy in a great spray of sea-foam.

"Well, don't give up because you've failed once," lectured Tharmáras, lifting his son's chin when Anarondo looked down. "Regard it as a learning experience and an opportunity to redouble your efforts." He patted Anarondo's cheek and hoisted him by the waist to set the Elf-boy down so he could stand on the colorful Rhûnish carpet. Tharmáras got up from the gilt padded chair to look at his reflection. He was a strong-broad shouldered Elf of imposing stature like Rog and Aigronding. The noble wore polished tooled boots and a belted tunic of navy blue Forlindon silk tied with a belt of silver. An abalone circlet of purple pearls adorned his brow. He examined the immaculate conditon of his son's white velvet clothing next, breeches and jerkin trimmed with thread-of-gold, for Nariel's sake. His woman had been a handmaiden of Princess Idril in Gondolin; now that she was firmly settled in her courtly ways again, and expected her highborn children to look their best in places like Elrond's house.

"I want to be a handsome sailor as you, Ada, when I'm grown up," admitted Anarondo while Tharmáras lowered a bronze moonstone crown over his son's golden hair. "I want to be the swordsman you are, too!" Anarondo took the lebethron toy from its gold rubied belt girt around his sides and spun away to slash the air, parrying vicious blows from invisible Orcs. Anarondo let out a gasp when he accidentally sliced Caramírië's magical Dwarven phoenix still fluttering amidst the suite. The glittering firebird toy veered sharply against the painted azure wall and fell gracelessly to the floor with one of its shining wings broken off. Tharmáras heaved a dramatic sigh, shattering the heavy silence. "Tammalúmë ("Tool time," Quenya)," he mutttered whichhe often did when of his children's toys needed fixing. Warily eyeing the suite's door, hoping Caramírië wouldn't come bursting in soon, Tharmáras opened his bag of tools and beckoned Anarondo to come near with his sister's damaged toy.

"Perhaps when you're older you'll find your niche and discover that sailing the ocean doesn't suit your fancy, my boy, and that, if you decide to be a warrior, you're fonder of the axe or bow than a blade," suggested Tharmáras, dexterously mending his daughter's phoenix. When the wing had rejoined the lustrous body of the toy bird, Tharmáras caressed one of its runes and the phoenix literally flamed to life. The coruscating toy soared, wreathed in enchanted fiery splendor. He smiled softly, eager to see his rambunctious daughter chasing the firebird throughout the suite in a giggling fit while Tharmáras and Nariel, again at wit's end, pleaded with Caramírië to curb her enthusiasm as they tried not to laugh themselves. Noticing that his son drifted close wearing an abashed expression, Tharmáras turned in his seat and laid hands on his shoulders. "Don't try to be your father, Anarondo. I want you to be yourself and let the loremasters make their own judgements. Let's find your mother and sister."

They left the suite, dodging Anarondo's magical Dwarven toy of a prancing unicorn. They encountered Erestor in the hallway speaking with a bedraggled dark-haired elleth. "How goes your evening, milord?" he asked Tharmáras, returning the grip on his forearm.

"We are looking for my wife and daughter, Chief Counsellor."

"I have have not Ercassie or Caramírië in hours, alas." Erestor introduced the Elf-woman as Sidra of Lothlórien who had been on errantry with the Rangers of the North for a little season.

"Have you seen my grandfather?" said Anarondo, tugging Erestor's sleeve, referring to Erfaron. He had taken Nariel, the daughter of his ex-fiancee who married someone else, as his ward following Gondolin's destruction. Erfaron wasn't the warmest of people but he did care about Nariel's children and served as a kind of mentor to Anarondo.

"No, Rondo, he knows he is not welcome here," Erestor responded with subtle revulsion.

"Isn't this a homely house, Chief Counsellor?" Rondo replied rather cheekily.

"It is indeed, Rondo," Erestor confirmed clearly, "but there are blackguards like your grandfather who make themselves a nuisance here and must be barred entry to secure the peace of this place. Erfaron is a menace to society." Erestor and Apsatári managed to influence Elrond to forbade Erfaron from the premises and Glorfindel, who knew the Mole too well, agreed with them.

"What's in there?" Anarondo, breaking into the conversation, demanded rather than asked. He pointed to an ironbound beechen door in the near distance.

Tharmáras restrained a gale of laughter when he noticed Erestor's blanching reaction. Tharmáras and Nariel fueled the curiosity of Anarondo and Caramírië so the children had - at least - thirty questions when they saw Erestor, knowing he was Elrond's eminent coordinator in the house. Whether they were genuinely inquisitive or enjoyed being annoying was anyone's guess, really.

"Gifts, little prince. Sidra, let's find -"

"What kind of gifts?" Interrupted Anarondo, blocking Erestor's way.

"Bells from King Brand of Dale, Rondo," Erestor replied in a grave monotone voice. He started to elaborate, probably to remark what other gifts were stored in the secret chamber, but decided that would extend the conversation...

"How come you recognize Brand's kingship but not Hatholdir's?" Rondo asked, jerking his back in confusion.

"Because he's a moral leader," Erestor confessed, his pale face flushed redly know. "Now, if you excuse us -"

"My parents have told me the bells in Dale are world-renowned!" cried Anarondo. "I would like two, please - one for my sister and mother. Your finest. Ones made of silver and gold. Perhaps aurichalcum if you have it. King Hatholdir tells me the metal is rare but perhaps there are such veins in the Lonely Mountain."

"Hatholdir is a lord...not a king, Rondo, no matter what Erfaron belives...and the Bells are Elrond's gifts..."

"How many Bells have been sent to your lord?" Anarondo pressed.

"What bloody... Ahem. I do not understand...how the number of said gifts relates to your ownership of a smaller amount...since none of them were sent to you," Erestor stuttered, intimidated by Tharmáras' sudden cool mien.

"Product given for services rendered," Anarondo quoted Hatholdir, presenting a glistening red pearl he fished out of his jewel purse tied to his swordbelt.

Mesmerized by its beauty, Erestor took the bright peal and assured Anarondo that he would ask Elrond if he was willing to part with a couple of Dale Bells if he so desired.

"You young swindler!" accused Tharmáras through snorted laughter, guiding his grinning son toward Elrond's hall as its doors were thrown open by two Elves in maroon livery. The chamber was filled with folk: Elves for the most part - high and fair, some like kings and some merry as children- though there were a few guests of other sorts. Sumptuous meals were being brought by the cooks of Apsatári to the long table of Elrond's dais where elven musicians played pleasant songs, conjuring images of faraway realms and radiant lovely things. "Just wait til I tell your dear mother you've taken bribery lessons from Hatholdir!" Tharmáras guffawed again and shook his head ruefully. "We should monitor your visits with Girion, Edan, and Beren as well...Caramírië is officially now the Good One!"

Image
[*][/size]
Image
Erestor snapped his fingers, prompting an elven janitor to rid the dried mud from the pavement before house entrance. "I'm happy to hear you've been serving with the Rangers and that you'll be returning to Bree since these days are increasingly troubling," Erestor confided in her as he guided Sidra through the tapestried hallways. "Since you've last been here there we've had influx of wanderers and refugees in addition to merchants and ambassadors. There's always unsettling news being delivered. The Rangers have told me there are ruffians coming up from the Greenway. Elven soldiers from Lindon speak of Umbarian Corsairs raiding the coasts of Cirdan and the Wethrin Isles. The Imladris host is battling the remnants of Angmar and Wilderland has been attacked by the cruelest of Orcs from the Grey Mountains this week. The Dwarves of the Red Mountains are still emigrating to Ered Luin, speaking of the Dark Men of the East strengthening their dominance in that vast region of Mordor's dominion."

Erestor's grim mood shifted to an annoyed state when Tharmáras' son irritated him but recieving the glimmering pearl returned his merriment. He led Sidra into the western wing of the building and paused at the door of room 110, carved the image of King Maglor's harp. "I hope you enjoy the view of your chamber, Sidra," said Erestor, giving her a duplicate key of her suite from off his great ring of keys before entering. It had a hardwood floor and walls painted silvery-grey. A clawfoot porcelain tub along with a washstand loaded with towels and fragrant bars of soap from Airien Mereniel's spa of Linyamaril was in the bathing corner. A lacquered folding screen depicting the majestic Two Trees of Valinor before their destruction was in the sleeping room, including a canopy bed with a wide curtained window facing one of many waterfalls of Rivendell.

"I will tell a maid to bring you warm water for your bath, Sidra," Erestor assured his friend smilingly. "She wil have clean gowns of green clothfor you and a linen smallclothes. If you want the food and drink delivered here, I can arrange that, mellon, but if you wish to dine with others there is a feast being hosted at Elrond's table in my lord's hall presently." He bowed again, his smile broadening. "Let no one say this house isn't homely. We have spared no expense!"


OOC @ Ercassie: There is a Hall of Fire thread now in the forum. If you'd like for our family to RP there if they want tales and songs after supper, we can go there for RP'ing. I was hoping to do that in this one since it's the Last Homely House but now there is a seperate activity but we'll discuss what to do in private.

OOC @ Luthien: I'll be replying back as Aigronding by tomorrow night!
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

Guardian of Imladris
Points: 273 
Posts: 91
Joined: Sun Sep 13, 2020 6:00 pm
Image


A couple of weeks have passed now since Legolas has left the halls of Mirkwood and he set off for another small journey throughout different regions of Middle-Earth. In no occasion has he encountered any kind of trouble during the past weeks, nor did he want to rush towards his destinations. The elvish prince wanted to take his time to let the beauty of nature during this season ease his spirit. His mind, however, was ever alert.

Arriving at Rivendell once again filled him with joy. The elves of Imladris, who he considered his kinsmen like the elves of Lothlórien, have always been more than kind and forthcoming and only a few other places on Arda came to his mind that offered what Rivendell had to offer, when one had the intention of seeking peace and reflection. Inspiration to many songs has Legolas found here and he looked forward of having yet another inspiring and uplifting conversation with the lord of Rivendell, Lord Elrond.

Legolas entered Rivendell through the main gates on horseback and swiftly jumped off it as soon as he entered. What a beautiful morning it was! The sun was shining, the birds were singing, as was a choir in the far and the combination with the sound of the waterfall instantly filled him with relaxation but also with energy. The elvish prince led his horse to the stables where he encountered an elf, who greeted him friendly and promised the prince of Mirkwood to look after his horse by supplying it with nutrition and water. Then the elf wished Legolas a good day, which gesture was returned by the son of Thranduil.

Legolas needed a room and while walking up the stairs, the prince of Mirkwood overheard some chattering about a feast that was about to take place at Elrond's table in his hall. What a perfect opportunity he thought, however, as Legolas entered Elrond's hall, it seemed like the Lord of Imladris was not present yet. 'Enough time to get settled then.', the elvish prince thought, while exiting the hall.
Last edited by Legolas on Sun Mar 21, 2021 10:27 pm, edited 7 times in total.

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Fuin and Aewrusca Plotting the maddening of Erestor (Aewrusca used with permission)

The much older elleth had a hold on Losúri's scruff the now dead chicken in her other hand she was plotting what to do with this gift when Aewrusca came round the corner. The younger elf was of course certain that she was going to be in trouble since the hound had not only caught the chicken but killed it only to realize it was Fuin. And despite her dour name, as long as she wasn't in battle or healing people after a battle it was more her style to have fun and laugh at the world. Something to do with having to go through too much when she was young to bother with being serious now... Used up all her excess seriousness.

"Fuin! Oh am I glad to see you. " She said looking at the chicken knowing that the chefs would likely be less than pleased over the fowls condition. "What are we going to do about the chicken?"

"About it? Why are we worrying about that? It's a chicken, no what we are going to do WITH it is the more pressing question my girl" Fuin said literally heaving the struggling wolf hound around in the other direction so that the three of them, well two of them since the chicken was no longer in the realm of the living to face the young elleth. Aewrusca's eyes went wide, it had been a long time since Fuin had done anything too silly as her father Aigronding would normally say, and he would encourage her to avoid anything that would induce bodily harm, but Fuin and Aewrusca were peas in a pod when it came to silliness.

"Okay so HERE is my plan we send the dog in first, with the chicken dangling in front of her on a stick--"Fuin started and the two of them talked back and forth for several minutes before they quickly gathered up the supplies they needed. Before long Losúri's blue eyes were focused on the dangling limp carcass of the copper coloured chicken. It was taking EVERYTHING that Fuin had to hold the dog back. "Okay quickly get to the other door so Losúri can make it out without ruining the baking we aren't maddening your father or Apsatári, just getting some snacks at their expense. Call out where the food is so that I can nab it as I run after got it?" Aewrusca gave a firm nod and opened the door and quickly made her way across the kitchen eyeballing the crushed raspberries that had not been turned into pie filling quite yet when a yell from Fuin made her bolt, Losúri had finally over powered Fuin, with the door still swinging shut the hound and older elleth hidden away just out sight letting the beast crash through it and into the kitchen once more.

"GO!"

"SECOND BOWL!" With that Aewrusca sprinted to the door and swung it open as the massive black hound BOUND right across the kitchen chasing her owner heedless of the others, the bloody chicken bobbing about madly leaving feathers everywhere as the hound tried desperately to catch it. Right behind the hound was Fuin, a grin plastered across her face as she grabbed the entire bowl of raspberries needed to make the pie and sprinting for the door to the main hall of the homely house. Losúri already well ahead of them, as Fuin and Aewrusca now sprinted on after the dog their prize of raspberry pie filling in hand, laughter and undoubtedly an upset elf or two trailing behind them.
Sereg a Dîn

New Soul
Points:
Image Image Image

Annúnfalas the Valiant, Losmeril the Snowflower, and Marvidrio
arriving at The Last Homely House

Her horse gave a snort of indifference, tossing back its white mane as they entered the boundaries of the Valley of Imladris. No noise but the sound of the hooves of their road-weary steeds clopping against the soft ground of the path they traversed could be heard, for neither Annúnfalas the Valiant nor her companions had spoken a word in the last hour of their journey.

Annúnfalas sat straight and square on the rider’s seat of her camarillo. Her right leg wrapped around the top pommel of the dark leather saddle, hanging down parallel to her left leg. She wore a long nylon-silk and lace dress, overlaid with embroidered ornamental fabric adorning a sleeveless bodice. Two strings of freshwater pearls descended to the sharp point of the neckline of her garment, and the skirt of her sky blue gown flared out from her waistline in billowing floor-length fashion. A white veil over the entirety of her head ended at the level of her shoulders, secured by a crown of yellow and white plumeria flowers.


Image

She was the head of commerce and housing in Lindon and therefore, had become unaccustomed to wearing relaxed clothing, even in the most casual situations. As a cool breeze brushed past Annúnfalas, the delightful and refreshing scent of her coastal perfume was sent floating ahead of her.

Losmeril, known as the Snowflower of the Grey Havens for her courtly and tastefully delicate mannerisms, followed behind the financier on her young dapple-gray horse. An inverted braid beginning from a section of thin silver hair behind one of her ears ran upward, across her hairline, and down the crown of her head; ending behind her second ear like a woven headband. Much like her mistress, Losmeril rode sidesaddle, wearing a white cotton broderie dress. It had been designed with tonal lace trimmings and puff sleeves; fitted at her narrow waist and falling to a flared short skirt. She also wore sheer pale hose and a pair of bone-colored ankle boots.

Lastly, it was Marvidrio who trailed behind the Elf-women. He was a sentinel in the Hall of the Great Sea, charged with the task of seeing Annúnfalas and Losmeril escorted safely to Rivendell. He would remain there for however long a duration and return with them to Mithlond whenever that would be. He displayed the insignia of the Lindon Guard proudly on the surcoat he wore over a mail tunic. Brilliant steel pauldrons were strapped to his shoulders, and a saber blade rested in an elegant scabbard at his belted hip. His own silver hair tickled his skin at the base of his neck, and a helmet concealed the leaf-like shape of his ears.

Marvidrio had known very little of Annúnfalas and even less of Losmeril, but their journey, which had begun in the pre-dawn hours from the Tower Hills and had brought them all the way to the Hidden Valley had made them all better acquainted with each other. Marvidrio was glad too, that he was not the only later Third Age generation Elf to come along on this trip to Rivendell. For he and Losmeril were only a few decades apart in age, him being over two-hundred years and she fifty and one hundred. Still, their interests were not at all alike, as he came to discover during their conservations around the nightly campfires. Where Marvidrio favored honorable deeds and the practice of martial skills, Losmeril buried herself in the study of medicine, fëa-hröa healing, and performing various tasks as a lady-in-waiting in the royal court of Tham-en-Gaearon.

“Are you alright milady?” inquired Losmeril, craning her slender neck and riding up beside Annúnfalas, who had halted along the edge of the path suddenly and without warning. She was silent for a moment, looking out into the Valley and down to where the majesty of the Last Homely House could be seen.


Image

“This place holds so many memories, and many of them not quite so joyful I am afraid,” replied Annúnfalas in a low murmur, sadness weighing heavily in her normally content voice. Losmeril studied the Chief of Commerce morosely before reaching out and clutching one of Annúnfalas’s sun-kissed hands tenderly. “Thank you. I am glad you are with me, Snowflower,” said The Valiant, smiling warmly behind the concealment of her veil. “Will you sing with me as we approach?” she requested of Losmeril. “Of course I will,” replied the elleth, preparing her voice for whatever ballad her mistress would begin.


She bid her love farewell,
As he departed aboard a ship on the wharf of Eglarest

He swore that he would return,
And soaked in tears, she swore,
Swore that she would wait

Hundreds of moons passed overhead,
And she was always on the pier,
Waiting

Many afternoons nested themselves,
They nested themselves in her hair and in her lips

She wore always the same gown
So that should he return, he would not mistake her
Mud crabs nipped at her ragged clothing,
Nipped at her misery, and illusion

Decades passed, and her dark hair matted together,
But no ship that returned with her love ever came
Her gray eyes filled with sunrises,
And her pale feet rooted themselves onto the pier

In the harbor-city, they came to call her,
They came to call her the ‘Madwoman of the Wharf of Eglarest'

One afternoon in the summer,
Mariners forcibly attempted to take her to a healer,
But no one could manage to tear her away,
And by the Sea forevermore did she remain

She stayed,
There,
All alone

She stayed,
She stayed with the Sea and the Sun

She stayed until the End of Time
She stayed on the wharf of Eglarest,
Alone,
Alone,
Alone

~ Based on the translated lyrics of “En El Muelle de San Blas” by Maná ~

When their song had ended, Marvidrio clapped his gauntlets together in earnest. “Well done ladies,” he said appraisingly, releasing his hold on the reins of his destrier, “though I must say, I have never heard more depressing lyrics.” Losmeril turned her head behind her. “I think that Falathrim tragedy is rather beautiful,” she said, chiding the warrior politely as Annúnfalas led them trotting into the courtyard of the Last Homely House. “Her devotion to her lover, maybe, but we all know what happened with her not-so-noble beau,” went on to monologue Marvidrio, “This mariner anchored his ship at one of the docks along the Nevrast coast, where he met and fell in love with a Noldorin heiress. He married her, raised a family, and never bothered to inform his former sweetheart back in Eglarest that he had chosen to end that relationship and move on with another.”


Image

Annúnfalas dismounted, her blue-crystal high heels meeting the stone pavement gently below. She stroked the neck of her camarillo lovingly and gratefully. The white horse had proven itself hardy on the road, and this extraordinary level of endurance did not go unnoticed by the Sea-elf, or unappreciated for that matter. Her gray eyes looked up at the grand staircase of the Last Homely House, and the vague memory of when she had first seen it, played out before her gaze. It had been a stormy day, Earenolwë had ridden as fast as the lightning striking the ground around his horse. Annúnfalas, lingering on the edge of death, had been wrapped in nothing but Eärmana’s cloak. She had slipped off the saddle of his horse upon arrival, and fallen limp onto the stone courtyard. The last thing Annúnfalas remembered, was a worried Erestor and shocked Glorfindel racing to where her bare body lay helplessly.

Goosebumps ran across the skin of her arms, and Annúnfalas rubbed them consolingly. She threw back the front of her white veil and approached a guard at the base of the stairs. “Would you be so kind as to fetch the High Counsellor for me?” she asked, returning to Losmeril and Marvidrio. “Fetch the gifts will you please,” she said, turning once more to the staircase. Annúnfalas stepped forward shyly towards Erestor, placing her right foot behind her left and dropping slightly, bowing her head respectfully. “It has been some time, High Counsellor,” she greeted him sentimentally, her gray eyes smiling in his direction. “You will be happy to know that my hair grew back in full,” she added, attempting to lighten the mood by bringing the joined braids of her long, silver hair forward.

“I have returned to the Valley once more on formal business, but I have also have been brought back as a result of a personal matter,” went on to divulge Annúnfalas, placing special emphasis on the latter phrase, “You see High Counsellor, I am looking for a friend, or rather a friend of friends, but I will not trouble you with the details. I expect to remain for a fortnight but may need more time to conclude my business in the Valley. It is my hope that I, Losmeril, my personal secretary and nurse, and our bodyguard Marvidro will not be an inconvenience to you or Lord Elrond during that time.”

Losmeriel stepped forward with a medium-sized silver chest and opened it for Erestor to see the dark, rose, gold, and cream-colored pearls within. Marvidrio followed with a similar chest in his own armored hands, showing Erestor the dark chocolate caramels sprinkled with rare Falas sea salt within.


Image Image

“I have brought your Lord, my healer, these small tokens of appreciation. Will you see that he gets them High Counsellor?” requested Annúnfalas, searching the elevated walkways of the Last Homely House for a sign of the peredhel ruler. “Forgive me, High Counsellor, but is Lord Elrond here today?” she asked kindly, looking at Erestor with mild confusion; suspecting the Ruler of Rivendell was not home.

New Soul
Points:
"...and there sat a lady fair to look upon, and so like was she in form of womanhood to Elrond that Frodo guessed that she was one of his close kindred.”

"So it was that Frodo saw her whom few mortals had yet seen; Arwen, daughter of Elrond, in whom it was said that the likeness of Lúthien had come on earth again; and she was called Undómiel, for she was the Evenstar of her people."

~ Tolkien, Book II: Chapter I: Many Meetings, The Fellowship of the Ring

“'O Lady of Lórien of whom were sprung Celebrían and Arwen Evenstar. What praise could I say more?”
~ Aragorn to Galdriel, Book II: Chapter VIII: Farewell to Lórien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Image Image

“But her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, were out upon errantry: for they rode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never their mother's torment in the dens of the orcs.”
~ Tolkien, Book II: Chapter I: Many Meetings, The Fellowship of the Ring


Image

Arwen Undómiel
returning to The Last Homely House

Their visit to Ruinëpímár, the Firefly House Orphanage, had been splendid in every way. Arwen and her father, Elrond Half-Elven, had arrived in time to join the children and adolescents for a hearty breakfast. After which, the Princess of Rivendell and her father aided Cónduil II and his staff in feeding the infants their first bottles and dressing them for the day. Arwen then guided the kitchen cooks in preparing a balanced and nutritious lunch for the orphans, handing an apron to her Lord and atar, and giving him the task of serving the youth their midday meals. They had helped put the babies and the young children to bed for their afternoon nap and helped cook dinner for the young ones while they slept.

It was after the last meal of the day, that Arwen and Elrond had turned their focus to the adolescents residing at the Ruinëpímár; taking the time to speak with each and every one of them and coach them in a last-minute but instructive music lesson. Insisting they see the entire day through, Arwen and her father helped bathe the newborn children and ensured that every kid had brushed his or her teeth. Perhaps, the most precious task they helped the employees of the Ruinëpímár orphanage fulfill was putting each infant to sleep in its designated cradle and helping tuck every child into bed.

As they walked arm-in-arm back to their own abode, Arwen smiled in amusement at her father. “How nice of the girls to insist on painting your face, ada,” she said grinning, looking once again at Elrond’s cheeks and forehead. Bright red hearts and opaque pink flowers had been brushed onto his skin and golden glitter sprinkled across his dark eyebrows. The blemished moon and glowing yellow stars on her own complexion had faded somewhat by now; and as they passed over a bridge, the Princess held onto a rag doll a child had made in the likeness of the Evenstar maiden, along with several varying flowers the little boys had plucked from all around the Valley just for her.

She hoped that during their visits, however often they occurred, that the children and teenagers waiting for a forever home - were reminded of the fact that they were loved by the Princess and their Lord.

Late evening settled over the Valley of Imladris, and Tilion cast the long shadows of the beech trees over them both. When the stars rose from the uplands and took their place in the sky, the light of lanterns swinging from their branches bathed them in a warm radiance. The rooftops of the Last Homely House came into view, and it was in this moment that Arwen paused at the edge of a lush green lawn. “Ada, look,” she whispered, stepping cautiously over to where cascades of water poured down into the body of a small pond.


Image

Arwen smiled breathlessly, recognizing the starlit patch instantly. She looked at the havens reflected on the rippling surface and a memory, precious and pure, pulled at the strings of her heart.


.
.

Two thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six years ago...

Image

Image Image

Lady Celebrían, Princess Arwen, and their family
having a picnic within proximity of The Last Homely House

King Valandil had fallen. His son Eldacar, had now ascended the throne of Arnor. The Last Alliance of Elves and Men had cast down the Dark Lord, Sauron in Mordor, and it seemed to the citizens of the Valley of Imladris, that lasting peace was finally within their grasp. Summers had become more bountiful than ever, and it was during one sunny afternoon that the Lady of Rivendell, Celebrían enjoyed an outdoor excursion with her husband and their children.

She reclined on the quilted blanket her sons had helped her place on the lawn and elevated the upper portion of her body with the aid of her slender elbows. Across a single row of multicolored patches, her Lord and husband rested beside her. A handwoven basket lined with wool cloth containing their food and beverages were all that divided the ruler and his other half.

Celebrían wore a high-waisted dress of deep blue color with silver buttons running down its front seam. The low neckline, short sleeves, and split in the lower portion of her skirt allowed the immaculate skin and shapely length of her collarbone, arms, and legs to be displayed and admired. Rays of sunlight filtering through the leaves rustling above them filled the diamond on her brow and ran across the surface of her silver circlet. Her pale exposed skin drank in the shine, and flares reflected off of the buttons that fastened her dress. A sterling haze wrapped around Celebrían in a shiny gray mist, highlighting the silver strands mingled in her golden hair.

Shouldn’t you be staring at the children, and not at me?” she asked her husband, opening her eyes and turning to him. She had first met the son of Eärendil when she accompanied her mother, Galadriel, to the Valley on a formal visit, but their love had been slow to bud and blossom. Celebrían smiled with teasing affection. Even after so many years of marriage, his gaze alone was still enough to make her heart skip. “Oh, stop it!” she laughed, hiding her face. A notable coral blush had now tinted her cheeks. “Do not laugh or I will tell on you with my mother,” Celebrían declared with feigned seriousness, rising up to seating. She fed her love a plump, green grape from the basket they had brought, pouring herself a glass of sparkling wine and sipping slowly.

Elladan and Elrohir had cast aside their tunics, kicked off their boots at the edge of the pond, and wadded out into the water. They competed as to who could hold their breath below the surface for the longest amount of time, and their little sister had agreed to count the duration. Celebrían looked at Arwen thoughtfully and wondered if what the most insightful of their people said was true. Had Lúthien truly been reborn in her? She looked at her husband now with a troubled expression. “Our daughter is beautiful, but I am worried my love,” confessed Celebrían, stirring the wine in her glass, “If she truly is the mirror image of Thingol’s daughter, is our little Evening Star doomed to meet the same fate?”

Celebrían placed her glass aside and looked directly into Elrond’s eyes. “Promise me, Lord of Imladris. Promise me, we will not allow our daughter to die.” She held her husband’s chin and set her gaze on his lips. Celebrían would kiss him in an attempt to avert his gaze from the tears glazing her eyes. Yet before their faces could touch, a small palm wedged between them outstretched. “Look what I found,” said Arwen excitedly, who in her innocence, was oblivious to the fact that she had stopped her parents from displaying their affection with one another. “It seems you made a new friend darling,” said Celebrían encouragingly, taking notice of the snail in Arwen’s diminutive hand.


Image

“I am going to name it Elros,” she announced proudly. “Elros?” said Celebrían, “You are going to name him after your uncle?” Arwen frowned, shaking her head vigorously. “It is a girl snail mama,” she said, correcting her mother. “Oh,” replied Celebrían, “but I thought you were naming her after your uncle.” Arwen frowned again. “Girls can be called ‘Elros’ too, right ada?” she asked, looking to Elrond for reassurance. Celebrían chuckled softly, pressing her lips together. Arwen had reached the stage of childhood when youth began to make difficult inquiries. Just the previous week at dinner, Arwen had set aside her soup spoon to ask where Elven babies came from. Elladan and Elrohir had nearly fallen out of their chairs in laughter.

“Elrond the Wise with nothing to say?” chuckled Celebrían, ribbing her husband as Arwen set her new companion on one of her father’s shoulders. She sat on his lap and bit softly into a ham and cheese sandwich. Elladan and Elrohir raced back to the grass, pushing and pulling at one another. When they had reached the glistening lawn, the twins began to wrestle on the pasture. “Ada, are all boys this uncivilized?” remarked Arwen pointedly, looking up at her father. Celebrían touched her lips. Her melodious laugh fading to the rushing noise of falling water.


.
.

Image

Arwen ran a pale hand across her eyes and shuddered. Collecting herself once again. “We were so happy then, weren’t we ada?” she said, looking back at Elrond, who appeared to also have lost himself in distant memory. “Ada?” asked Arwen, tugging lightly at one of his sleeves and returning his mind to the present. “I know that I have kept you away from home longer than you might have liked, but can I trouble you for one more minute? Please?” she supplicated, turning back to the pond. Arwen quietly removed her slippers and stepped forward into the water. She pulled a single flower from the bouquet the boys at the Ruinëpímár had gifted her and sent its petals rippling towards the waterfall.


Image

“Celebrían… faithful wife… Lady of the Valley… queen of hearts… and loving mother. You are forever with us in spirit.”


Image

She exhaled deeply. Her heart aching as a young voice called out to her worriedly. “Please get out of the water, my Princess,” said Laerina urgently, balancing a stack of folded towels in her arms. “They are setting out the porcelain and fine silverware for dinner, and we must hurry to get you dressed. I understand that you were previously engaged with your weekly visit to the orphanage, so I took the liberty of selecting your gown, shoes, and jewelry for tonight.” Laerina bowed hurriedly to Elrond. “Lord Elrond, I would be happy to assist you as well if you would like, or I can send your usual valet to tend to your changing. Whichever you prefer. Um, perhaps we should see to removing your makeup first?” Laerina stared in horror at the girlish whorls on the ruler’s face.

As the Princess raised the hem of her clothes and pivoted her feet in the direction of her handmaiden, another voice shouted out to them.

“Ca…non…ball!”


Image

Cónduil, wearing nothing but his undergarments, ran over and leaped from the cliff beside the waterfall. He hugged his knees into his chest and plunged into the depth below. A tidal wave of cold pond water was sent splashing onto Arwen, Elrond, and Laerina. When Cónduil emerged soaked from the bottom, Laerina dropped the towels she carried and clapped her hands to her eyes. “Cónduil the Second, you robe yourself this instant!” she cried, appalled and amused at the sight of a half-naked Cónduil. “But I thought we were all going swimming,” he said sadly, rather disappointed to discover this was not the case, but not at all apologetic for soaking his Lord and his daughter. He flailed his arms, sending more water spraying onto the trio. “Come on, let’s swim!” he insisted, pulling Laerina onto his shoulders and into the pond with him. “Cody no!” she laughed. “Come my Lord Elrond, let us see who is the better team: me and my girlfriend or you and yours,” Cónduil went on to say, suggesting they all play a game of chicken out in the pond.

“We are already late for dinner,” laughed Arwen softly, giving her dripping sleeves a swift shake, “Thank you, Laerina. I will be certain to dry off at home and wear what you have laid out for me in my chambers.” She waved a hand farewell and dragged the drenched and weighty hem of her gown to Elrond. “Shall we leave these lovebirds and get ready at home, ada? I am certain Erestor is already exasperated at our late return,” said Arwen, wringing out her raven-black hair before offering her father her arm again.

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
Points: 2 909 
Posts: 1281
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
Image ImageImage


Tirindo Aiwenarion with Nariel Eregwen and her daughter, Caramírië
in the Hall of Fire, Elrond’s Homely House


It was a place of peace, and yet the Noldo paced the chamber, restless. Was a moment where his stoic features had broken toward a smile, hearing the commencement of some music, of a harp .. He had turned, expectant, and found only disappointment to greet him. It was not for want of entertainment that he remained at a loss. There were books galore awaiting in the library, old friends whose pages he had pored over so many times he no longer required to read them. Resting calm grey eyes upon a covered tome was the same these days as recollecting all that was enclosed within their tight embrace. Not a single mystery remained that a thousand years or two, or ten, could not prise from long interpretation. And so not toward the library did Tirindo now turn. Neither to the extensive tapestries or the long series of windows which provided a living, breathing backdrop to the building. His eye was ever returned to the door. And every time that a new figure entered, his heart leapt and his entire form straightened. Then his face regained that stamp of disapproval which had seen most folk arriving to leave again soonafter. As though their coming had displeased him, though they could not have said how it might. Some of course were bold enough to loiter, maybe to be satisfied in time with the answer to what he awaited.

He would not be satisfied, however, even by the fair maid who braved an entrance and approached purposely toward him. Beaten to her Uncle only by the speed and excitement of her small daughter, whom he did not even drop his chin to note.

I know a secret ! I know a secret !Cara divulged .. nothing worthwhile. Swallowing her sense of having intruded, Nariel reminded herself that this was a public place, and though he haunted the chamber, Tirindo had not the sole right to remain.

Rather than speak greeting, the redhaired guest of Elrond extended the flat of one hand, which her kinsman pressed lips to, courteously. The exchange was without words, and bereft of warmth, as was their highly awkward relationship. To her credit, the small girlchild was now engaged in orbiting the pair of adults, whistling to herself as she did, doing everything in her power to make them smile. If anything, it only heightened the contrast between her carefree behaviour, and that of her ‘Elders’. Quite oblivious to her kinsman’s grim mood, Caramirie persevered with tucking her head left, then right, contented with her song “and nobody shall know but me. Because it is secret, you see. I know a thing that nobody ..

I saw Tharmáras plaguing Erestor before, or rather Anarondo was doing that for him,” the Noldo began with a criticism, some things did not change.

I had to deliver a message to SilugnirNariel explained. “Given the circumstances, it seemed best to do so without Thar ..

And did he apologise for taking the boat ?Tirindo raised one eyebrow. “Did he even admit he had done so. Much less ask what became of his reckless .. ?

I did not come here to talk about Silugnir. Or what came of his reckless .. ness. I went there alone for the sake of avoiding .. unpleasantness. And I shall not seek it out now. Is Halyanis with you ?” the She Elf cast eyes belatedly around the room. “I think I rather need her opinion on something. And it has been a fair time since we last broke words.

It has,” her uncle agreed. Darkness spilt from his scalp in a mane of pitch black hair, tapered at a high brow, and yet framing his unflinching features. Grey eyes teetered about imparting further details, but this proved beyond him. The fact of missing his wife was not a point that he felt needed sharing, moreover that, being an archer, it was not in his nature to ‘miss’ anything he set his sights on. Still the truth remained, Halyanis had not yet returned from her romping about the countryside. They had quarrelled and she had sought fresh air, and perhaps she had not yet fulfilled that desire. This sort of scenario was not a new one for him to endure, but it tended not to end so well. Regardless, he would not share his concerns. Particularly with one of the women in his life he’d suffered waiting on, and searching for, when she invariably went off ‘for some air’. Tirindo sighed, and turned obstinately back toward the doorway.

Recognising that this was the second time this day she had felt so unwelcome, Nariel turned on her ornately-shoed heel, and seized Caramirie by the hand, departing under a cloud of muttering that all the males of the world were infuriating. The best means she knew to console such annoyance was to seek out those few, those two at least, males of the species who were as the sun to light her world. Tharmáras had bravely commandeered the luggage to their lodgings, with their son to ‘assist’ him, and she could not wait to relax in their company, free of cares now all their errands should be at an end. She would have liked to speak however swiftly with her fellow healer, and kinswoman, Halyanis but clearly that would have to wait some. One last exasperated glance towards her Uncle saw the She-Elf roll her eyes and try to catch up with her daughter; who was now proudly informing everyone they passed they she ‘knew something that they didn’t know’.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
Points: 2 909 
Posts: 1281
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
ImageImage

Gildor Inglorion bumping (quite literally) into Tirindo Aiwenarion
(use of unassigned canon character approved by threadrunner)
Departing the Hall of Fire


His niece’s (latest) departure was the latest in a long line of ladies walking out on the Noldo and, despite how experienced he might be in the experience, this time something broke deep in him. Dramatic strides took the archer toward his own escape in a matter of moments and yet, making it through involved a collision with one more intent on entering.

I find it hard to believe that the music can be quite so bad as all that !” the golden-haired Elflord smiled, and only rubbed his sore shoulder goodnaturedly. If he was expecting an apology for being driven into the doorframe, or at least an acknowledgement of good humour to laugh it off, he had come upon the wrong Elf. Fortunately Gildor knew something of Tirindo, since the Havens of Sirion. And therefore he knew better than to waste his time taking offense at the other’s stern line of mouth. “May I ask the cause of your urgent escape, friend ? Perhaps assist if that be called for ?

There was a fleeting moment when Tirindo did contemplate accepting the kind meant offer. Asking for help of course was beyond him. Failing to refuse any unexpected aid, .. that was more of a grey matter and a rare one. The Noldo paused, as though he’d never been faced by such a dilemma before. In the end, the actual admitting of his issue decided him, for that was far from a thing that he could bear to manage.

The music was deficient in so much that it was not my wife, making the melody,” he conceded, truthfully at that. “A disappointment which others may not in fact mark but, having set my hopes so high, I fear that for me at least, no substitute shall satisfy.

Well now you find me gravely disappointed also,Gildor bowed his head respectfully. “For I have heard your lady wife at her most musical leisure, and it is a shame we shall not enjoy her efforts this day. Pray do not let me keep you then one moment longer, from seeking her out elsewheres. Your home shall be her private auditorium tonight.

He supposed and Tirindo did not disagree. The archer’s high brow creased in some exhaustion how to answer without explaining.

I think I may have to indulge in other means of entertainment,Tirindo declared eventually. “I shall visit my good friend Orotingion instead.” The other Noldo was of course another old acquaintance since the melding of all refugees in Sirion, and one whose company he enjoyed greatly. Their afternoons spent speaking in the tongues of the old country were never time wasted, in their ancient minds at least. “If you should in fact be blessed by Halyanis in the Halls of Fire any hour soon, please do let her know where she may find me,Tirindo held the eyes of Gildor a moment longer, and added, meaningfully, “I would count it as a kindness, my lord.

Again Gildor nodded, respectfully, and watched the tall archer stride on his none-so-merry way. The Noldo had not mentioned Celedir at all. Which likely meant to anyone who knew any of that small family, that the young Elf had convinced Haly to wander off and romping about, far from Tirindo’s scowl. It would not be the first time and he hoped it would not be the last. He was a great fan of wandering himself, was Gildor. But for the remainder of this day at least, he would be, unlike Tirindo, surely satisfied by the performers in the Hall of Fire.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
Points: 2 909 
Posts: 1281
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:37 am
ImageImage

Nariel and Caramírië
Dressing for Dusk, in their allotted rooms


Dusk had laid it’s enchantment across the valley, sowing star gems in the temple of the sky. Slow had these celestial blossoms grown in splendour by the hour, heralds of the moon to come. And so the sun had picked up her glorious skirts and sought a shady retreat in her turn. Bowing flowers laid down their colourful helmets, and riotous birds paused respectfully, from their orchestrations. Come now was the time of unseen insects, who set the virgin night to life with their waves of applause. Come now were the whispers that ran through the feathered grass and the smothering compress of all else gone to peace.

Stood alone upon her open balcony, Nariel basked for just one moment more in the peace she was rarely now afforded, and immersed her senses in the inescapable embrace of Nature’s lullaby. A mere stumble of feet saw her back into the heart of her haven; which stole with each blink, each breath, like a thief into the memories she’d long stashed in secret. The furniture carven with familiar motifs, the comforting caress of the soft sheets. Fairest of fragrances. Fond old friends.

Imladris was truly home away from home. Like opening not the door to a room, but a portal to some secluded shelter just beyond the outside world. A dream where all spirits flocked together and where evil shrank for fear of the light. Cares she could already feel ebbing away from her, leaving her whimsical in spirit, as though she might fly. The guest laid her bare cheek against the cooling stone of a column which was dressed as the bole of a tree, interwoven ribbons of frozen white bark cascading from it’s heights. The gentle breeze that had followed her now played sedative with her pale skin. She smiled. Even as her daughter sprang across the floor, a stray little russet leaf dancing with no partner. Begging to be seen in the dress which she had wrapped herself into without any adult assistance.

A shame that said dress belonged to her mother.

As a laugh rocked her lips apart, Nariel moved from her serene rapture back into a different joy. Dressing for dinner, it was as much entertainment to the former lady in waiting as any excuse to festoon oneself in silk and sparkle. She had broken the rules unofficially by sneaking into the room without seeking out Erestor in person. But the self proclaimed master of ceremonies always housed them in the same lodgings, he knew which rooms of the Homely House the family favoured. Not to mention that she would never find the time to dress herself and her daughter for dinner, if they had to locate such a very busy individual first.

Tharmáras and Anarondo had gone on ahead, to be relieved of their luggage and to claim the family’s home for the long season they meant to stay in the valley. And the room was not locked. There was no need, not in the last homely house east of the sea.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Post Reply