Adab Gelir (Pub)

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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They saw a valley far below. They could hear the voice of hurrying water in a rocky bed at the bottom; the scent of trees was in the air; and there was a light on the valley-side across the water… The trees changed to beech and oak, and there was a comfortable feeling in the twilight. The last green had almost faded out of the grass, when they came at length to an open glade not far above the banks of the stream. “Hmmm! It smells like elves!” though Bilbo, and he looked up at the stars. They were burning bright and blue. Just then there came a burst of song like laughter in the trees:

O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking,
The bannocks are baking!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly
The valley is jolly,
Ha! Ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!

To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and hark
Til the end of the dark
To our tune
Ha! Ha!

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense, I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. They were elves of course…. Then off they went into another song as ridiculous as the one I have written down in full. At last one, a tall young fellow, came out from the trees and bowed to Gandalf and Thorin. “Welcome to the valley!” he said.

The Hobbit, A Short Rest



In the vale of Rivendell, where the Last Homely House lies safely nestled, dwell not only its noble inhabitants but the many common residents of the valley, a curious and carefree people. They dance, sing and laugh amongst the trees and by the river, coming together from their secret dwellings to make merry from dusk ‘til dawn. While bands of elves no doubt roam the vale and do their merry-making in the open air, others prefer to gather in the comfortable arms of Adab Gelir, the House of Merriment. This rustic tavern sits in the embrace of an enormous beech tree, built up beneath the hanging boughs to wrap halfway around the tree, so that the trunk itself forms the back wall. The thatch-roofed building thrusts out from the tree in a broad semicircle, with plenty of room inside the hidden pub for the inhabitants of the valley to crowd in of an evening.

Within the tavern itself, the ceilings are low and broad-beamed, making the interior seems somewhat smaller than it is, but cozy and warm. In the center of the long, curved room, opposite the door, is the bar. It is a carved structure of beech with a long flat surface that extends just to where the room begins to curve, with plenty of stools for those who wish to sit at the bar. For those who prefer a different setting, there are chairs and tables scattered about the length of the tavern’s rush-strewn floor. None of them are fixed in place, so that patrons of the Adab Gelir can rearrange them as their mood suits, often changing configuration several times in one night. At each end of the semicircular tavern is a roaring fireplace, where groups can gather for quiet conversation or bards may take up a position of prominence.

Behind the bar is Alagon (played by Moriel), the jovial Sinda who runs the tavern. He is a not overtall, a middle-sized ellon with a solid frame, wild reddish hair, a ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes. He is always cheerful and ready with as joke or a song, keeping the Adab Gelir open to all hours for the inhabitants of the vale. All are treated equally by Alagon, from the youngest child to Lord Elrond himself. Always close by is his pet robin, Gliri.



Drinks
Dorwinion Red Wine – Fine imported red, the same variety that the Elvenking favors for his table. Quite strong!
Greenwood Burgundy – A dark red wine from Mirkwood, rich and bold.
Northern White Wine – Delicate white, from a small vineyard at the northernmost edge of the valley.
Blackberry Wine – Created by Alagon himself, this wine made from plump blackberries is extremely strong and sold only in very small glasses, as it is deceptively sweet and fruity.
Mead – Also called honey wine, a powerful drink made by Alagon from sweet clover honey. Available plain, or in varieties flavored by raspberry and rosehips.
Dry Stout – An almost black beer, characterized by a toast or coffee-like taste.
Old Ale – A dark malty beer, fairly bitter
Brown Ale – Dark amber beer, sweet and smooth, with a hint of chocolate.
Tea – Black, Mint, Ginger or Cinnamon.


Food
Bannocks – Flat, dense oatmeal cakes, made with salt and sugar. Very good plain or dipped in tea or honey.
Fruit – A dish of fresh fruit, sliced or chopped, varieties dependent on the season. Also available dribbled with honey!
Bread – Baked fresh, light and crusty or thick and solid. Served with butter or/and fruit preserves.
Stew – Rich, filling venison stew with barley and good root vegetables
Fish – Catch of the day from the Bruinen, grilled and flaky.
Potted Hare – Rabbit stewed in red wine, shredded, mixed with lemon and thyme, then packed into a terrine and covered with broth and butter and left to cool until the mixture has saturated.
Fruitcake – Not your grandma’s Yuletide brick, this cake is thick, stodgy and filled with plums.
Pie – Apple, Cherry, Blueberry


Rules
1. Please avoid #008040, as that is the publician (Alagon) color
2. Posts 200+ characters (approx. 2 full lines of text)
3. Have fun!


If you are interested in working at the Adab Gelir as a baker, cook, server, assistant bartender, or other position you might have an idea for, feel free to approach Alagon IC!
Last edited by Moriel on Sat May 16, 2020 9:35 pm, edited 4 times in total.

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Adab Gelir was quiet, having only just opened for the evening. That wasn't to say it couldn't be found open other times of day, but Alagon had taken advantage of the fine day to hang the 'gone fishing' sign on the pub's door and play hooky for a few hours. No sooner had he re-opened the door than a few regulars had trickled in, ribbing him gently about his absence, as they always did. No one begrudged the kindly publican a bit of free time- and after all, the fruits of his labors often ended up on the menu. A low murmur of talk drifted around the place as Alagon threw open the windows to let in the golden evening light, throwing moted shafts across the rush-strewn floor of Adab Gelir. The light smelt clean and bright, and Alagon sighed with pleasure. He loved this place: the pub that was his home, the peaceful Vale in which it lay, the world around it which was so large and so small at once. A chirping from behind him caused the publican to turn about with a smile on his angular face, reaching out a hand for the robin as it swooped towards him. "Well, Gliri?" he murmured to the little bird, making his way back across to the bar, "Are you read for another wild, wild night in Imladris?" The robin chirped in a self-satisfied fashion as Alagon deposited him back on his usual perch, just above head-height behind the bar, and the publican snorted. "Well, of course you are!" Seeing as everything was bright and clean and everyone had a drink in their hand, Alagon leaned back on his tall stool at the center of the curved bar and took up a small block of softwood from below its surface. Pulling a small, slim, very sharp knife from its sheath at his hip, he began to carve on the block. Perhaps this one was destined to become a bear, or a horse! Or, like so many others... a robin.
Last edited by Moriel on Sat May 16, 2020 9:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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The door burst open, and and with a laugh Feanedhell entered the pub. "Alagon! About time you reopened, I have been waiting for ages for you to do so!". Feanedhell sat at the bar and ran his hands on the smooth wood and sighed "I have missed this place" he paused as he looked around "Why don't you get me a Blackberry wine, some stew, and your legendary conversation?" he smiled at Alagon and reminisced about the old times as Alagon got his drink.

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An old, but shorter, entwife with peeling birch bark slowly lumbers into the pub. Tele is still waking from being quite treeish, but is beaming at the sight of her elvish friends and family. As she steps into the pub, she takes a long, deep breath, taking in all the sights and smells around her. She makes her way to the bar and scans the room. Though she is already moving slowly, anyone paying attention would notice her stop dead in her tracks. She calls to Alagon, "Could you send some Potted Hare to the handsome gent over there?" and nods toward Fean. She rests against the bar, smiling at the kind elf she once called her husband.

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"Feanedhell you rogue, I should have known you'd be lurking about the door, just waiting for your chance to get in the wine barrel!" Alagon laughed at his friend and winked, pulling a bottle of blackberry wine from below the counter. It was a large bottle, for such was the popularity of the wine, but quite a small glass that he set before Feanedhell. The viscous liquid poured smoothly into it, such a deep purple as to be almost black, and the aroma of blackberries rising from it like vapor. "There you are! Now don't drink it all in one go, I know you respect my wine more than that," the publican chided as he turned away to retrieve the stew. "And how is Telepwen? I have not seen her in some time." As Alagon slid the stew across the bar, the door of Adab Gelir opened again, this time admitting a very unusual figure- but not unknown or unliked. "Speak of the devil." Alagon smiled broadly, tapping softly on the bartop with his knuckles, and nodding at the entwine (Telepwen) as she made her request. Not wanting to intrude upon the moment of reunion, Alagon quietly retrieved the potted hare and set it before Feanedhell, his eyes crinkled with pleasure.
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Feanedhell couldn't help but smile at Alagon as he put the drink in front of him, he had missed this, a good drink, good food and good friends. As he was about to answer Alagon, the door opened and Telepwen walked in, the years had not changed her, she was still as enchanting as the forest she came from. His eyes followed her as she walked up to him, he barely noticed as the food arrived in front of him and Alagon retreated. Misty eyed, he raised his hand to touch her cheek, and he could only manage these few words "I've missed you".

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Tenharien took a long breath as he entered the pub, followed by another deep breath when he closed the door behind him. It had been ages since he had wandered into such a place and smelled the aroma of local wines. He had been away from the elven folk, training and warring with his friends and family. Cataloging martial techniques and studying battle for years. Now he was home for at least a short while.

He peered around to admire all of his folk. But before he saw fit to engage in any conversation, especially with potential new friends or reluctant old ones, he would need a drink. On the road, all that he was accustomed to was whatever his companions would concoct for them to drink from the fruits and berries they were able to find in the wild. But here he would have his pick of some of the best drink of his youth.

"What to pick first," Tenharien spoke as he gazed around the bar, seeing what others were enjoying. "No, it must be wine," he thought. Remembered to well, the taste of his friend Cal's made up dark wine. It was good enough while they were on the road, but today, "good enough," would not be good enough.

"Something to make me bold enough to flirt and make friends, but not strong enough to make me want to sleep," Tenharien thought again and settled his eyes upon the Northern White Wine as he tried to get the Barkeeps attention. He noticed an elleth with golden hair walk by and he smiled, shaking his head a little. He swore she turned a small glance his way but ignored it, thinking his instincts were a bit off. "Wine first."

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Alagon was just wondering whether he ought to find some excuse to leave the bar and give the happy couple a bit of privacy, when the perfect distraction walked in. And elf who looked familiar (Tenharien) but had certainly not been seen around these parts any time recently, came through the door with a thirsty look. Alagon couldn't be sure he knew him- a publican encountered so many, after all, and he was not exactly young. As the newcomer made his way to the bar, Alagon strode down a few places to meed him with a smile and a wave of the hand. "Welcome! You look as though you've been on the road. In need of company?" Alagon grinned, not at all deceived by the brief interaction with the comely blonde elleth, "And a drink? What can I get for you?"
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"I have been on the road. Too long on the road. It has come to the point where I am the type who loves to travel, but at the same time, does not necessarily love to travel," Tenharien said with a laugh. "And yes, elf company. Preferably female. Though a few good brothers to talk and tell stories to are always welcome. It has been too long i've been our with rough men, slashing and hacking and shooting and yelling. I need a nice glass of light wine to ease up a little, you understand. I think I'll try the Northern. It is not too sweet, I hope, and not too dry?"

Tenharien looked around for a second and admired the pub. It was well lit and well furnished. He had made the right decision coming here. "My name is Tenharien, by the way? And yours? My father told me to always make friends with the Bar keep wherever I may go. I have to say, that bit of advice as never failed me." Tenharien offered his hand to shake and looked over at Alagon with a curious grin, wondering what type of mischief he had lived through himself.It was possible that Barkeep would know as many great stories as any wizard.

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"Alagon," the publican replied, returning Tenharien's gesture and grasping the ellon's outstretched forearm, "Your father was wise! It never hurts to befriend the keeper of the keys, when it comes to a tavern." Alagon's bright eyes twinkled merrily, and he turned to take down a bottle of Northern White Wine, catching up a glass goblet as well as he returned to face the newcomer. "Things can get rowdy in here from time to time, but I can't ever bear to serve this particular wine in anything but glass." He uncorked the bottle deftly and began to pour. Northern White was such a pale gold as to be almost clear, though one would never mistake it for water upon drinking. "I think you'll find this to your liking, a very nice balance and aroma. But beware, its delicacy and easy drinking has tricked more than one unwary imbiber into a sore head the next day!" Alagon curved his wrist to end the pour, preventing a single drop from spilling onto the bar top, and pushed the goblet to Tenharien with two fingers. "On the house, as a welcome to our valley." He shook his head slowly, continuing, "I can't say I miss the life of hacking and slashing! I hope you will find some peace here. Do you intend to stay long?"
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Taking a deep breath of the clean crisp air of her old homeland, Lealnemarr ducks into Adab Gelir for a rest. It had been quite some time since she had wandered back to her homeland, instead she had spent years fighting for and building her homestead in Rohan. Now was the time to journey back and visit friends of old. As she stepped through the doors of the pub, Lealnemarr lowered the hood of her dark grey traveling cloak and shook out her deep chestnut plait. She smiled as she strode near a small single seat at a nearby table, stopping to remove her traveling gear and get comfortable. Removing her bow, quill and small sword she kept on her back, she neatly piled her items on the table, folded the cloak over them (perhaps to hide them, seemingly unconsciously) and shook out any remaining traveling dust from her raspberry colored tunic and black leather breeches. She made her way towards the pub's bar, smiling shyly at a few of the nearby patrons. It had been so long since she had been in the company of others and fellow elves at that that she was a little nervous. She waited for a few moments until the red-haired and friendly looking barkeep was available and meandered towards her.

"Mae govannen," she said with a smile, "I would love a glass of the house mead and some of that fresh bread that smells so lovely. "

She pulled some coin from her pocket and laid it upon the wooden bartop and glanced around the tavern, looking at some of the nearby patrons, her green-gold eyes keenly taking everything in/i]
~~ Leal of the Honking Okapis, back in action ~~
Circa 2003

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Ah Rivendell. It was always sweet coming here. Her children missed their friends when they were away, so the moment they were within the Valley, they were usually running off to find whomever they could. Veowyn too was eager to see the faces of friends and family. However, she did have a delivery to make first, and it was already a day late. She left her weapons and most other belongings with her horse, as she made her way. She only held a large glass jar tightly in her arm as she entered Adab Gelir. The skirt of her green over dress blew slightly in the breeze as she entered the pub, as did her brown curls.

Her blue eyes quickly scanned the room. At first Alagon was the only one she thought she knew. Her face lit as she did see another elf she recognized. She would have to sit and catch up with him, after she gave the barkeep his order of her finest cinnamon. "Mae govannen Alagon! I believe I have something you are expecting." She spoke drawing near the bar. Her eyes twinkled merrily, as she set it on the counter. "May I have my usual order in exchange? A glass of your Northern White and a tray of fruit, please?"

She then turned to Tenharien, and grinned brightly. "Mae govannen mellon nin!" She refrained from rushing her old friend with a hug. "It has really been much too long since we sat together! You must tell me where your travels have taken you!
Veowyn, Vandani, Jakiewyn, Caddrick, Ailura, Túrelia, Vigri, Vinca
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"Indeed he is. Mother too, but a different kind of wise. Surprisingly she was the one who taught me about women. All kinds of women. She is the type who wants one hundred grandchildren." Tenharien nodded in agreement, looking around to see if there might be any rowdy types in the pub at the moment. He would have no issue handling himself, but honestly he came just to drink. "I shall keep a weather eye, friend and a glass it will be than. You can leave the bottle if you wish, unless that is your last. I will be taking it slow today and ease into it. It smells amazing."

"On the house?" Tenharien said taken aback. "You've been doing this a while haven't you?" He said with a grin, taking the glass up to his nose to smell the aroma more closely. "I thank you, Alagon, and will not forget it." Tenharien took a slow sip and then closed his eyes upon the second. "That's just what I needed. Umm, yes, I'm going to be staying here a long while. I may go here and there for training or small adventures from time to time, but this is my home. As for hacking and slashing, you realize you have now challenged me to find a time that you must come out with me to fight. There is much evil business out in the world. I'm sure you would be useful."

While Tenharien was about to laugh, a familiar voice caught his attention and he turned his head immediately. "Speaking of adventures," Tenharien said with a smirk while he set his glass down. He hugged Veowyn back tightly and did not let go for some time. "It has been an age, love. Look at you. Still as radiant and beautiful as ever." He cupped her chin with his fingers gently, looking into her eyes and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Of course it's you. the very first friend to meet me upon my return. Don't you worry. I have a hundred stories for you."

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Alagon chuckled and shook his head ruefully at Tenharien's comment about having him come out and fight. "No, no my friend, I gave up that life long ago. Archery occasionally, but only for sport!" Fortunately, something happened then to distract the ellon from this line of thought. It was not a time of his like Alagon particularly enjoyed discussing, the days when he had served as a warrior, and he wouldn't like to seem rude to a new patron. But the arrival of Veowyn allowed them both to move in a different direction. The publican smiled broadly at the elleth, taking the proffered cinnamon. "Ni lassui my dear! This is most appreciated. No doubt some of it will find its way into a mulled cider some chilly night." Alagon swiftly produced another glass goblet and filled it with the same delicate white wine as Tenharien's, setting it before Veowyn as she received his greeting. He had just finished preparing the bowl of fruit when another traveler Lealnemarr entered and put up her things, before coming to the bar. "Welcome!" He smiled at her and turned briefly to set the fruit before Veowyn before returning. "Ah yes! There is little that can beat the fresh smell of bread I find, don't you agree?" Alagon retrieved a small crusty loaf and the board upon which it was be served, replete with knife and small pots of butter and jam. These he placed before Lealnemarr before taking down a bottle of mean and a pewter goblet. "I must warn you that my mead is both smooth and dangerous- so easy to drink many have found themselves beneath the table without realizing." His yes twinkled as he poured, looking kindly upon her, "But you look as though you have more sense than many." Alagon pushed the goblet to her. "May I have your name, mistress? I am called Alagon." A loud twittering announced the return of the robin to his shoulder, no doubt tired of the lack of attention. The publican laughed aloud, and put up his finger for the bird to stand upon. "And this troublesome fellow is Gliri. He means no harm."
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"Thank you, Alagon." She smiled as he set the glass and the fruit before her. She was still held tight in Ten's hug. She relaxed into him, happy to see her friend home. It was always good to see a long lost friend, when they returned whole, and well. She giggled and flushed a little when he kissed her cheek. "You look amazing yourself! I am so glad you are home!"She then grabbed up her glass, and the plate of fruit and moved to the nearest table.

Once she was sitting again, hoping Ten would follow, instead of sticking to his place at the counter. She took a small sip of the wine, and a bite of the honey sweetened fruit. She folded her hands together, atop the table, and then rested her chin on them. "Im ready, tell me!" She was eager to hear about those adventures. She had a few of her own to share, as well. From giant spiders, to how well the cinnamon grove was doing. Had he been around for the knowledge of her youngest son? It had been so long now that she hardly remembered where they had left off. She would fill in the details as they got reacquainted.
Veowyn, Vandani, Jakiewyn, Caddrick, Ailura, Túrelia, Vigri, Vinca
Maldir - you are missed

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"No problem! That's fine indeed then. Sport is just as good sometimes, and far safer. We all need to hone our crafts here and there. I'm not as good at archery as I used to be. Probably because my spine has been misaligned for some time. I need a good massage and a bone realignment. In my youth I would dread it. Now, I welcome it." Ten cracked his neck to the left, but dared not to push it to the right side as he rolled his shoulders. "I don't suppose you know who the best chiropractor around here is, friend?"

Tenharien let Veowyn go and smiled, raising a glass to her. "Will you have something as well? We must celebrate. Ah yes, perfect." Tenharien nodded to Alagon in thanks and went to join Veowyn not far at the table. "Tell you what? Everything? Well, I suppose I should then. Well it began here in Lothlorien. I was called away to give a young ellon a lesson and soon I found myself teaching his entire family. I told him the next week, I would be traveling to Mirkwood for some previsions and that is where the trouble began. At least for the first adventure."

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Of course, Alagon was probably right-- Leal should have stuck with tea or simple wine, but she wanted to branch out and enjoy her travels--and the mead was renown to be tasty, albeit, strong. However, Lealnemarr opened her mouth to reply to Alagon, to let him know she could handle herself, but before she could reply, the appearance of his feathered friend surprised her. She wiggled her fingers, her smile broadening over her fair face. She loved animals of all sizes and Gliri was certainly a delightful surprise.

"Mae govannon, to you both, Gliri and Alagon-- my name is Lealnemarr."

Her green-gold eyes twinkled as she pulled a few crusts from her bread and reached across to offer them to the small robin. "My friends call me, Leal, little Giliri. I am sure you are more friendly than many others from the sky--would you care for a some nibbles...?" she trailed off, but held up her cupped hand of fresh crumbs for the little bird as a friendly gift.

"I grew up here in Imladris. Well, sort of," Leal said to Alagon, "and wanted to come back and visit my birthplace. I have been traveling for several years and before that I called Rohan home for quite some time."
~~ Leal of the Honking Okapis, back in action ~~
Circa 2003

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A nose twitched. A paw tapped. Presto smelled blueberries.

Oh, sure, there was a dish of stew out, someone had ordered hare and there were several goblets the pointy-eared menace was already plotting to knock over and lap up in due time; but his first target was a shoo-in, a giveaway, a certainty! There was an assortment of pies cooling on a ledge by the windows, and he was absolutely positive the one on his left contained his filling of choice. Elves were so trusting.

Presto licked his paw delicately and considered the battlefield before him. Several elves, easily managed with his great, rumbling purr and a few well-placed rubs of his soft, pink nose; one treeish creature (Telepwen) that did far too much talking for a tree, but moved too slowly to present any serious risk; and one highly suspicious robin. His whiskers curled in anticipation.

The cat padded through the door of Adab Gelir with his striped head held high and gave a calculated yawn that was sure to make anyone watching go starry eyed. He twined through the legs of two dreamy looking elves (Veowyn and Tenharien) and even dared to butt his head gently against the tree-being (Telepwen). Its bark felt very nice against the itchy spot between his ears. The robin and its admirers he gave a wide berth. One never knew, with bird-lovers.

And then there it was! just a few tail-lengths above him. Flakey, buttery, sugary, gooey heaven! Blueberry pie!

Presto's stomach made a gurgling noise. He crouched down, ringed tail swishing, willfully ignorant of the mug full of spoons and tins of spices that he was about to send clattering to the floor, and leaped...

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Veowyn grinned at Ten's story, and listened eagerly. "Trouble always happens, if Mirkwood is involved." She teased, with a roll of her sapphire eyes. She loved her home, but it was not for every one. She was one of the few who knew the fuller scope of the dangers there. She was still eager to hear what had happened on his adventure though.

She had just taken another sip of her wine and popped another bite of fruit into her mouth, when she felt something brush her leg. She looked down to see a rather cute cat wander past them. Awww. She looked back at Ten, giving him back her attention, after the kitten moved through the rest of the pub, on it's own secret mission.
Veowyn, Vandani, Jakiewyn, Caddrick, Ailura, Túrelia, Vigri, Vinca
Maldir - you are missed

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“Oh, he should be delighted!” And Gliri was, hopping even as Alagon spoke onto Leal’s hand instead, pecking voraciously at the crumbs in her hand. He tweeted his thanks through a beakful of crumbs- robins were never the most dignified of birds, whatever they might tell themselves- and took care not to prick her skin with the pointed end of said beak as he ate. “Traitor,” Alagon accused the robin with a laugh, and stroked his backfeathers with one finger. “Well Leal, you are most welcome back to the valley. Rohan, eh? I confess I have not spent time in the land of the horse-lords. How-“ but before Alagon could question Leal about her time amongst the Rohirrim, a loud clatter! behind him signaled the arrival of an intruder. The Publican whirled around and with the reflexes borne of long years dealing with miscreants, small animals, and his trouble-causing nephew, seized the cat in mid jump, one hand around his scruff, and the other under his chest, even as the hopeful jaws stretched forward towards the pies cooling on the windowsill behind. “You rascal!” Alagon exclaimed, then coughed as he was engulfed by a cloud of fine mustard powder that the cat had knocked over in his charge. Holding the cat out by one arm now, firmly gripping his scruff, Alagon waved a hand in front of his own face to clear the powder, blinking rapidly. “Excuse me,” he gasped over his shoulder to Leal, before returning his attention to the cat. “Where are your manners, eh? What’ve you got to say for yourself, hellion?”
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"We ended up dispatching a band of orcs that tried to ambush us. My friends and I were able to break a few necks but then we were overrun. We lost my young student's uncle and had to flee. We lost them for a bit but before we could make for Rohan, which was our original destination, we had to detour when they attacked. Orcs tend to hold a grudge." Tenharien shrugged and laughed as he watched the cat move between them.

He shook his head and took a drink of his wine, looking at the plate of fruit, for a peach. "This is one of the many reasons, I implore our people to train rigorously. You never know when trouble might come near."

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Leal coughed as the small cloud of mustard powder mushroomed drifted towards her as Alagon apprehended the feline pie burglar (Presto). She laughed heartily, and took a long drink of her mead. The elf peeked over and called towards the hubbub-- "Do you, erm, need any assistance?"

Leal chuckled again and popped a piece of crusty bread into her mouth, her green eyes sparkling with mirth. It had been a long time since such fun was had in such a short time. She sat back in her bar stool and took another pull of her mead as she took in the scene behind the bar.
~~ Leal of the Honking Okapis, back in action ~~
Circa 2003

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"Trouble is sure to occur when you are least prepared." She agreed with his assessment of training being important. Like cats, going after the pies. Or orcs causing detours. Or spiders forgetting their boundaries..." She tailed off. "We'll have to have ago at some sparring, soon. I know we have different tactics, it could be fun." Veowyn mused aloud, realizing he may have never have seen her in action like that before. It would indeed be fun. Her eyes lit with the thoughts that ran through her mind.

"I am sorry for the loss of your student's uncle, however. Please continue your story. What happened when you reached Rohan?" She recalled her trips through Rohan, and the deliveries she had made there through the years. Many adventures of her own on that route from Mirkwood to Minas Tirith.
Veowyn, Vandani, Jakiewyn, Caddrick, Ailura, Túrelia, Vigri, Vinca
Maldir - you are missed

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"Those Mirkwood spiders are bold." I remember one time when this eight legged beast popped off at my mother and she had none of it. She walked up to her and slapped her across the mouth. She nearly started crying in front of her friends from the embarrassment alone. That was when I was much younger."

Tenharien nearly spat out his wine as he choked when Veowyn suggested they do some sparring. He was sure if she meant actual sparring or something else entirely. "Yes... we certainly should," he said in agreement to play it off cooly.

"Have you been in many battles since I left so many years ago? Oh yes, the story. Well, that's the thing. We didn't reach Rohan. We had to go around the river to lose the horde of orc. The closer we got to Minas Tirith, the further the got away from us. We neared the forests of Lanedon and they backed off a bit. that gave us some rest for a while.

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Veowyn giggled as she imagined his mother just walking up to a spider and smacking it. The spiders in her part of Mirkwood were a little tougher than that, or maybe his mom was just that fierce. Or maybe it was an exaggeration from his childhood memory. It made for a great story none the less. Her own kids sure had some interesting stories to share about her too. She always forgets to write them down, when they come up with really fun ones.

Her laugh rang out much louder as he almost choked on his wine. She wondered what went through his mind at the mention of sparring. She flushed a little when she realized one way it could have been interpreted. "I have been in a few battles. Though, they are usually when I am on my own, or with a small group. My skills are mostly self taught, with a little training from past days here in Rivendell. I am usually stealthy enough to avoid trouble, though. That is what I learned mostly, from living in Mirkwood most of my early years."

She smiled as he continued his story, and just listened while nibbling another slice of apple.
Veowyn, Vandani, Jakiewyn, Caddrick, Ailura, Túrelia, Vigri, Vinca
Maldir - you are missed

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"Hmm, I'm sure you are. You used to sneak up on me all the time," Tenharien said as she noted her strengths. "Mirkwood is a good place to live as many others. It has it's qualities and can make you tough or as cunning as you need to be. I look forward to go back there soon. Perhaps I'll come and visit the kids." Tenharien took a breath and tried to remember where in his long story he was. Of course he couldn't tell all of it in one sitting, but he was glad to be able to sit with a friend.

"After Lamedon, we were forced to fight to make our way West. They set a blockade near the mountains which made us force a flank so we wouldn't get pinned. It was a tiring trip, but luckily our group had our wits about us and the fortitude to see it through. I should say it was easy, but that would be a lie. They were formidable orcs. Which is part of the reason, I need to go back to Minas Tirith soon. In time. For now I will enjoy my time around here and see all of my friends and loved ones."

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A tail length, a paw stretch, a whisker width and his fangs would sink into blissful--"MERAAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Hands caught under his chest, something clamped onto his scruff, and the yearned for blueberry pie grew definitively further away. How dare they, this busybody! Interrupting his hunt, stealing his plunder, wrenching him away from his well-earned reward! The nerve, the gall, the insolence! He twisted and squirmed, his nose scrunched and his tail waving wildly in outrage. "Face me you coward! he yowled. It sounded something like "ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAWWWWY".

And then there Presto was, dangling in mid air, staring down his would-be captor. Of course, one of the bird-lovers. The elf coughed. The cat sneezed.

The cat licked the elf's nose, and sneezed again.

"I only meant to take a nibble," he muttered. "Just a smidgen, a morsel! Well, a few bites maybe, if we're going to talk about it. A pawful of mouthfuls. You'd hardly notice! There's loads here!

It sounded something like "mreew?"

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“Thank you Leal, but I believe I have it under control.” Alagon said with as much grace as he could muster, still glaring at the cat, and covered in mustard powder. Gliri had taken off abruptly from Leal’s hand at the commotion, and landed on the safest spot in the room- onto of Alagon’s head. “ROOOOOOAAAWWWWY!!” Yowled the cat, lashing its tail and wriggling against his restraints. The publican held firmly onto the feline, even as it sneezed. Then, in a wholly unexpected turn of events, the cat licked Alagon’s nose. He blinked in surprise and wrinkled his nose, which now had a wet and mustard-free spot. The cat sneezed again, and said mreew? Alagon looked from the cat, to the pie, to the mess on the floor, back to the pie, and back to the cat. “You need only have asked, you know,” he chided the feline, “If you promise to behave, you can stay and have some pie.” Taking it on faith that the cat would do so, he sat him on top of the bar, near Leal but far away enough that he could be stopped if he got to close to her food. “Now stay there a moment and don’t try and steal anything from this nice elleth.” Alagon lifted one of the pies down from the windowsill and, judging that it was cool enough, cut a small piece, which he placed into a bowl and set before the cat. “That was some truly excellent sneaking you did, you know,” he said to the cat with admiration. “You appeared just like magic.” the publican scratched behind the cat’s ears with two fingers, smiling, “Presto!” Gliri, not having any of it, chirped down at the cat from the top of Alagon’s head with great suspicion.
Last edited by Moriel on Sun Jun 07, 2020 7:13 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

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"Pie? Pie! Pie pie pie pie pie!"

Presto would have burst into a thunderous storm of purring, but he couldn't give himself away so easily with that robin around. Devious flying mouse, sitting on the pie-giver's head and making that infernal racket! The cat settled for a happy little mew and promptly buried his nose in the bowl. Oh that was good, this fellow certainly knew what he was doing, no two ways about it. He gobbled his way more deeply into the pie, now nearly up to his ears in crumbling crust and berry juice, and a small mrrrrrrrring purr escaped despite himself.

What was it to anyone, if in his enthusiasm, Presto nudged the bowl a little closer to the elleth (Leal) with the intriguing goblet and plateful of bread?

He chewed and gulped down mouthfuls of blueberries with relish, and then licked and licked at his bowl until it was shinier clean than the greatest smiths could ever have polished it. With a hugely satisfied yawn, he stretched his full length across the bar top and rubbed his berry-stained head happily against Alagon's arm. Not so bad, this place, if one ignored the excess of birds. He shot a sideways look at Gliri and bared his teeth just a fraction.

When he sat down again, Presto was situated neatly next to the strangely sweet smelling drink. He watched Alagon closely, half an eye on the customer, waiting for the perfect opportunity and...now! The cat took his chance, and stuck his tongue delicately into the mead. His pupils suddenly widened and his tail shot straight up. The fur on his ruff fluffed out. "What is that??" he cried in delight.

It sounded something like, "Mrooooow??"

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“Ohhhh no you don’t!” Alagon hooked one long hand under Presto’s chest and pulled him away from the goblet of mead, “I don’t need any drunken cats around the place, thank you.” Gliri, still perched atop the Publican’s fiery head, chirped his affirmation. Tucking the cat under his arm, Alagon rummaged behind the pub, coming up with a dish of cream, drizzled with honey. This he set on the bar, followed by Presto himself. “Now it know it’s not mead, but at least try to let that keep you out of mischief.” As though summoned by the word mischief, a new and familiar figure burst into Adab Gelir, accompanied by the trailing of lute strings and the tinkling of a bell. Gellam the Fool had arrived, a tall, lean ellon hurtling across the room towards the Publican behind the bar. “What ho, uncle!” he called jovially, swinging his lute around so that it rested at his back, skidding to a halt just before colliding with the bar itself. “Who is this fellow?” Gellam exclaimed, distracted and delighted, scratching behind Presto’s ears. But the Fool was again distracted and delighted when he caught sight of the original object of Presto’s desire. “Blueberry pie!!” He lunged across the bar, but Alagon was both too quick and too used to dealing with his effusive nephew’s obsession with sweets. “Sit down like a civilized creature and you can have some!” he admonished, laughing, as he swept the pie just out of reach of Gellam’s clutching fingers. From his position draped awkwardly across the bar, the wood-elf turned his head to look at the cat. “See how ill treated I am? Are you sure you want to hang about here?” But Gellam subsided into a seat on the far side of the curving bar, where he could lean against the wall, and pulled his lute back around to the front. Almost absently his fingers began to pick out the song he had been working on: a light, bright dancing tune, with and air of wistfulness hovering behind the notes. The Girl With the Flaxen Hair. Alagon set an extra-large slice of pie at his nephew’s elbow, along with a goblet of Dorwinion red wine. “A taste of home,” he said, with a wink and a smile, a beatific version of the same expression blossoming on Gellam’s face as he gazed upon the pie. “Uncle, you are truly sent by the Valar themselves.”
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Númenyraumion

It had been a very, very long time since he had been here. The valley of Imladris was not on Númenyraumion’s list of places he liked to visit. It was a beautiful place, quite possibly one of the most beautiful places left in all of Middle-Earth after the sinking of Beleriand and Númenor. It was a shining, golden city with repositories of ancient knowledge, halls that reverberated with newly created song, and most fey gardens in all the lands, but it held memories too. Memories that were still too raw, even after more than a thousand years. Still, he was going to have to get over such things. He couldn’t sulk and hide forever in a cavern somewhere and listen to the water drip from the stalactites anymore.

First though, he was going to stop in at the pub. It had been recommended by half a dozen people on his way out. Apparently Adab Gelir was famous for it’s pies and it’s wine. Númenyraumion made a note to try both.

He made his way through the valley until he came on the place. Enough stories had been told to him that there was no chance he would miss it. The massive beech tree rose out of the earth, its wild green boughs a backdrop for the tavern. It was just as they said it was. There was a light inside, and the sounds of boisterous voices could be heard from within. The Teler smiled. The House of Merriment indeed. A song slowly began to form on his lips, an old song he heard up around the hearth fires of the far north:

Ólafur reið með björgum fram
Villir hann
Stillir hann
Hitti'hann fyrir sér álfarann
Þar rauður logi brann
Blíðan lagði byrinn undan björgunum
Blíðan lagði byrinn undan björgunum fram


He swung the doors up and was immediately assailed by the sweet smells of fruit pies. The tavern itself seems half under siege from animals trying to get to the treats. The elf smiled and sat down at the bar, humming the earlier tune. He took note of the tall, lean dark haired elf a wider smile than Númenyraumion had every seen (Gellam). He couldn’t tell what was eating from his angle at the bar, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Excuse me, mellon,” he looked back to who he assumed was the tavern keeper (Alagon), “could I trouble you for an extra serving of whatever it is he’s having? He seems be enjoying himself and I think I could a little of the same.”

OOC: Lyrics from traditional Icelandic folk song “Ólafur Liljurós”
Last edited by The Good Hunter on Sat Jun 20, 2020 1:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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“No trouble at all,” Alagon replied to the newcomer (Númenyraumion) with a smile. Gliri hopped down from the Publican’s head and back onto his shoulder, chirruping a greeting as Alagon carved another generous wedge from the blueberry pie, and set it before the ellon. “A drink?” he asked with a nod. Meanwhile Gellam had broken off his lute-playing to indulge in the decadent treat, shoveling large forkfuls into his mouth at regular intervals with sights of pleasure, washed down by the Dorwinion red wine. “Oh friend,” he interjected with a wave of his fork, “I cannot recommend a pairing more highly to go with my uncle’s blueberry pie than this very wine!” He pointed at the goblet with the fork, narrowly avoiding tipping it over, “Come uncle, pour him a glass! This is my uncle, Alagon, the finest publican anywhere in this wide world,” Gellam went on, causing Alagon to snort, “And I am Gellam, the Fool, late of Mirkwood, bard and fool and master purveyor of illicit pastries if you must know! I do not think I have seen you here before! Tell us who you are, or do we need to get you tipsy first?”
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Númenyraumion

It had been a long time since he smiled like this. A very long time. It was not that he was dour, sullen person, it was just that life had never dealt him enough happiness that a smile was warranted. Whatever it was that he had found here was a rare jewel.

“I’m called Númenyraumion! Though it is a bit of a mouthful to say, if you’d like you can call me Narlambe.” He took a forkful of the pie and closed his eyes in sheer bliss. It was like nothing he had ever tasted. He had eaten wild blueberries from time to time and they were always bursting with sweet, cheerful flavor, but there was something else in this pie. It was sweet but not overbearingly so, the explosion of juice was pleasant. He took another bite, inhaling the sweet, slightly acidic aroma before popping it into his mouth.

“As to why I’m here,” he said still with a mouthful of blueberry, “I like to travel. I’ve been making my way slowly towards Imladris for the past decade now and I’m finally coming to the Vale.” He swallowed the pie, savoring the delightful crunch of the sugary crust.

“Tell me, Gellam, as you are a master purveyor of illicit pastries, do they taste better when they’re stolen? I’ve had asked question of many youngsters but they always seem so reticent to answer the question,” he took another bite of the delicious pie and nearly lost his train of thought. “Perhaps though, that’s because their parents are always within earshot.”

The Teler leaned back in his seat and inhaled the smells of the tavern deeply. The rich smells verily wrapped a layer of warmth around him, a blanket that made him feel safe in a way he had not in a very long time He opened his eyes and looked across the bar to Alagon. “My sincerest compliments, my fine publican! Truly, that was the best pie I have ever had the pleasure of tasting. And if Gellam is to be trusted,” he flashed a mischievous smile back to the bard, “then the wine would be even better.”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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“Númenyraumion!” Gellam exclaimed, “What a name, friend, what a wonderful name! But if Narlambe you prefer, Narlambe it shall be. I myself have but the one name, can barely keep track of myself as it is!” the Fool took another massive bite of his pie, chewing with an almost obscene pleasure, but even as his eyes made to close, they popped open at the Teler’s next question. “Oh yes! Oh, without doubt,” Gellam confirmed, without a trace of embarrassment. “Purloined pastries are all the more delicious for the effort of having obtained them! And the secret enjoyment! Or, the not so secret enjoyment, and the glee of having to flee an irate pastry chef.” the wood-elf positively cackled thinking about his past exploits, and took a deep swig of wine. Alagon settled a goblet of the Dorwinion red wine before Númenyraumion and shook his head ruefully. “I can tell you, having looked after this one,” he leveled a finger at Gellam “since he was a mere imp, every word is true. And if he finishes his pie before you, which he will, you’d do well to guard your plate.” Around a (slightly dribbling) mouthful of blueberry, Gellam gazed at his uncle with sorrowful eyes, for giving away his tactics. He swallowed hard, stuck out his tongue at Alagon, then turned back to Númenyraumion. “Well, you are most welcome here! After ten years of travel, you must have many stories to tell,” Gellam let a hand fall to his lute, strumming a suggestive chord, “and perhaps a song or two?”
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Númenyraumion (Elf, he/him)

He eyed the dark haired elf with mock suspicion then grinned as he tried to stuff half the remaining pie into his mouth. Naturally, it did not fit and on either sides of Númenyraumion’s lips was a long line of blue. He smiled, the blueberry stains making his smile even wider (and perhaps a bit more sinister than he was planning). He wiped the sugary mess with the back of his sleeve and attempted to chipmunk his way through the mouthful of sweets.

“Oh the stories I could tell!” he said after chewing the massive amount of pie crust and blueberry. “I once sat with an Ent for four years while he told me about his crossing from Beleriand to Fangorn. I talked to a man that thought he living the exact same day over and over and over until he finally figured out how to break the spell. Oh, I once spoke to a young woman who said she climbed a tree so high she found a castle in the sky.

“I was planning on going to Ost-Halatir to write them all down when I got word about this place,” he took a deep, long swing of the wine and set the now vessel down with triumphant grin. “and I had to know if the stories were true,” he turned back to the publican with the remnants of blueberry still on his cheek, “and they certainly are about the blueberries!”

“If you want some songs, well I think I have a perfect one to start the evening off with.” He pursed his lips and rubbed his bare chin. With a sweeping grin, he jumped off the chair and landed on the floor with a flourish.
A Lindon tar is a soaring soul,
As free as the Island’s kirinki,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
An orcish, tyrannical word.

His nose should pant,
And his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame,
And his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave,
And his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.

Númenyraumion sang through the chorus twice and finished, holding the last baritone note as long as he could before he ran out of air (which, being a bard of considerable skill was quite a long time) and bowed.

“Well what did you think Gellam? Care for turn yourself now?”

OOC: Lyrics adapted from Gilbert & Sullivan’s “A British Tar”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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Lirien Lamaenthel, elf, she/her

Footsore, mud-spattered and weary, Lirien stepped into Adab Gelir, her face shielded by a deep grey hood. It was years since she'd last been in this cheerful place, but here, she was always sure of a welcome. Hanging her bow and quiver from purpose-built pegs by the door, Lirien retained her plain, well-crafted shortsword, leaving it within its scarlet leather sheath. Crossing the room, she kept her hood firmly in pace while taking an empty seat beside Númenyraumion. But she could not help rolling her hazel eyes at the exchange taking place between Númenyraumion and Gellam.

"The Child you're speaking to lies," Lirien said at last, having politely waited for Númenyraumion to finish his song. "Stolen food does not taste sweetest. The sweetest fare is that which an old friend has gone to the trouble of preparing for you."

Pushing back her hood, Lirien revealed her pale face and wealth of soft black hair. Reaching out a hand to Alagon, and glancing at Gellam to include him in her words, she smiled softly.

"Glass nín le achened, gwedeir nín."
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“A castle in the sky! Now that would be something to behold!” Gellam chortled into his goblet as he took another swig of wine, and stuffed the last bite of his piece of pie into his mouth- even the generous wedge his uncle had supplied was no match for the Fool’s boundless appetite for sweets. Alagon chuckled also at Númenyraumion’s description of his adventures, and brought his hand up to his shoulder. Gliri hopped onto the publican’s finger obligingly, and Alagon replaced the robin on his perch behind the bar, before dishing out another slice of pie onto Gellam’s plate. He flipped a cloth napkin at each of the pie-devouring ellyn, each landing with a flap neatly beside their plates. “The two of you could give pigs a run for their money!” But cleanliness was clearly the furthest thing from either of their minds, as Númenyraumion leapt from his stool and started in on a rousing song, and Alagon found himself slapping the top of the bar in time with the it. Gellam listened raptly and, ever the quick study on a tune, joined in on the chorus on the second time through. He roared with laughter and applauded as Númenyraumion concluded, Alagon joining in- none of them having particularly noticed the cloaked figure entering Adab Gelir.

Even as Gellam was slapping Númenyraumion’s back and Alagon turned to greet the newcomer, she spoke. The publican’s bright eyes immediately widened at the sound of her voice, and he exclaimed, “Lirien!”
Not far behind, Gellam’s face blazed with delight. “Auntie!” he shouted, and bounded across to her. Before Alagon could take Lirien’s proffered hand, the Fool had caught her up in a smothering hug, lifting her from her seat and whirling her about and planting kisses on either side of her face, before depositing her back upon the stool. “Narlambe! We have competition now, for Lirien can treat with the best in song!” Gellam crowed to Númenyraumion, by way of introduction. Alagon would like to have vaulted over the bar to replicate his nephew’s greeting, but instead reached out across it to grasp Lirien’s arm, his torso leaning over the bar. His grasp was firm but Alagon quickly released the pressure and allowed his fingers to slip up Lirien’s arm to her hand, where he folded her fingers over his own, and brought his other hand up to cover the back of her hand as he raised it to his lips and kissed the knuckles softly, his eyes smiling at her over them.

“Amatulya, melda osellë.” (Blessed meeting, beloved sworn-sister, Quenya)
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Lirien Lamaenthel


Hard as she tried to hide it, Lirien could not help grinning at Gellam's enthusiastic greeting. Nor could she stop tears from misting her sight as Alagon offered the sort of warmth she met with from very few.

"I've missed the two of you," she murmured, drinking in the sight of them. But, remembering the courtesy that had been drilled into her at Menegroth, Lirien turned a moment later and nodded to Númenyraumion.

"Is it Narlambe you prefer?" she asked politely. "I'm Lirien Lamaenthel, of nowhere for very long at a time, but of Mirkwood most often. Your song was...stirring...but I prefer a more melancholy tune. I'll take Gellam's turn to sing, as he's offered it--he can cheer you again when I've finished. And perhaps by the time I've done with this, Alagon will have something for a very weary traveler to eat and drink? You know what I like, gwador nín--surprise me, won't you?"

With that, Lirien slung a soft leather case from her back. Carefully, she unpacked a slender, curving dulcimer carved of gleaming golden wood. As her fingers plucked the strings, a sweet, sad music filled Adab Gelir. After a few bars, Lirien began to sing, her voice soft and low.


"I had a wish for hearth and home,
No more the wide world o’er to roam--
For kin and kind and settled soul,
To be at peace, and feel made whole.

I wished through wood and hill and vale,
Through midnight calm, and dawn light pale.
I wished by rock and tree and sky,
But there’s no home for such as I.

I can but roam, a restless heart
Unmoored by fate and set apart.
Mine are the woods, the stars, the sea
No other loves will do for me.

And yet I wish to glimpse that light
Which summons others home by night,
Which speaks of peace and well-loved friends,
And whispers, “here your journey ends.”

No such glow will grace my way—
I’ll wander, till a final day
Dawns in the east, and with a sigh
The good earth ends, and all things die."


(OOC:That's a Laura Original which I wrote and recorded during a half hour between dispensing snacks this morning. I'm sure I'll end up tweaking the phrasing at some point in the future, but if you want to hear the melody--with the caveat that I am *not* a singer--you can have a listen here: https://soundcloud.com/user-31851170/wanderers-song)

As the last notes of her song died away, Lirien sat back with a sigh and smiled once more at her friends, and at Narlambe.

"I wrote that on the journey here, while I was feeling rather bleak," she said. "But I think this place and all of you have put the lie to my words."
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Númenyraumion

Slightly winded from his performance, the nimir sat back in his seat only find a newcomer sitting next to him. Upon hearing her say that Gellam was, in point of fact, wrong about the delicious taste of stolen treats, he cracked a small grin. He opened his mouth to comment on her proposal that sweets were better when made by old friends when he noticed the familiarity between her, the publican and the troublemaker.

“I see I’m the odd elf out,” he didn’t quite mean this literally but a twinkle in his mismatched eyes at that very moment (as can only happen at such serendipitous times). “You call me Narlambe if you’d like, my father gave me a bit more a tongue twisting name that has to do more with the weather at the time more than my actual personality. It’s a pleasure, Lirien. If you’re related to these rascals,” he smirked pointedly at Gellam and Alagon, “then I am indeed glad to know you.”

He sat back and took another long draught of the wine (it really was fantastically sweet, a perfect compliment to the blueberry pie) as Lirien took her turn in the song battle he and Gellam and initiated. So enraptured by the sound of her voice and the melancholy of the lyrics, Númenyraumion hadn’t even noticed when the song came to an end. The notes of Lirien’s voice lingered in the air, casting their own sort of light in the tavern. The nimir could see images from the song cast in the light of the sound, smoky images that flittered about, dancing with the slow, sad melody. He swallowed the lump that had begun to form in his throat.

“That is without a doubt one of the most lovely songs I have ever heard, and I’ve heard quite a variety,” he stood up and bowed low, “You’ve just upped the game though! While Gellam takes his turn, I shall have to think of a moody song to match yours, though that task may well prove fruitless. Lirien, you are of surpassing skill and I salute you!” He grabbed the goblet off the bar, raised it, and down the rest in a single gulp.
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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At the announcement from Lirien that she would sing, Gellam threw himself back onto his stool, put his elbows on the bar, and propped his chin on his hands, staring at her with adoration. Alagon was similarly delighted, but only laughed softly, and set to putting together food and drink for her. He regretted not having any lemon cakes to hand- but if Lirien were to stay a time, he would be able to promise them to her aplenty. As she plucked the strings of her dulcimer, Alagon filled a goblet quietly with his own strong blackberry wine and set it before her. All three ellyn listened intently, and a rapt silence followed the conclusion of her song. Númenyraumion was the first to speak, bowing his appreciation to the elleth, and drinking her praises. Unabashed, Gellam dashed the tears from his eyes that Lirien’s song had called forth, his irrepressible grin flashing out in concert with them. “Did I not tell you!” he crowed proudly, leaping to his feet. At the mention of it being his turn to sing, the Fool began to strum or pluck the beginnings of different songs upon his lute, unable to decide at turn which to choose. Normally the countless myriad songs stored in his head chased themselves about and invariably presented the right one at the right moment, or formed a new one from the air, as was his wont. As he thought through his fingers, Alagon laid a platter before Lirien, covered in bannocks, honey, and fruit. He extended a hand to Gellam, smiling.

“I shall be the next thief of your chance, Gellam.”

Immediately and without question, Gellam unslung the lute from about his torso and passed it over the bar to Alagon, dark eyes shining with nearly as much adoration as when Lirien had sung. It was not often that the Publican played and sang in Adab Gelir, preferring to let his nephew and the other patrons have their fun uninterrupted. And though Gellam had gone on to become a bard beyond compare, Alagon had begun his nephew’s education in the ways of music and song ages past, and his own skill was not unmaintained. He leaned back against the counter behind the bar, plucking gently and making minute adjustments to the pegs until he was satisfied. The Sinda’s ruddy cheeks grew ruddier as he warmed to his task, and at last looked up at Lirien. “Long have you wandered, osellë, and I am glad we can put your bleakness at bay. Perhaps a song of home long ago?” It was a place he seldom spoke of, and to very few, but which was locked in his heart with timeless joy. Imrath Enederad, the secret valley of mid-day. This song has been written by one whom they had both known, and who had taught them the rich sounds of the Quenya in which it was sung. Alagon’s voice rose and fell, darker in character than Gellam’s, but a similarly rich tenor. The song was a bit wistful, but never sad.

You will find me at Noonvale on the side of a hill
When the summer is peaceful and high,
There where streamlets meander the valley is still,
Neath the blue of a calm cloudless sky.

Look for me at dawning when the earth is asleep
Til each dewdrop is kissed by the day;
Neath the rowan and alder a vigil I’ll keep
Every moment that you are away.

The old earth gently turns as the seasons change slowly
All the flowers and leaves born to wane;
Hear my song o’er the lea like the wind, soft and lowly,
Oh please come back to Noonvale again.

(Lyrics from Martin the Warrior, by Brian Jacques)
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Something stirred in Númenyraumion as Alagon sang. There was a tugging on his brain, an old memory slowly creeping up and wrapping its arm around him. He’d heard that song before. The memory was fuzzy at first, filled with too bright, disconnected images, but the more the publican sang, the clearer, more defined the memory became. A slow chill ran through him. He knew that song! He remembered his mother, not his real mother but she may as well have been, singing it once on a sunny day in his youth. He remembered she had been sad when she finished. He was barely a youth at the time, and his inquisitiveness was stronger than his good sense.

It had just been the pair of them that day, Davos Seaworth, the old sea dog, had visited the day before and shared with him a story about how he once swam with a blue whale, but he was gone before the sun was up, off on some nautical adventure. They took a walk out of the city, meandering into the countryside without any real destination. They made their way to the top of a green hill when he’d declared it was time to stop for lunch and play “Guess the Shape” with the clouds. There was an apple orchard nearby and the young nimir had snuck in and snatched up a variety of them, filling a small woven sack he carried with him. Stolen treats really do taste sweeter. They ate and watched the clouds drift by. He danced around her, doing his best to remember all the forms and techniques she’d been showing him, hoping that she’d be proud of his progress. His chin was sticky and his belly full, and she sang this very song. He’d never heard her sing it before, and only rarely heard her sing it after. Even at a young age, he was perceptive to the power that song had over people, but he’d never seen his mother with such grief in her eyes. He asked her why she sang a song that made her so sad. She told him of Noonvale, and how it was lost, and Númenyraumion understood. Not knowing how to truly comfort someone, he hugged her. It was the first time he’d hugged someone since his real parents left him to sail West. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d done it until he pulled away. “I’m sorry you lost your home. I’ll do whatever you need to help you make this place as good as Noonvale, I promise.” That particular memory stung. He hadn’t failed necessarily, but the island was now as lost as Noonvale, and she had gone.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to allow the memory of that wonderful afternoon to be sullied by years of angst and regret. He took a drink from the goblet of wine, distracted himself and covering his face as he tried to regain control. “That was beautiful Alagon,” he said as he set the goblet down. He took a deep breath and tried (and failed) to smile. “Did you know the Noonvale as well? My mother, I mean, well, not my real mother, her name was Tyelpelfindis, she sang that song once when I was younger and told me about Noonvale. What was it like? Was it really as beautiful as all the story say it was?”

Remembering how his mother reacted to his questions and seeing the melancholic but still bright expression on Alagon's face, he sighed and put a hand up. “I’m sorry. That was an impolite question. I clearly haven’t learned to stop being a brash youth. Please accept my apology. It’s not a place many people remember, and I don’t want it to pass beyond memory.”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

Black Númenórean
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Alagon’s fingers lingered on the lute-strings, plucking out the softest of reprises as he watched Númenyraumion’s face, and listened to his words. But the publican shook his head at the newcomer’s apology, the faint tune beneath his hands shifting to something more sprightly. “No need to apologize, my friend! Rare are those who know of Noonvale at all, much less remember it. Imrath Enederad,” the publican breathed the words with reverence, “the secret valley of mid-day, hidden deep in the heart of Ossiriand. I was born there, in the waning of the First Age. Though Imladris comes the closest, nowhere will ever be like it again. Lirien,” he nodded at her, “came to the vale when she was young. Tyelpelfindis was our tutor in the arts of language and song. She came to Ossiriand in the company of the Noldor before my time, though she herself was of the Nelyar, as you must know.”

Briefly Alagon closed his eyes, and a vision of Noonvale appeared before him: the longest and deepest of valleys, thickly forested on all sides, its floor scattered with mossy swards and trickling streams, the gentle rushing of the river at its heart a sound of comfort and home. Golden beams of sunlight lancing through bough and vine danced as winds stirred the leaves above, or on still days were shafts of utter magic and swirling mote, undisturbed by the laughter of the wood-elves who dwelt in that place of peace. And the solitary Nelya, who seemed always to be surrounded by an aura of light, pale and silver as the shimmering length of her hair. It set her apart from those who had welcomed her into their midst in the day, but at night beneath the stars she was as one with the land and the sky, and the vale beheld her song with awe. Alagon could see her as clearly as though they had parted mere moments before, smiling deeply with her odd eyes of Cuiviénen, and beckoning him to follow her as she traversed the vale with unimaginable grace. But even the song of Tyelpelfindis could not save Noonvale from the fires of the War of Wrath, and the destruction of Beleriand.

“It was as beautiful as the stories say, and more. No song can do it true justice, try as we might.” Alagon smiled at Númenyraumion. “I am happy you know her, and can only imagine what a joy it must have been to have her as a mother- foster-mother or otherwise. But, you speak of her in the past. After the War, Tyelpelfindis went north to the new realm of Lindon where there were more of her people, and thence to Númenor, was the last word I received of her. So many of us lost track of each other in those days. I’ve always imagined that at some point she returned to Valinor, and peace. Can you tell me, what happened to her? Has she gone over the sea?”
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The nimir’s heart soared as Alagon began to describe the Noonvale. Despite having never seen it, he could almost picture it in his mind’s eye. He could see the greens, blues, yellows, and reds. He could hear the song of the birds, the rustle of leaves. He’d seen so many places in Middle-Earth, been almost everywhere in his three thousand years of wandering. Yet the more he heard about the Noonvale, the more he felt as though his journey would be incomplete. There was a longing in his heart to see this place, intense and feverish, yet at the same time he knew he would never be able to see it. As much as his own home was, Imrath Enederad had long been swallowed up by the ravenous sea. “One day,” he began with trepidation, “one day, I hope that all the hidden, lost places of the world are brought back to us. Even if only for an afternoon, it would be a great boon to those that have lost and suffered so much. Joy and happiness seem in short supply the more time goes on. But,” his shoulders slumped and leaned on the bar, “such a thing won’t happen within the lifetimes of any of us, if the Powers That Be see it fit to do so at all.” Númenyraumion realized he was allowing his own bitterness and disillusionment to enter into the conversation. He coughed and forced a smile, raising his cup. “To Noonvale, may we all find a place one day that is so perfect not even songs of the Unbegotten can encompass its beauty.” He took a drink.

And his heart as well have fallen through his stomach.

Alagon had known his mother, Tyelpelfindis. She had been his tutor, and Lirien, the same way she had taught and nurtured him. His heart cracked, and his smile vanished. At first his expression was one of disbelief, that Alagon and Gellam were playing a jape with him, then, when he realized the Sinda was in earnest, he could not hide the sadness from his face. The Fall of Númenor, the loss of their homes and lives, had been more than three thousand years ago, yet the pain was always surface deep. Númenyraumion closed his eyes. He could see the terrifying, roiling sea, the waves as tall as mountains, the roaring of nature in utter disregard for life. He shook involuntarily. Sadness had come after, that pain too was only lurking just below the surface. The days of confusion, of utter grief and horror. He swallowed hard, his face turning to a grimace as he fought back tears. The image of his father, Imrazor carrying Tyelpelfindis to the edge of the water as the sun rose and… He couldn’t, that image he refused to see, not right now. The grief was about surface again and he could not let it overwhelm him now.

“She…” his words failed him, his mouth went dry and his throat spasmed. “She died.” Tears began to form at he corners of his mismatched eyes. “She died in her husband’s arm. She faded. Losing another home… was too much. We all lost so much, my sister and I. The world broke and heaven was torn asunder. When the Powers That Be changed the world, they also destroyed it, and that was too much for her.” He wiped a tear from one eye, then another tear fell form the other. He had tried to look Alagon in the face, deliver the news with as much bravery as he could, but that strength didn’t last. “I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you, you’ve been so kind to me, and I must tell you news so harsh. I have done you a disservice.” He broke, trying inhale but the sobs came before he could recover. “The most wonderful soul this world has ever seen was broken, and I can never forgive that. She died and my family was ripped apart. Imrazor, the man who was a better father than I deserved died far from the land he was born to, and my little sister disappeared with him, dying in a cold hard land that hated her solely because she existed and she was different.”

He stood on shakily, emotionally compromised limbs. He should not have sung, but rage and grief and swarmed up and if he didn’t release energy, he might explode


I see shadows and shapes
In the light of flames

They all congregate
And remain the same

But kept in the corner
The liar imagines

We all have sworn here
To be the last of our kin

These hands will find their place
Once more


(Lyrics from “Hold Your Head Low” by Zeal & Ardor)
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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“She… she died.”

Alagon’s fingers went still, and the lute’s soft voice fell silent. The brightness of the Sinda’s blue eyes seemed to dim, and the ruddiness of his cheeks to fade, as Númenyraumion related the circumstances of his former tutor’s passing. “Oh, uncle,” Gellam whispered, staring aghast at Alagon’s downcast face. He, of course, had never met the Nelya lady who had taught his uncle and Lirien long ago, but he had heard a great deal about her, and it was from her that some skills of his own descended, by way of his uncle. For one, it was Alagon who had tutored the Fool in Quenya in his youth, preserving the form which Tyelpelfindis had passed on to him. There was a sudden emptiness inside Alagon, in that deep corner of his heart where Noonvale abode, as if a mighty tree had fallen. And though he could hear clearly the words Númenyraumion spoke, it was as if they came from far away. He was scarcely aware of the ellon arising from his seat, but when he began to sing, Alagon came back to himself. Beneath the grief and anguish, it was almost as though he could hear the soaring tones of the one who had taught them both.

Silently, Alagon unslung the lute from about himself and handed it back to Gellam. Then, as Númenyraumion’s song died away, the publican leaned across the bar and extended his hands, taking both of the younger ellon’s in his grasp. “You have done me the greatest service I can imagine,” he said quietly, holding the mismatched gaze of the newcomer. “You have solved one of the great mysteries of my life, and I no longer have to wonder. Better that she passed from this life in the arms of one she loved, than to endure such terrible pain. You have been able to tell me that she went on to happiness- that she found love, and wedded; that a Man called Imrazôr won her heart, that she gained a son, and had a daughter. I would have known none of this if you had not come to Gelir tonight. I am so sorry for the loss of your family, Númenyraumion. You are always welcome here.” With a squeeze, Alagon released his hands and turned away, as Gellam rose to join Númenyraumion, and laid a hand on his back, gripping his far shoulder. Alagon returned to them with goblets and bottle in hand, and arrayed them on the surface of the bar. Into each vessel he poured a generous measure of blackberry wine, dark and viscous. The Sinda took up his, the color returning to his cheeks, and lifted it, speaking in soft Quenya tones.

“To Tyelpelfindis, Awoken by water and ‘neath star. May her memory be a blessing to us all.”
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The song helped. Maybe. It wasn’t an aggressive song, but it was an angry one. When he had trouble focusing his emotions, determining exactly what it was he was feeling, he turned to it. It was less destructive than say, ripping up a beach with the power of your voice. He took a deep breath after he finished and felt the tension release like a knotted muscle, he felt his spine pop from the release of pressure. He felt drained, numb. In a way, Númenyraumion was glad he felt numb. If he let in the image of his mother fading and her spirit flying westward, there was no telling what other tragedies lurked just below the surface, hungry beasts feeding off misery and pain. The eternal question, at least for the nimir: let go of the memories altogether and be protected from the trauma, or hold onto them despite their potential for destruction? He’d yet to find an answer to that question, likely he never would.

He felt hands on his and for an instant recoiled, having drawn so far into himself he forgot where he was. When he saw Alagon’s face, heard the earnestness in his voice, he relaxed. A great service? If that were true then why did he feel like he’d done the wrong thing? But what could he have done? Lie? That would have been even worse. “Sometimes, even a foul wind is preferable to stagnant air,” he murmured, half to himself, half to the publican.

Gellam materialized out of nowhere (not really but the nimir’s field of view had narrowed so much he could barely see anything next to him) and put a hand on his back. Every impulse in Númenyraumion’s body told him to shrug it off, that he didn’t deserve it, that he hadn’t earned that sort of familial affection yet. But he was too spent to move. The last time he’d received this much love was the day Imrazôr and Izzy sailed for Umbar. Another deep breath. The air in his lungs felt good, felt revitalizing. He placed his hand on Gellam’s and gave the ellon a small, if somewhat forced smile. “Thank you both. It’s been some time since I had more than one person I could consider family. It’s an absence you don’t really feel or comprehend until you’re made aware of it, then it’s all consuming. I cannot thank the two of you enough.”

He grabbed the wine goblet, having been surreptitiously refilled by Alagon, and raised it above his head, rejoining the publican’s toast with one of his own. “To Tyelpelfindis, starry-eyed wanderer, sculptor of poetry, crafter of dance, and the greatest steward of wisdom this world will ever see. To Imrazôr, heart of fire and gentle soul. To Inziladûn, impetuous and ever curious, a wild wolf cub.”

He drained the goblet in its entirety, the sweet, dark liquid filling his stomach with warmth and light-headedness. Setting the goblet down on the counter, he looked to the Fool. “I believe it’s your turn for a song.”
"We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood. Our eyes have yet to open... Fear the Old Blood..."

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