Imladris - Free RP

[Moriel]

(painting by Marlene Little)
Imladris

They saw a valley far below. They could hear the voice of hurrying water in 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. Bilbo never forgot the way they slithered and slipped in the dusk down the steep zig-zag path into the secret valley of Rivendell. The air grew warmer as they got lower, and the smell of the pine-trees made him drowsy … Their spirits rose as they went down and down. 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. "Hrnmm! it smells like elves!" thought 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 … 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.

Soon Bilbo caught glimpses of them as the darkness deepened. He loved elves, though he seldom met them; but he was a little frightened of them too ... "Well, well!" said a voice. "Just look! Bilbo the hobbit on a pony, my dear! Isn't it delicious!" "Most astonishing wonderful!" Then off they went into another song as ridiculous as the one I have written down in full. … On they all went, leading their ponies, till they were brought to a good path and so at last to the very brink of the river. It was flowing fast and noisily, as mountain-streams do of a summer evening, when sun has been all day on the snow far up above. There was only a narrow bridge of stone without a parapet, as narrow as a pony could well walk on; and over that they had to go, slow and careful, one by one, each leading his pony by the bridle. The elves had brought bright lanterns to the shore, and they sang a merry song as the party went across … And so at last they all came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide.

The master of the house was an elf-friend— one of those people whose fathers came into the strange stories before the beginning of History, the wars of the evil goblins and the elves and the first men in the North. In those days of our tale there were still some people who had both elves and heroes of the North for ancestors, and Elrond the master of the house was their chief. He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer … His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley.

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Imladris
Imbeláris
Karningul
Rivendell
The Last Homely House East of the Sea
The First Homely House
The House of Elrond

The valley has many names, and all of them represent a haven of peace and plenty. The vale itself is a sprawling place, home to many elves such as those met by Bilbo & company on their way to Elrond’s House, covered in forests of pine, beech, and oak, with many streams, greater or lesser, braiding their way to the river. Flora and fauna alike abound here, and Imladris shelters all its inhabitants in fair weather or foul.

Locations
The Last Homely House – The House of Elrond, where you may find the Hall of Fire, plenty of rooms for both residents and guests; terraces, kitchens, hidden nooks, and many other places besides. Within and around Elrond’s house you may also find Gardens, Libraries, Stables, Archery grounds for training and sport, and the Forges. If you are interested in training as/playing a smith in more structured RP, or having something made by one, you may also want to check out the Tingdain! There is also a dedicated thread for the Hall of Fire.

Adab Nestad – The House of Healing. There is also a dedicated thread for Adab Nestad if you’re interested in training as/playing a healer in more structured RP, or need one to treat you!

Calendolen – (hidden green, S.) A village in a remote corner of the valley, populated by particularly reclusive elves. They delight in revels and song, and live a life of duality in their simple commune that regularly becomes raucous, with not a care for the sensibilities of the outside world. Calendolen’s inhabitants live both in houses near the center of the village, and in more scattered dwellings, both aground and in the trees. (Moriel original)

This list of locations is by no means comprehensive. If you know of or can imagine/have created another location you would like to use, feel free! You can also PM Moriel on discord or request in the Imladris OOC for locations to be added to list.

Rules
-Canon Characters: All canon characters are open to everyone. If it happens that two people want to write the same canon character, they are free to do so; all duplicates will be considered as existing in different universes and not interfering with each other, unless otherwise agreed upon by the players
-Please mark your RP as Private or Open To All. If you aren’t sure the privacy status of someone’s RP and want to join, talk to them first! Imladris OOC and RP Request Form thread are excellent places to do this
-Please refrain from posting in overly bright/neon/extremely light colors, as they are difficult for some people to see and make reading your hard work challenging
-Please white out any short OOC comments at the bottom of your post; longer discussion should be taken to the Imaldris OOC or discord
-Icons and banners/small images are welcome, but no moving gifs please
-“Present Day” is TA 3015, but you may write in any year you wish
-Have fun!

[Moriel]

Freedom
(Private)

He had not seen her for several days. Tavari had been out on patrol with Remlasson, and when at last she had ridden back across the narrow bridge to Elrond’s house, both she and Ñaltanáro were covered in frost, from sweat crystallizing in the winter cold. Gellam had laughed and speculated as to whether they might be considering a change of scenery, to become one with the Lossoth, and Tavari had riposted that Ñaltanáro was not suited to the life of a reindeer. Before she had ridden away to the stables, Tavari had paused, catching Gellam’s hand as he was patting Ñaltanáro on the neck; squeezing his fingers, and raising his hand to her mouth, where the warmth of her lips seemed to burn his chill flesh.

“Meet me tonight?” she had said, a question that softly commanded. “The forges. After all are abed?”

“Of course,” he had replied, though surely his surprise had shows. But she had merely smiled then, and ridden away.

And so Gellam approached the forges now, the nightblack sky above speckled with stars, and a full moon making easy way of the path, drifting snowbanks in its light as good as any lanterns. All was quiet in this part of the valley, but for the occasional shifting of a branch in the breeze. It had taken until quite a late hour before the last of the night’s carousers in the Hall of Fire had stumbled off to sleep, and Gellam wondered briefly whether Tavari would still be waiting. But he had done as she asked, and strode blithely on until another sound caught his ears: the crackling of flames. At the same instant, he rounded a bend and saw a lamp in the window of one of the smithies- but it was not alone in giving light, for the fire of its forge burned hot, glowing through door and windows, though it was well beyond the hours in which the smiths were at their labors. The heat radiated to Gellam’s face through the cold as he drew near to the door, a sensation familiar and comforting. He slipped inside, and Tavari was there. On the other side of the room she stood, silhouetted by the forge’s glow, unmistakable.

“My lady?”

A multitude of questions hung on two words, and she answered none of them. Tavari turned, and moved towards him.

“I have a task for you, if you will take it on.”

“Anything.”

His answer was immediate, and she gave a soft laugh. Reaching beneath the collar of her tunic, she hooked her fingers under the narrow chain that hung always about her neck, and with two hands lifted it over her head. The two rings which lived upon it clinked gently together as she closed the chain in one fist and held it out to Gellam. Uncertainly, he put out his hand, and she lowered the rings into it, allowing the chain to pool upon his palm.

“You are the son of a mastersmith, and I have seen your skill. I would have you break these apart for me.”

Wonderingly, Gellam caressed the rings with his fingertips, their sigils as distinct beneath his skin as they day they had been graven, and he shook his head.

“I couldn’t do that,” he looked up, consternation in his dark eyes, “I couldn’t do that. Not knowing what they mean to you, what they represent-“

“Gellam. Please?” Her pale eyes beseeched in the firelight, and after a moment’s hesitation he nodded, hand closing over the rings. It was the work of a moment for him to break the chain, and set the rings in the forge to soften them. When they began to glow brightly, Gellam rolled up his sleeves and donned a leather apron. He took the rings from the forge and with hammer and tongs, set to separating mithril from silver. As he worked, Tavari meandered to a stone seat against the wall at the edge of the firelight. Almost absently she took down her hair, loosing the thong that bound her plait, and combing her fingers through the wheaten mane until it hung loosely in waves around her face, and down to her hips. The pings from the anvil ceased and Gellam threw down his hammer, looking again upon the rings with frustration.

“I have only once worked with mithril before and have little skill with it. It does not wish to yield.” He looked over at Tavari, and the breath caught in his throat. She had told him how Caranthir had thought her a spirit when first he saw her, and looking on her now he could believe it: she was softer and more a creature of the wild there in the corner of the forge with her hair unbound, half hidden in darkness, than he had ever seen her in her fierce role as Rávnissë.

“Use your power, Gellam,” she breathed, “Sing to me of the bells of Amon Lanc.”

“How many voices do you think I have?” he laughed, but shook his head resolutely. “I’ll do my best.” Tavari drew on leg up to her torso, and rested her chin on her knee. “That’s all I ask.” Gellam grinned, then thought a moment. It was a song of many parts, but did he not know them each like his own? And was he not a bard masterful enough to mold the song to his wish? He pushed the hair back from his face, and took up the hammer once more as he inhaled.

“Morning in Greenwood, the city awakes
To the bells of Amon Lanc
The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes
To the bells of Amon Land
To the big bells as loud as the thunder
To the little bells soft as a song
And some say the soul of the city’s the toll
Of the bells, the bells of Amon Lanc.”

The pace of the song was different as Gellam sang it with one voice, rather than the crowd of Silvan smiths who normally sang out in chorus, but each line bore the imprint of his fellows, and atop them the Fool’s own interpretation of words not usually his own. His delight in it grew quickly as he worked and sang, and slowly, though now long removed from the fire, the rings began not to dim but to glow more brightly. That strange pulling sensation Tavari had experience at the great smithy in Mirkwood crept in, and as before, the air seemed to vibrate, almost hum, as the power of his song gathered around Gellam. Slowly, the mithril yielded, bending to Gellam’s gentle will, and, one ring at a time, separated from silver. By the time the final high and strident note of the song rang in the smithy, both rings had fallen apart. He took up a crucible and turned to Tavari with a questioning lift of his brows. She nodded and arose, producing two molds as she strode to the anvil.

“Remake them,” she said, and placed the first mold upon the flat surface. “Mithril,” she placed the second, “and silver.” Tavari returned to her seat and, having determined that this was not a time to ask questions, Gellam put the separated metals each in their own crucible, and slid them into the forge. He retreated to a second stone seat, not far from Tavari, but far enough to observe her. Her look was almost pensive, but somehow not sad, and the atmosphere was heightened; almost as if the power of his song had not fully died away- but there was something else, something ineffable he could not quite fathom. They sat in silence, but a silence of comfort and trust, unassayed with tension. At length, Gellam stood, and checked the crucibles. The silver had melted into a glowing pool, but the mithril still contained sluggish clumps, and somehow, he did not thing these molds should be filled at different times. Again he paused for thought, and hesitated. The words were already burbling to the surface of his lips, inspiration from he knew not where; not new words, but words he had sung only once before, and never to another. They had been born at a forge, of absolute truth, but also vulnerability, and even a hint of fear. Still, he thought as he gazed down at the stubborn mithril, if not she, then who? The breath he took was steady, and his voice was soft as the quietest of bells as he began.

“So many times out there,
I've watched a happy pair
Of lovers walking in the night;
They had a kind of glow around them,
It almost looked like Aman's light,”

From across the room, Gellam felt Tavari shift behind him. Whether she had straightened, looked up, or merely fixed her eyes on him he did not know. He stayed facing the forge with his back to her as he sang on.

“I wondered if I’d ever know
That warm and loving glow,
Though I might wish with all my might;
Could a face as homely as my face
Ever be meant for Aman's light,”

Again he felt Tavari shift, and this time it was as though her heart radiated like the heat of the forge, intangibly embracing him from behind, and Gellam smiled. He took up his tongs, and retrieved the mithril’s crucible, its contents now molten and smooth.

“But suddenly an angel has smiled at me
And dared to grace my face with ancient sight;
I dare to dream that she
Might even care for me,”

He poured the mithril with unerring skill through the hole into its mold as he sang, then carefully repeated the process with the silver. He lay down the tongs, and pushed the molds together as he sang the finals lines, uniting them between his hands and with his voice.

“And as I ring the bells tonight,
The cold dark forest seems so bright;
I swear it must be Aman’s Light!”

A different sort of light suffused Gellam than that which Tavari had seen before, warm and calm, silver and gold, and softly overcoming the umber light of the forge as his voice rang out on another high and neverending final note; but this one quiet as if it came from somewhere both outside the Fool and deep within at once. It drew Tavari to her feet, and even as the note at last completed, and its echoes still hummed against every surface, Gellam gripped each mold in turn and broke them. From each fell a new ring: one silver, one mithril, the former just slightly smaller. They rang against the anvil as they fell, shining and perfect, all imperfections and roughnesses burnished away by Gellam’s voice, and cool enough to touch. Tavari took them up. They were so different to what they once had been, and yet so right. Smooth and simple, and everything they needed to be. She set the silver ring back down. Gellam wiped the sweat from his brow, and as his hand lowered, she caught it. Turning it over, she placed the mithril ring into his palm, and with her hand folded his fingers over it, looking up at him as he shook his head.

“My lady, I cannot accept-“

“Gellam.” Again she halted his protest. “You are worth more than all the mithril in Arda. More than all the stars in the sky.” Tavari dropped her gaze to their hands and laughed softly. “So many times I have told you not to call me ‘my Lady’. So many times I have had to tell you to call me by name. But,” she continued even as his lips parted to answer, “Gellam, I would be your lady.” She unfolded his hand and lifted the mithril ring from it again. “If you would have me- if you would take me as I am, knowing all I am and am not-” She slipped the ring onto his index finger, and he could feel her fingers trembling, “If you would but be my fool… I would be your lady. You know I cherish my freedom above all else. I’m a rover, Gellam,” she raised her eyes to his again at last, and her smile was plaintive. “Can you love me anyway? Would you wed me in the light of Mar Aldaron?”

Without hesitation or breaking his gaze from hers, Gellam reached out and lifted the silver ring from the anvil. His fingers closed around Tavari’s and he turned her hand over, pressing the underside of her index finger so that it stood out slightly from the others. The words of his reply came to him as easily as any couplet sung in battle or verse composed in a trice at the Hall of Fire, as if he had always known what they would be.

“Anywhere you go, let me go too.” he murmured, as he slid the ring onto her finger. “Say the word, and I will follow you. I would be your fool in the deeps of Greenwood or on the heights of Caradhras. I would be your fool in a palace or a hovel, or anywhere in between. I would be your fool each night, each morning, until the end of time. Let me be your freedom, and I will wed you in the light of Mar Aldaron.”

Tavari’s cry was half laugh and half joyous sob as she threw her arms around Gellam’s neck, and his about her waist pulled her to him in a grip that would have crushed two lesser beings, but locked the two elves together as if they would never part. And if Fate would have it, they never would. A multitude of invisible bells rang out as the Lioness and the Fool embraced, locked together in a moment outside of time, as the bright glow of the forge was tempered by the cool light of the moon, and the mingling of the lights captured them in a haven of warmth, and love.

(both songs adapted from the musical The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

[Dungeon Delver]

The Belladonna’s Hymn
The Geriatham
Sometime Before the Present
(Private)

Two ortolan buntings sang to each other somewhere within a knot of beech trees, the music was timid and shy but filled the study hall with a bright, golden joy. The air was green and aurelian, light shimmered as it filtered down and cast wonderfully intricate shadows across the tables and floor, webbed knots and tight weaves that were nearly impossible for even the most trained elven eye to follow. Morning glories and hyacinth wove around the stone parapet and added their own splashes of color to the room, their fragrance filled the air, a few fat honeybees swarmed the area, bouncing from one flower to the next in search of precious golden nectar. Hummingbirds joined them, tiny engines of endless energy with wings that moved so fast they seemed to hover and float rather than fly. Below the parapet and its myriad of flowering vines were private gardens walled with wax myrtle hedges as verdant as the gardens of those out West. There were flowers there. So many flowers, dozens and dozens of them, with so many colors and combinations it made the head spin. There were secret coves, hidden benches under silent willow trees where one could get lost in the viridian wilds. A few squirrels chittered to each other, bouncing back and forth along slender branches. A red squirrel with a tail so bushy it made her look twice as big as she was chased a brown one, chittering with boundless joy as they flittered through the leaves until she finally caught him. It was the height of spring now; the air was cool and light with a swath of warmth that passed from the gardens to the study hall that sapped all strength and focus.

Arwen found it all distracting. It was hard to concentrate on calligraphy and penmanship when one was too busy trying to sus out the gossip of the songbirds. A third ortolan joined in, the gentle cheeping became more excited, more frenetic and emotional. She smiled. Two males competing for the same female? Two females competing for male? A love triangle? The elleth set the brush down, recognizing that she was not going to get much work done. Even before the songbirds, her heart and mind were elsewhere. The sheet of parchment was still pristine white like newly fallen snow. She touched it, felt the grooves that dipped and swirled and bent. It seemed a shame to mark and change such natural beauty.

Since returning to Rivendell and to her father’s house, she found herself unable to concentrate on her studies, to listen to her tutors and retain even a glimmer of what they had been talking about. She’d finally come home from Lothlórien, visiting her mother’s people, and come back to… to what? Arwen wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when she arrived back home. She didn’t expect fanfare and feasts and parades (she would have actively rebelled against such a thing) but she had expected something. Everyone in her father’s house was excited and happy to see her, they fawned over her, their golden mistress, star of the morning, their twilight princess. She loved them all and felt the warmth of their love and devotion. Perhaps it was not who was here so much as who wasn’t. She’d been back in Imladris for three weeks now and she’d not had a single sighting of Iesteth.

At first Arwen didn’t think about it. Iesteth was in and out of the Vale all the time on missions and errands and, in Arwen’s mind, it was just ill timing, nothing to fret about. However, as time passed on and days dragged to weeks without word or note, she grew concerned, not for her partner’s safety, if anyone in all of Middle-earth could handle themselves it was her former Tirn of the Imladris host, but some undefined, nebulous worry that gnawed and ate away at her. Arwen was prone to worry and anxiety. Her mother had been attacked, kidnapped, and stars knew what else before she made her way along the Straight Road, she had brothers that threw themselves into the most dangerous of situations on whim and a chuckle, and she had a father that sometimes seemed so closed off and isolated that he was more of a ghost than the landvættir that drifted through the through the valley at times like smoke on a cloudless day.

How long had she and Iesteth been together? How long had the stars wheeled about while they danced and sang and wove? Arwen sighed and rubbed her temples. Worry and anxiety were plaguing her body, sending aches and pains that had no source or resolution. She felt cold all of the sudden, despite the warmth of the air around her. It had been cold the day they met, far colder though.

Seventy years ago, while Arwen was riding her horse through the narrow crags and causeways of the Misty Mountains. Her horse was surefooted and steady, and her nerves were sharper and colder than the ice that flew around them. Had it not been for the wind that picked up right as she rounded a cutback the accident would never have occurred. The wind was strong, like a punch to her chest. She didn’t have time to help her horse regain his footing. They slipped on the ice. She could still hear the cracks, crunches, and snaps. Bone, ice, and stone. The path beneath her gave way as they stumbled, the wind keeping them off balance. The side of the mountain seemed to just collapse underneath her. It was the most harrowing experience of her life. There was an instant, a moment, when she and the horse were separated from each other and they seemed to float in midair. It was only a moment though, then they plunged downward. She fell faster than she knew was possible. The entire world flashed around her. She didn’t have time to gasp for breath, let alone grab at something. She hit something on the way down. Then again, and again, and again. She didn’t remember hitting the bottom of a ravine.

Iesteth had been there to save her. She’d been traveling the opposite way, just by happenstance. She heard the crash. She told Arwen later it had sounded like the beginnings of an avalanche. She found her unconscious, covered in blood, and underneath a dying horse. Iesteth had no idea who she was. She was a newcomer to the Valley and didn’t recognize the daughter of its lord. She took Arwen to her little cottage, an out of the way, isolated, lonely little place with barely enough room for two people. The winter storm that had been brewing hit them with full force. Snow a dozen feet deep buried them in that little cottage. Iesteth did her best to keep the fire going, to keep Arwen’s bandages clean and changed, yet she feared the young woman she’d rescued would never wake.

When Arwen did wake, she was alone in the cottage. The snow still had entirety of it buried. Iesteth, though, had managed to climb out through the chimney and gather enough food and wood to keep them warm and fed. When she came back down the chimney, Arwen screamed and to this day, had never been able to live it down. After the scream they spent the next ten minutes laughing at one another. Arwen was feeble and wobbly, Iesteth was covered in soot and snow.

They stayed in that cottage for four weeks more, the snows did not let up. Each day, though, they grew a little closer. There were arguments and debates about what was to be done and who should do it. Then, one night, after it seemed liked the walls of the tiny place were about to collapse inward, they spent the night together in the same bed, limbs, fingers, and bodies intertwined like old Ñoldor knotwork. Arwen had never been in love before and when she realized what she was feeling she wanted to run. It was a scary thing, love, and confusing and infuriating. Elves were supposed to have their feelings well under control, at least that’s what life in Imladris had taught her. Iesteth was boundless and enigmatic, but she was open with her feelings in a way that took Arwen off guard. They talked about love. They talked about a lot of things. There was so much time and so little else to do other than physical pursuits.

Through the whole time in the cottage, Arwen never revealed her she was. When she realized that Iesteth didn’t know her, she thought it prudent to not make herself a target, and by the time she’d fallen in love with her there was no real moment that she could tell the prospective guard that she was, in fact, the daughter of the Lord of the Vale.

She found out, though, when they were able to escape their cottage. Arwen almost didn’t want to. She wanted to stay in that tiny room with her lover for the rest of eternity. She saw no flaw in that sort of future. When they escaped and travelled to Rivendell, Arwen was forced to tell her. There was hurt, a lot of it. Arwen could barely live with herself as she revealed her identity to Iesteth. She felt like the worst of betrayers. Even now, decades away from that awful moment, she still felt rotten.

The hurt and mistrust at the betrayal did not last. Arwen did everything she could, short of using her influence to help Iesteth in the host. It took a very long time, but Arwen was patient, and she was in love. She was determined to show Iesteth that who she was when they were together was the person she wanted to be.

Elrond, for his part, was utterly supportive of them. Arwen had been nervous, no had been petrified, about revealing the nature of their relationship to her father. Despite elves being very open about sexuality and gender, Arwen was mortified about talking to her father about it. When she did though, he did nothing but smile. She told him, without too many details of course, about the time they spent together and the budding of her feelings for Iesteth and when she was finished, he told her a story about Eärendil, her grandfather.

“Even though we are immortal, there is no use in wasting time deciding who we can and cannot love. When you find them, hold onto them, cherish them, build with them.”

Her father followed that advice and urged Arwen to do the same. While some might look askance at the pair for one reason or another (really who cares about the reason of those who disapprove) Arwen and Iesteth shared their love with the world, and all was right within it.

She sighed again. Where was she? Had her father sent her away on some mission? Weren’t there other messengers he could have sent? Why not Figwit? Arwen pouted and fought the urge to throw the brush. She stopped short though, it was unbecoming of the Lady of the Vale to act like a petulant baby. However distressed and annoyed and bebothered as she might be, Arwen knew that she must keep a cool, calm exterior. In this very hall she’d been taught by the greatest tutors of the Age about stoicism and the collective rein she must hold on her wildest passions. Naturally, she’d rejected that and been a wild, rambunctious, and bombastic child. Let her two elder brothers be the responsible, well-mannered ones.

She looked back at the parchment and tilted her head, reading the script from an obtuse angle. The words flowed differently if you looked at them from a weird angle. That’s what Iesteth told her one day when she’d found her flustered and angry over a poem that would not write itself. Arwen had been up for two days straight trying to write a villanelle triad. Upon Iesteth’s encouragement, Arwen wrote the poems upside down and they ended up being the best she’d ever written to that point. Water flows better when you pour it out of the carafe.

There was a sudden gust of wind and blow the leaves of the garden into the empty hall. They swirled up like a green maelstrom, rotating from floor to ceiling. It was a beautiful sight, so beautiful that Arwen almost didn’t react to the slender finger that curled around her shoulders. She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until she felt the sweet, hot breath of her lover in her ear.

“Miss me?”

Whatever consternations or protestations Arwen had been holding and rehearsing instantly melted. She turned to look on the beautiful, mischievous, and ritually tattooed face of Iesteth. Momentarily, she was at a loss for words. Iesteth’s stunning, sharp-lined beauty took her breath away. She was framed by the bright afternoon light. Honeybees circled her head like a halo, dipping in and out of her dreadlocks with a sort of bumbling grace. Arwen was transfixed by her eyes. Unlike so many elves of the Hidden Valley, Iesteth’s were a shining violet flecked with azure and ruby. There were no eyes like them in all of Middle-earth, and Arwen could stare into them forever.

“No,” she finally said, hiding the twist of a smile on the edges of her lips. “Had you been away?”

Iesteth, unbothered, sat next to Arwen and listened to the sounds of the birds. There was a sweet, aching silence between them. “I missed you, meletheld. More than the snows miss the mountain.” They intertwined fingers and sat, listening to the ortolans. Arwen laid her head on Iesteth’s shoulder and breathed in a sense of relief and home.

“Three females, all courting each other,” Iesteth said at last, a smile in her voice. “Nature is so often more diverse than we give it credit.”

“I wonder if they’re happy…” mused Arwen.

“I think they will be, but not as happy as I will be when you see what I have been working on.”

Arwen sat up. Her eyes glittered. “What have you been working on? Tell me!”

Iesteth placed a finger on her lip. “Now, now. Where’s the fun in just telling you? Especially when I can show you?” She produced a black strip of cloth and presented it to Arwen. “Do you trust me?”

Arwen took the blindfold without hesitation and wrapped it around her head. The world went from kaleidoscopes of light and color to a palimpsest of afterimages. She felt the calloused fingers of her lover interweave with her own. They left the study, Iesteth guiding her through the winding hallways of her home. Arwen had walked these halls for centuries, she knew each crevice and bend, knew each window and tile. She walked with confidence until they came to the stables. She could feel the hay as much as smell it. It felt wild and flighty. Iesteth kissed her lips then hoisted her bodily onto a horse. Arwen forgot how strong she was; her lithe frame belied the power she held in her sinews. They walked for some ways, the horses moving a leisurely, teasing pace. Arwen felt a hundred little butterflies in her stomach, all of them ready to burst. She lost track of where they were going as the light and shade from the trees disoriented her. She could smell oak and pine and cedar, they were moving through the valley, away from the Halls of Imladris. Soon, the smell of earth and water filled her nose; the sounds of ducks and starlings filled the air. Arwen laughed. She felt one of them perch on her shoulder for a brief moment, chirp at her, then flutter off back to the intertwining maze of branches. The sounds of running water over stones soon dominated the sounds around her. She could not hide the smile.

“Are you taking us skinny dipping? Oh, it’s been ages since we did that!”

“Tut, tut!” was Iesteth’s only response. Arwen felt quite smug.

They stopped and Arwen’s blindfold fell away with the lightest of touches from Iesteth. Arwen gasped. They were at a bend in the river with an outcropping of earth that formed a tiny cavern. Hiding the mouth of the grotto were the roots of a great willow tree intermixed with hundreds and hundreds of tiny purple bell-shaped flowers. Arwen had never seen so much nightshade in a single place.

“How did you find this?” she asked breathlessly.

“By looking for a secret spot,” answered Iesteth. She took Arwen’s hand and steadied her as she leapt off her horse. The air was sweet with honeysuckle and primrose. The water was a rush of giggling naiads as they passed through it. Arwen could feel the warmth of the sun in the water as it splashed around her.

“This way,” said Iesteth, barely above a whisper.

They entered the cave, Iesteth in the lead, still holding Arwen’s hand. The light was soon dimmed, and Arwen could barely see but her partner led on with confidence, never slowing a step. There was an orange glow ahead of them. Shapes began to form out of the gloom, reflected on still, quiet waters. They reached the end of the grotto. There were torches ensconced in the walls, held fast by delicately carved fixtures. There was a pool of water disconnected from the current that swirled around their feet, it bubbled and frothed at the edges, lapping against the polished stone.

“You found a hidden cavern with a hot spring? How on earth did…?” Arwen’s questions fell away as she gazed at the dancing shadows and inhaled the sweet-smelling air. “You are a wonder, meletheld, a true wonder.”

Wordlessly, each of them disrobed, casting off their raiment of cloth and leather and silk the same way the Powers would cast away all physical raiment and gender and simply be. There was something more exotic, more exciting and erotic to disrobing in the darkness, a sense of stirring electrification. Arwen could feel her skin prickling. She watched as light and shade danced across Iesteth’s body. Nothing she’d ever seen felt so beautiful in that moment. The simplicity of being unclad as their ancestors had been in the long days under the stars filled her with a warm ache. They slipped into the pool, their bodies entwining. Arwen sighed as the warmth overtook her. She kissed Iesteth in a hundred different places, each a little more needy until she found her lips.

They were quiet, there in the secret place hidden by the belladonna. They stayed all afternoon and evening, needing naught but the other’s embrace. Arwen had not felt so complete since their time in the cabin. They watched the stars wheel about them overhead. They did not speak a word the blue of twilight became the purple of night. They didn’t need to. Words were so clumsy and imprecise. A lingering glance could say more in the space of a heartbeat than even the greatest troubadours could weave into song. The air was filled with the sounds of nightjars, whip-poor-wills, and nightingales, with cicadas and grasshoppers and katydids. Despite the physical exhaustion she felt, Arwen’s mind was sharp and agile. She felt it wander about, yearning toward the future and straining to stay here in this moment forever and ever. She looked to Iesteth, whose eyes were so focused on the movement of the stars Arwen thought she might have fallen into a trance. Where did she go when she wasn’t here with Arwen? Did she think about the future too? Did she strain to stay in the past? Did she entertain fantasies of running away together and finding some tiny grove of cedar with a cabin and a fireplace? Arwen’s heart ached. She wanted everything in the world, and she wanted nothing but Iesteth all at once.

Whatever happened, they had their secret spot among the belladonna.

[Fuin Elda]

Home away From Home

Afarfin glared at Fuin as she flatly refused his suggestion. "We need a place to stay in the Valley, you can't just live in perptuity in the House of Healing houses for healers when you have." He waved his hand in the air towards himself and then to the south which is where he figured Mylien and Ruindil were doing something less than savory.

"I absolutely can." Fuin said calmly as she looked at him writing down several notes about Harad and that area as she was researching something, what it was Afarfin was not sure every time he came to near his wife threatened to put the quill through his hand. "You have.... myself and Mylien and Ruindil, those houses are not comfortably big enough to hold more than one person in the beds never mind two or four." Afarfin continued and this finally brought a pause to Fuin and her reading and making notes.

"Continue." She said flipping her papers over and looking at him and he blinked looking at her. She was sitting almost regally her head tipped slightly to the side looking at him like a raptor on a mouse and he wondered what it was that he had said that would have her reacting this way.

"Well, the houses are meant for single healers to live there not married people, and the rooms are dreadfully small if you have more than one person in there." He said calmly, he'd been looking at them as a possible place to stay while he worked on building his own house but Lord Elrond had been kind enough to let him stay in the Last Homely House itself in comfort and he realized probably to learn more about Fuin who was as tight lipped about what had happened after the attack as he guessed Maglor would be. Fuin raised an eyebrow at his pause as he gathered himself a touch more in terms of arguing his point. "You can't tell me that you would want to have Mylien or Ruindil in one of those houses and I figure if one of them is traveling this far, then both of them will be and then the healers houses won't work at all."

She drummed her fingers as if she was unimpressed by his arguement and he was feeling a bit like she had some information up her sleeve that he didn't know about which was true, she still hadn't told him where she'd gone to meet them. Clearly she had to have known where they were going to be on certain days to be able to meet up with them and bring them to Imladris. Right now as far as he knew they were off playing in the river, hopefully not stealing anything judging from the looks of them he wouldn't put them much above corsairs in terms of their behavior however Fuin at least trusted them.

"And what about you?" She asked and he stopped and looked at her.

"What do you mean what about me?" He asked confused.

"You never did answer me or Ruindil when we spoke with you the other night." She said calmly and it was his turn to become silent. He honestly still hadn't made a decision yet on that. He'd always expected that he and Fuin would find other partners together when he'd been alive in the First Age, this was not what he had planned.

[Fuin Elda]

Home away From Home

"I don't have an answer yet is why. You struck me sideways when you brought them." Afarfin said pacing away from her knowing full well that she was pushing him. "Where did you leave Mylien and Ruindil?"

"The Hall of Fire with Figwit." Fuin said calmly setting her quill aside and dusting the piece of paper that she had been writing on and sitting a moment. "I'm sure that they will have plenty of stories to share with him that will raid the hairs on the back of that mans neck."

"Never mind Erestor." Fuin smiled at this indeed Erestor could be a stick in the mud most of the time and she was glad to see that Afarfin had already picked up on Erestor.

"Ruindil will have to keep Mylien from eating Erestor alive if he decides to bother her." Fuin said calmly she leaned back and looked at Afarfin trying to read him. She hadn't seen him for long, and the last time she had been about him was many thousands of years ago when she had been far younger and far more naïve than she was now.

"You've changed a lot Mel-"

"Fuin."

"Fuin. I remember you quite differently."

"Yes well it has been well over an age since you last saw me if you don't count the ball we were at." Fuin kept her words short, watching Afarfin who seemed to be more on his heel than she expected him to be she remembered him always having a plan. "You're not how I remember you either entirely."

"No I suppose I'm not." Afarfin let out a sigh and went and sat across from her, she was in control in this room and he knew it - this was her forge he'd learned that from Elrond, she was a dealer of death and a healer, something that was unheard of in the First Age. There were few women that fought in the first age, Melviriel had been among them even then but she'd not been a healer then, healing was new.

"I have to admit I'd thought... I'd thought perhaps we'd find other partners together." He said softly.

"I did not expect that you would be back in Middle-earth before they passed to the halls of their fathers. And only then would I have thought about journeying west ." Fuin said calmly.

"You only would have thought of it then?"

"I have blood on my hands. Any ship I take west has as much chance of foundering in the swells as it does of reaching the western shores, just like your brother Rassedil, and Arasoron, though Arasoron likely is no longer having those issues since he has passed into the Halls of Mandos." Fuin kept her eyes down not meeting Afarfins gaze. The eldest Mordagnir was taken aback, if she really thought the Valar would punish her so for defending herself and her people.

"Fuin. You were defending yourself."

"No Afarfin. You're brother can tell you well enough that we were almost lost at see after the attack on the Havens and there were plenty there that blamed me as well as your brothers. I don't have the energy for such a debate." She stood up and locked away her papers. before looking at Afarfin. "I want you to think on what Ruindil said. I need an answer as much as he and Mylien do." Afarfin for his part looked away.

"I will have one for you soon, I... I am afraid to lose you Fuin, I am coming to terms with the fact I've already lost Melviriel, she is dead and gone." He said holding his hand up when she went to correct him about her name. She tipped her head back and nodded indeed Afarfin was right Melviriel was dead. "I can't.... I can't lose you as well and I- I need to understand and get over what was in my mind when I remembered you and who we were. We aren't that anymore, and we can never get back there but I pray to all the Valar that we can perhaps be something again." He said softly and turned he was about to slip out the door. "Please, give me a few days. I promise. I will have an answer for you, and I hope it is one that all of you approve of."

[Ercassie]

Erfaron Silugnir and Ospiel Iuliel
encountering Tirindo Aiwenarion, at the archery training grounds.

The valley unfolded before them, promising velvet swards of grass to run through, sheer fences of rock to ascend, knots of trees to hide among, and chuckling brooks to immerse all head to foot that found their banks enticing. It had been sold to her as a refuge from the outside world and, although she had abided long upon an island, still there was an otherly sense about Imladris. An undercurrent of sluggish laziness lying in wait. If she sat, the She-Elf felt she might not stray from sitting for a good long while. And she was not used to a sedentary existence. So they strolled, and she glanced about their way with an all too oft hint of suspicion. There was a magic here, strong and for all that secret. It spoke to her instincts in all that she saw, heard and even dared inhale. Who knew what sort of an impact it would have upon her long time.

“You hate it,” Erfaron remarked, amusing himself with occasional sidelong glances at his friend’s first proper impression of the vale. Having thought they could hole up their time here in his den, the intrusion of loved ones had proved that wish rather unfounded. So efforts were undertook to be not where Nariel might immediately find them again. There were after all a vast array of undiscovered places where they might lose themselves quite with purpose. “And I thought you had an affinity for all things 'unbuilt' ?”

The notion that the Sinda was more herself in the outdoors than inside, had been a clear point from the get go of their knowing one another. She often credited her influence as converting the once sheltered noble youth to recognise the wider, wilder world which existed. “This is though unnatural,” Ospiel attempted to translate her unease. “There is a .. I can not say what. It feels like walking in a painting of a place, which tries too hard to be all that it really is not.”

“You should have seen Gondolin,” the Mole snorted. “A vainglorious attempt to recreate the awe of Tirion-upon-Tuna if ever one existed. It is small wonder the Valar allowed for it to be cast down. A mimicry and a lie was all it ever was, much as the naïve faith that it, that anywhere, could be indifferent, independent, of the world beyond it’s gates. The world does not have borders. Earth and sky and sea care not how high you build the walls.”

“There are times I could forget you are part Noldo” Ospiel remarked, with a side of amusement for her own sake now. “Until I recall what dedication you apply to making mimicry of your own. For what are your silly works if not a vain attempt to capture what is never to be seized ? Time can not be kept, Nieninque. My mother used to say; the Vanyar praise the Valar for the marvels of creation, holding themselves subject to those they count Greater; whereas the Noldor campaign to create for themselves, envious of the same Valar whom they can never match; but the Teleri ? We are simply what and how they made us and that is enough and all that is expected of us.”


Silence took them the next few steps down the path, until Ospiel veered off the dictated passage, and dragged at Erfaron's arm before breaking away. He followed, for a small amount of time, before they were at a race with one another, their finish line an unfinished thought. She was the faster, and stole the lead easily, but slowed as glancing back triumphantly did not grant the chance to crow her success. For there was naught to be seen, naught to be heard. She fell to a stop entirely and glance with sharp eyes and rapid turns of head to find him.

An archer of such age was not easily abandoned and so, with a close of eyes, she reached out for the telltale percussion of his heartbeat. Following her instincts Ospiel hunted her quarry, and found in due course that he had took advantage of another direction, a short cut to a rather more exposed outlay of land. At least one other Elf was to be observed in the background, demonstrating what the area was used for; archery practice.


Dark hair swaddled the Sinda’s long face as she whipped her head about to find her tourguide, and that single raised eyebrow of pride that he now wore, as though he’d conjured the training ground out of nothing for her sake. But she was not so fool enough to think such for more than a second before common sense waded in. Still the She-Elf pounded at her friend’s shoulder gleefully. There were not words to exclaim her delight. She managed no small amount of steps though before acknowledging that he was not advancing beside her.

Slowly, Ospiel set her grey eyes to anchor on the lone dark Elf who was already at work with his bow and arrows. “Who ?” she asked her stalled friend, unsure why anyone would keep them from doing exactly as they liked.

“That would be Tirindo” Erfaron’s explanation failed to live up to it’s own definition. Undeterred and, with a defiantly more urgent speed, the Sinda ploughed downhill to find the other archer she had heard so much about.



The tall Noldo watched them approach, with an uncertainty he had no wish to long entertain. He did not release his tool of trade from strong hand, nor gather the means to make it a threat. His eyes did the work for him on that count.

“I did not look to find you here,” Erfaron threw out from behind Ospiel. As far as greetings went, this was more an encouragement to be gone.

“It is an archery training arena,” the reminder was served cold, from the thin line of Tirindo’s frown. “So I do not doubt that you would wish not for an audience to see you embarrass yourself in practice here.”

“Which is of course why you, yourself, are here alone,” the Mole returned, catching up to stand now beside Ospiel. “Besides the lack of anybody wishing to spend time with you of course. Ospiel ? Tirindo,” he made a seemingly bored play at conducting the proper courtesies. “Tirindo was of the House of Swallow in Gondolin. They were the ones who wore the little purple feathers.” As introductions went, the latter end of this one saw the male archer swallow, his smile thereafter maybe the more dangerous.

“On Tol Noldare, they call me Cuminya,” the Sinda declared, sizing up the taller specimen of Elf, who beheld both of the ‘intruders’ with a sort of weary expectation, as one might humour small children.

“You might as soon say that they call you tall, in the Shire,” Tirindo glibbed, when his glaring intensity did not see them to away. “Everybody knows that Moles can’t shoot,” he smirked. A moment was allowed for Erfaron to absorb the insult.

“Don’t .... Won’t,” the pale Elf counted down excuses on the fingers of one hand. “Not ‘can’t’,” he clarified. “Personally I prefer something a little more challenging.”

“Very well then, Ospiel” Tirindo deliberately chose to ignore the insult, and not use the name of ‘Cuminya’, but rather his most patronising tone to insult Ospiel in turn. Any friend of such a foe of his, after all ….“Would you care to prove that you are at least better than that scowling wretch ?” the Noldo notched a nod to indicate Erfaron, who had already begun to perk up at the prospect of seeing the two compete.

“I did not bring my equipment,” Ospiel realised, but advanced rather than retreated. She held out her hands, to receive the Elder Elf’s own tools. And was directed with a slow arm that extended toward the small store shed close by. The Sinda met the steely gaze with her own, before shrugging off any offence.

“What a shame there is no greater audience to watch her show you up.” the Mole mentioned, in clear support of his friend.

“Do shut up, or I shall name you for the target,” Tirindo suggested, as Ospiel pilfered from the arsenal at hand and Erfaron threw his head back in a silent but mirthful assumption that the Noldo would not go through with this threat. It had after all, been an awfully long time since the archer had shot at him on purpose.

[Aranadhel]

Ospion

Many Meetings

The Sinda saluted Glorfindel to signify his end of guard duty on the northern border of Imladris and made his way back to the valley. After patrolling for a week with no Orcs whatsoever to dispose of Ospion was looking forward to a good bath and a hearty meal in the kitchen.

As he whistled off a tune from a song he picked up from the Edain of the First Age, he caught sight of three individuals at the archery range. At first, he did not pay heed as to whoever was practicing but he picked up her voice. Ospiel? He was amused. Never had he seen his sister practicing archery since the Second Age at least, right before the Last Alliance had started. He picked up his pace down the hill and hailed all three. He greeted both Tirindo and Erfaron whom he knew from the Imladris Guard patrols and also from fame as the few Eldar still living here East of the Sea.

When Ospion laid his eyes on his sister he couldn't help but give out a laugh. Did my sister lose a bet, my lords? The elder Sinda asked with laughter in his eyes at the Noldor and with a quick glance at the bow and arrow Ospiel is clutching tightly, obviously with unease. Without hesitation he loosened his own bow and passed it to his sister. He spoke quietly to her in Mithrimin. Here, don't despair sister. He nodded good naturedly and gave her encouragement. He hoped she would be able to show her prowess to the Calaquendi in audience. His appetite can wait a little longer for now as Ospion took a swig of his canteen and waited for the archery contest to begin.

[Legolas]

Legolas
Entering Imladris

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. Furthermore, he hasn't encountered any kind of trouble during the past few days, nor did he want to rush towards his current destination; for now, 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 Imladris once again filled him with joy. The elves of Imladris have always been more than kind and forthcoming and barely any other place in Middle-earth came to his mind that offered what Rivendell had to offer, when one had the intention to seek peace and to reflect. Inspiration for many songs Legolas has found here and once again he looked forward to finding inspiration.

Legolas entered Imladris through the main gates on horseback and swiftly jumped off it as soon as he had 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 food and water. Then the elf wished Legolas a good day, which polite gesture was returned by the son of Thranduil.

He was quite exhausted from his ride and the ambience of Imladris just invited him to finally come to rest. As he walked by the hall of fire, however, he simply couldn't resist taking a glimpse into it. The flames were as beautiful as ever and let Legolas only guess what a feeling would arise, when one looked into Arien's eyes. The music was almost enchanting and in this very moment, they sang a song about the Quendi and their awakening beneath the most beautiful starry sky that has ever surrounded Arda. At that moment, the elvish prince decided that he would later visit the halls again to meditate on recent events. After all Legolas had decided to travel to Imladris, since he felt the need to do so. Amongst the things that have burdened him the most recently, were the numerous encounters and confrontations with the enemy's units during the past months. Also the mind of his father began to worry him; whether he would visit Elrond and talk to him about it personally or whether he should first deal with his thoughts on his own, he did not decide at this point.

However, Legolas stepped out of the hall and strolled along the paths with a slight smile on his lips. Although he had just arrived, he already felt comfortable and homely. The sound of the waterfall alone was unique in this place. Although there were several waterfalls in Middle-earth and Legolas had visited quite a few of them, he could have easily distinguished them while being blindfolded from the Falls of Imladris. It seemed like every single drop of water of these falls contributed to a composition that was about the beginning of time to the end of days.

Arriving at the training grounds, Legolas stopped and watched three elves from afar (Erfaron, Ospiel and Tirindo). One of them was quite tall with black hair, who also seemed to be quite skillful with bow and arrow. Then there was an elvish woman and the third seemed to be a Sinda. For a while Legolas watched what was happening from afar until he heard that the tall elf and the She-Elf, agreed on having some kind of archery competition. After thinking for a moment, Legolas strode over to the three, shortly after hearing the Sinda announce,

“What a shame there is no greater audience to watch her show you up.”

Legolas answered,

“Perhaps not a greater audience, but perhaps someone who has an interest in archery himself and also finds competitions of this type extremely exciting. But please forgive me for approaching you so quickly without even introducing myself. My name is Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood."

At this point, Legolas placed his hand on his heart.

“If you allow me to keep you company, I would deeply enjoy watching you both compete.”

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (1)

Immortality was a spiritual idea. Silinde had never craved to be one of them. He hadn’t been quick to grow up, perhaps there was something of the fabled long livety of the northern rangers in him? But who could tell? He had thought that his father was a southron, but he looked very differently that there was doubt he had the parents they had given him in the first place, together with three older siblings. In the middle of life he was not afraid of death somewhere in the coming four or five decennia. In the past months Silinde had lengthy discussions with Tinnuriel about his nature, but they remained divided. “You’re stubborn,” she accused him. “I can not be what I am not,” shrugged Silinde. “Tell me then where your mother is buried, as you have said she died at childbirth. She should be then in the cemetery of Dol Amroth,” said Tinnuriel. “I searched once for her grave, but could not find it,” shrugged Silinde. “She might have cremated. But there is no urn with ashes.” Tinnuriel snorted. “She is not dead, she left.” “To where then?” asked Silinde challenging. It was a flow of native Sindarin between the two, opposites as they could be. Tinnuriel had come from the deep east near the Orocarni and found her way to the west, when she met Silinde back in Minas Tirith some time ago. They had travelled to Dol Amroth, where she had wanted to take a ship, but had changed her mind. “I don’t believe your statements,” she said, ignoring the last countering remark. “You like to live on an overcrowded island? A prison for the banned?” he waved to the portway they had come in. Tinnuriel rode around him. “You’re delusional,” she grumbled. “You were lucky you had parents, siblings and grandparents, before you left your home, but I have no reason to believe my mother somehow survived. She wouldn’t have abandoned me to go after her own desires. It is just something I know and can’t explain. Death is the only reason the bond between us was cut long ago,” explained Silinde. Tinnuriel looked at him, but then nodded. “Could be a reason,” she said reluctantly. “I am too intriguing to you to leave me alone, not?” he switched tactics sudden. She snorted: “In your imagination.”

Silinde was normally pretty patient with people, able to listen to their woes and give any sort of help what might be needed given from a swanknight. But Tinnuriel was much more than he had anticipated further, even in Minas Tirith. A pretty woman she wasn’t really. Her plain brown hair was long and straight, and adorned with braids she her fingers somehow knew to weave into it. Her eyes were darker grey than his. It was easy to see a bunch of dark clouds in them, that spoke with lighting and thunder. Silinde knew his calm knightly posture annoyed her. She had already accused him he used all of that as a shield to hide his feelings. She had nothing with courteous behaviour. He was some embodiment of noble thought that no longer existed. Women were sometimes not rational. Right behind a more blond man, Silinde and Tinnuriel arrived in a nice courtyard, finishing a long journey from the south. Their horses were weary of the long road. They didn’t stop, but rode on between the buildings until they reached the stables. He had no idea if a swanknight had ever been in this place. The style of building was the same here as it was different. Tired of the long ride he still sat in the saddle when Tinnuriel jumped out of hers and brought her horse inside. Silinde let his steed walk in the stables with him. There he dismounted and stretched himself. Tinnuriel looked at him rolling her eyes. She didn’t eye tired, but he could tell from her moves. Yet she was still fast and tapped impatient with her foot when Silinde was still gathering what he might need in all quiet. “Can’t you be a bit faster?” sighed Tinnuriel. “Why having haste?” asked Silinde. “My stomach is empty,” she said back. “Go and find a kitchen then,” he waved. “You know the way, I don’t,” mocked Tinnuriel again. “I know the way?” asked Silinde surprised. “I have never been here before.” “You’re the knight, be gallant then if you know not,” she stated. Tinnuriel was a character who liked to have a carpet laid out for her, but that was not what Silinde’s profession was about. “I am not your servant,” he answered short, refusing. He lifted the helmet from his head and hang it by the leather bands at the saddle. Inside this place a helmet was not needed, but on the road? He would change later, when they reached their rooms. Tinnuriel was clad in rider’s garb and wouldn’t be detected if she was in a wood, though in open landscape she was also difficult to see. Here between the buildings her garb was out of place.

They had no interest in training grounds, so they headed for the guest wing of the main house. They had both their own rooms, separated from each other. Silinde threw anything off and jumped in the bath that stood ready. For a while it was a mess, but he was used to cleaning everything up. “The door is blocked,” sounded Tinnuriel’s voice on the outside. “Ready?” “No, door is blocked, yes. And find your own adventures now,” he snapped from the bath. With the gentle breeze from outside he was resting in the waters. He felt a bit angry now, because she bothered him at the most inconvenient moment. Why she did that? “You can handle yourself, as you have done on your journey from home to MT, so figure it out,” he added. “You’re an orc’s nose,” sounded Tinnuriel on the outside and then stormed off. For a while Silinde lay in the water until it cooled off too much. Anything that was in his hair was washed out. He retrieved clean underclothing from his bags and dressed in homely garb that again his armour. He was glad to be free of it for the moment. He dried the hair by the fire and got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The plain dark-brown hair was now clean and shone in the sunlight, and he sudden had the feeling someone with the same eyes and hair sat by the fire in a female shape. Had Merenia known him? So much was puzzling about his early years. Her locks after a bath had been wavy. He looked like her, even her facial features were much rounder than his. Or was it a made-up memory by himself? How old was the memory? And how old had he been? Perhaps he hadn’t been old enough to talk yet, but already had a good memory? Was there perhaps a man in those memories hidden? A image of the man who could be his father? Silinde stared into the fire and sighed deep. He gathered up the wavy hair and bound it away low in his neck, so it covered over his ears and he wouldn’t feel the wind in them. Finally he stood up and dressed up further with upper garments. Over it he used a cape and moved the hood over his head, as he usually did when not wearing a helmet.

He left the chamber finally without weapons on him as they were not needed here. Just as home Imladris was well protected against discovery and attacks. Tinnuriel was not in the main building, so she was now somewhere else. Silinde headed for the library to see what kind of books there were harboured. A few people were there, but he knew none of them, though he could understand their conversations. Had they been speaking in Annúnaid it had been a problem. But the discussion of a new statue was not particular interesting. As he had not his swangarb on now, he was not recognised either. Anonymity was at length a blessing. So into the fourth age it was still a good place to dwell, even the southern dangers were gone forever. Silinde wasn’t missing them at the least. But what this new era beheld, he wasn’t sure about yet. Gondorian’s king had returned and sat on it, but what of the other places that existed? He found a series of tapestries that told the past in different years. A town on a hill, a battle fought long ago, a broken sword that cut off a finger from the dark lord. Annatar who had deceived the Numenoreans and was the reason why half the world spoke Annúnaid these days. In Dol Amroth this had never been forgotten. Annatar had persuaded the Numenoreans to cast Sindarin aside and favour Annúnaid instead. Silinde had been schooled in this ancient lore, late born in the last century of the third age. He had been a lad still when joining the swanknights, and earned his spurs when the war broke out. Now he was finally middle-aged. Another quarter of a century and he was old. But Tinnuriel disputed it all, wanting him to believe he was like her. And that life still smiled ahead of them, without any worries. What was the truth? His or hers?

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (2)

While he stared over the titles and the outside covers he walked into one of the writers there. “I am quite proud of my effort to add to this library, even my ten books are quite minor. I never hurried writing them, and took about fifty years each to write, with a fair few pauses between them. Inspiration is sometimes hard to find,” the writer was telling, under the impression his visitor was like him as well. Silinde nodded only. He took one of the books and paged through it, reading what it was about. “Remarkable,” he said, talking with the accent that went with Sindarin. The book he held in his hands was about the local variety on flowers in and around Imladris. Two hundred pages were smiling at Silinde, complete with detailed text and nice drawings. “Where are you from?” asked the writer. Silinde doubted to tell the truth really, knowing what Tinnuriel wanted of him. He could perhaps impersonate her kind, even he wasn’t one of them. “Edhellond,” he said as convincing possible. “Still a town of leave for those coming from the east.” He had been there often enough to know his way around. There was no need to know yet, he arrived as swan knight. There was nothing attractive to live ages on and see the world change. All changes he had seen in the last decades were enough for one lifetime. “That is close by Dol Amroth. I have never been there in my entire life,” told the writer. They didn’t exchange names yet, and Silinde was not pushing it.

Tinnuriel on the other hand walked everywhere to see what this enclave was hiding. Perhaps she was not supposed to come in some parts, but she did it anyway. She was watchful though that nobody was around. Her kind had private quarters too, but they could easily be invaded. They did rest, but didn’t sleep as de mortals did. She was still young, had left a dull home behind her to seek adventures on her own effort. But Silinde had broken that off for her, as he was more intriguing that anything else. However she couldn’t yet tell, if he actually saw her walking. Or that she was just annoying brad he wanted to lose? Human how he said to be with all qualities around it, she didn’t believe him. He spoke Sindarin as a mother tongue, which was quite uncommon these days in Gondor. But not in the southwest. With constant elves passing through Belfalas it was no wonder that Dol Amroth’s human citizens were influenced by them. Perhaps there lived more children there with elven blood in them, and didn’t know that yet? But very much like Silinde she was born as well late born in the last century of the third age and now coming into her own. At some length he wanted her perhaps to be like he was? But Silinde hadn’t made a hint to that or said anything. Tinnuriel was making that up herself. She could take the ships west and travel to the island of the banned. It had looked appealing, away of this cursed continent. But getting to know Silinde and his courteous manners changed that for now. At her insisting they had travelled to Imladris. Silinde hadn’t complained about it, just nodded and packed what he needed for the road.

It had looked exciting for her, and for him. But now alone again, all glimmer was evaporated. Perhaps it had known splendour, but with the diffusion of the fabled rings, their magic had disappeared as well. Imladris was just a place as any other. Tinnuriel weaved herself to the more populated places and got in the Fire Hall, where most guests were gathered. She looked around but none of the faces said her anything. However a dark-haired twin, two men who were almost a copy of each other, did speak amiably to the present guests. Sons of Lord Elrond she was informed off, Elladan and Elrohir. Couple of thousand years old, which was for Tinnuriel mindboggling. It seemed awesome to live so long and know the actual working of the world. Silinde disagreed strongly on that. History books were okay. The unrest of her youth made Tinnuriel irresponsible at times. Silinde took his decisions well thought over, Tinnuriel took them on a whim. It happened more than they expected, bumping into each other. “Can’t you see where you’re walking?” she said grumbling. “I can say the same of you with the eyes in the air,” he spoke calmly, crossing his arms. She snorted and walked off again.

In the library it was all quiet and peaceful and Silinde was partly at home there. The short conversation with a writer had been a nice exchange on information. He had always been curious to the written word, and being a knight gave access to that knowledge. Knights did read, they knew the law. But they knew also right and wrong, and did have a good judgment on matters. It hadn’t been tough to embrace the knightly spirit behind the position. Perhaps it had a note to being born noble, but anyone could make it a knight. It was a kind of culture. And culture was accessible to anyone. He watched Tinnuriel pacing off. Kind of hothead she was at times. You wouldn’t rhyme it with immortality, but youth had a profound effect on them as well. Being a knight was open to all cultures and never abandoned anyone from help, even it was your worst enemy. From it you could gain a friend, for life perhaps? Elves, especially the elder generations, were more prone to judge than the elder generations of mortal peoples were. Silinde had observed this in Edhellond. Was this how immortality backfired on them? That time distorted their views on the world, caused by the changes? Was the island of the banned than a place where time was parked and nothing changed? The thought alone was kind of horrible to him, that he threw it from his mind. He found it hard to grasp what elves really did see. But one thing he understood, mortal perception was easier to bear that an eternal one. However mystical Eru had designed his kind, he was glad with the gift that had been given. Death was an ever resting place for the soul. He had puzzled it out years ago, and no longer really thought of it. There were more pleasant things to ponder over that the eternal and endless discussions around the fate of elves and men.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (3)

“Sit still,” ordered Tinnuriel. One thing Silinde found hard to bear was someone donning his hair. He usually just let it grow and cut it himself, but Tinnuriel saw that differently and had her opinion ready for that, together with a set of tools and a pair of hands. “It is not knight like to have a string low in the neck and bind hair together, you look like a pirate,” she commented further. Tinnuriel let her fantasy flow on his hair, even Silinde could not imagine what so pleasant was about his head. “Why do you care about my hair? Or what I look like?” he protested. He tried to look at her, but her hands move his head in the right position, looking front. “Sit still,” she said once more. “Your mom must have found you a difficult child to dress.” “Hmmpff,” he grunted, but the remark did struck a chord. He had been a pain for his aunt, always running off for a morning bath and dress. But before that time? “I resisted my aunt as much I could,” he said dipping up old memories. “I had two older brothers there, who were already at sea and an older sister. She is now at Imrahil’s court looking after the youngest children. Good position for a daughter of Dol Amroth.” “And your brothers?” Tinnuriel asked. “I don’t know,” he said. What Tinnuriel was doing with his hair he had little idea off, but she took her time, asked questions now and then and even whistled in between. “Don’t toy with my hair,” he said. “Fizzle not so much, you’ll look much better when I am done,” replied Tinnuriel with joy in her voice.

When Tinnuriel gave him a mirror to see himself, Silinde didn’t recognise himself at all. A stranger was looking back, though she had kept to his wish not to have bare ears, because of the wind. The hearing in his left ear was still not what it should be. As a kid he suffered once from an ear infection on the left side. It had been painful and it was just if a cushion was stuffed into it. “Hmm,” he said about the result. “Don’t fuzz, people here will now not cast strange looks at you,” said Tinnuriel with pleasure lights in her eyes. “Just applied your knightly philosophy, embrace all cultures, don’t judge.” “Yeah, yeah,” he said defeated. How was it possible to argue against it? She weaved her arm around his and rocketed him left and right. “Come on, admit you love it,” she said at a begging tone. Silinde rolled his eyes. “It is nice work,” he admitted. “This was in your head all along?” A broader grin he couldn’t get back from her. She rocketed him once more and with a sigh he disconnected his arm, having enough of her attention. “I can turn you into a hobbit, if you want, with a bunch of curls,” she said. “I am not one of them,” said Silinde. “Oh, but they are human as well, you know,” nodded Tinnuriel wisely. Silinde frowned at her. He was not particular interested in their origins. This known middle earth was mostly populated by people by light and dark haired and a variety of eye colours, but there weren’t much major differences. “Different kind,” he said. “Fitting between the orc, the man, the elf, the hobbit, the ent, the troll etc.” “The dwarf as well, from different creators,” added Tinnuriel. “All races may have looked particular, but we are thousands of years on. What Eru, Melkor and Aulë envisioned, well that is rather distorted by now.” “You’re interested in anthropology?” frowned Silinde. “You never guessed? It is a reason why I left home, just to see more of the world, that the little backwater village I was living,” she shrugged. “I can be human if I want to be.”

What kind of talents Tinnuriel didn’t have? Silinde sat with a mouth full of teeth and didn’t know what to say. What Tinnuriel was seeing in him, he couldn’t phantom. Such an interesting person he was not. Just a swanknight with a good record of successful missions. He was able to fight with a variety of weapons, but the main weapon of the knight was the sword, and he got one. Tinnuriel gathered up her beauty belongings, as Silinde was watching now what she did. Had women so many tools on them? He got a hairbrush and a scissors and that was about it. “Just don on a different costume and hairstyle. Just as you donned on your knightly armour back in Dol Amroth,” she said. “Your mask is being a swanknight.” “It is a profession, well respected,” replied Silinde bit angry about what she implied. “I have no masks, nor I carry them.” “You do,” smiled Tinnuriel convinced to him. “I can get you riled up if I want.” “You can’t,” shook Silinde his head. “Oh well, all your expectations of life as they are now, will be totally different in the future,” she said with a glimmer in her eyes. “And when you finally will see that, you’ll admit I am right.” “You are very presumptuous with what my expectations will not be. What do you know of that? You can’t know,” he countered back. The elvish chatter didn’t stop between them and carried out of the room for other ears to listen to. But neither Silinde nor Tinnuriel were bothered with that at the moment. “I can know, all women can,” she shook her head.

Silinde was for many years a grownup man with a great responsibility. Currently even Tinnuriel was grownup as well, she behaved much like a human teenager. Why was she so fickle? He had the impression of the fly and the honey pot, where Tinnuriel was the fly and Silinde was the honeypot. Where that crazy idea came from, he couldn’t tell. “All women?” he snorted back. He was just a man with no important ancestry, nor born without any wealth either. But Tinnuriel’s toolkit had changed him into one of her people, than his own. A diadem had been woven into his hair and caught all front out of his face. It was symmetrical and followed the lines of his face well. “There is beauty in you, you never saw,” commented Tinnuriel, when she observed him watching himself once more in the mirror. “Women don themselves all the time, men can do too, you know.” She looked at him. “You might have a human life, but there is surely elven in you as well.” Silinde shook his head. “No, I may look now look like one with your efforts, but I am not. And certainly I am not one of the Peredhil.” “You never waver once from that line?” asked Tinnuriel dismayed. Silinde drew up his eyebrows. “What are you hoping then for?” he asked finally, not understanding why being mortal bothered her so much. “I don’t want to spend my life alone,” she said sad. Silinde felt regret he had asked her that and stretched out his arms to give her a hug. “I didn’t mean to pry, but you are sometimes hard to understand,” he said. “I have no talents for being an immortal. Death comes eventually to me and before that I grow old, and look weathered. Your best luck in life is to find a companion of your own kind, if you don’t want to stay alone, assuming you are elven and not mortal at all.” He stepped easily in his role as knight and help out distressed maidens. He couldn’t mean much to her as himself. But someone else could be likely?

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (4)

But he was misjudging that greatly with Tinnuriel. He had helped out many women in peril and brought them to safety, as in some cases saved their lives. Parting went with thanks and an obligation was fulfilled. But this maiden? Why did she leave her family behind? And even the clan she was born in? If she came from the east, it was unlikely she knew of the undying lands in the west. Perhaps she had picked that up somewhere? Why had she come west? His gaze was still on her while her hands fidgeted with her clothes. “I don’t want a stranger as a life companion,” she said finally. The girl hadn’t grown up to hide what lived in her heart, apparently. Was she so innocent? Or did she speak fairly easily about her feelings? Silinde was someone who did not. But he could not let go the image of the honey jar idea. Tinnuriel had it all over her, even she was perhaps not self-conscious. Did she feel safe with him? Or did she feel something else what she responded unconsciously to? It bothered him as despite his age, he had never been in a relation before with someone of the other gender, except than having a sister. Tinnuriel was a pull to some extent Silinde had no imagination what was on the other end, than perhaps the loss of his knighthood? “I am that stranger from Minas Tirith,” he said to take her mind of the sensitive subject. “You’re not,” said Tinnuriel. Finally she sat beside him and leaned against his body. Silinde put an arm around her shoulders.

“Can you share minds?” she asked. Dumbfounded he looked at her. “I have never experienced it.” “Hmm, not many do really, I never experienced it before either,” she shrugged. Could humans shared minds? Silinde had heard of it with beloved ones, that they could feel the other if something happened even they were separated from each other. “But I can mind dream,” grinned Tinnuriel. “Oh? I dream at night, but don’t remember them in the morning,” shrugged Silinde as something not important. They still sat together where Tinnuriel mostly spoke. “I come originally from a tribe called the Kindi. We used to live on the steppes, where we raised horses. Commonly we dress into long gowns that run under the right arm over the left shoulder, and a drape comes back over the right shoulder. Gowns could be in different colours, but the dress code was the same for men and women. We don’t grown tall, just about 5.6 or 5.7 at the most.” “I have heard of the Kindi people,” said Silinde. “But I never guessed you would be one of them.” “Yes, the hills and lakelands of Palisor were our home, until we moved more to Linimér at the lake of Daldunair. I am not tall just 5.5. So I can easy be mistaken for being human,” she said. “As far I can remember the sea was always a major factor in my life, and the songs of the water is what I fell asleep with as a child,” told Silinde from memory. The intricate towering town was beautifully build of white stone, natural figurines shaped from stone around. But on the squares grew trees and everywhere along the buildings were flowerbeds.

“What is it to fall asleep with the water?” asked Tinnuriel. “Just the song of water and wind, playing on endlessly,” nodded Silinde. Waterfalls were nice, but their sound was not the same. He could be inland for some weeks, but not on end for days. “Can you understand that song?” asked Tinnuriel again. “The song eases the mind, making war insignificant,” he voiced what was he knew. “A border where preserving lives interferes with taking lives.” “I never heard it being addressed like that,” said Tinnuriel under his arm pondering it over. “But it sounds right, somehow. Taking or preserving are two ends of an opposite. Where did you learn this wisdom?” Not from his time as swanknight, but this wisdom had given him an apprenticeship in the first place. He should his head as he was not able to recall who said that once to him. Or was it insight he just knew by himself? But that seemed very unlikely. Norms and values were learned from others, in social aspect. It was almost impossible to discover them without any social contact.

“You don’t remember, do you?” concluded Tinnuriel looking at him. “That is why I call your knightship a mask. Wilfully or not, you have suppressed a part of your memories of your earliest years. The cause is often trauma, with the loss of someone. Happens in lives of children, where a part of parental love is sudden cut off.” Silinde couldn’t say if she was right or not. But Tinnuriel had now something of a healer over her. Or was it just she was a woman, who stood in the centre of bearing new life at some point? “This world is covered with people of mixed blood between kindreds. Human, elven or dwarven as they are, here and there are drops to be found in others,” added Tinnuriel. “I feel you are one of them too, because you come from a part of Gondor where at some points in time elven presence is higher than human, even it is temporarily, because of the leaving Middle Earth stuff.” Silinde got no idea what his mother really did before his birth. He knew her name was Merenia, and he got an image of wavy hair in his mind. But that was about it.

By where she came from Tinnuriel knew this, a sundering during pregnancy or in the early years of parenthood could be extremely hurtful to both parents and child. So there was a great preference soon there was peace, pregnancies happened and children would be born then. She knew by now that the Kindi were reviewed as backwards, even more than their cousins and nieces in the northern kingdom. But she didn’t feel like that. But Silinde had stirred something in her, she couldn’t place yet. Her puberty was long finished, but if she was totally grownup? But she observed also that Silinde was not that quick sorting his own feelings, especially towards her. And she knew he wanted to push her away by putting up his swanknight mask. Kindi men were kind of shallow she always found, but Silinde was very different. Tinnuriel had heard already nuances in Silinde’s voice she hadn’t heard earlier, when he spoke to her. There had been love between her own parents, but the marriage hadn’t been entirely a happy one. As a rebellious adolescent she had chosen at nearly fifty years of age for a life in freedom and uncertainty, than one of servitude. “I didn’t want to be a servant to mortals,” she shrugged. “I wanted a life of my own.”

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (5)

A servant? Until now she had not spoken of that and surprised Silinde lifted an eyebrow. Where exactly were her lands of origin located? Tinnuriel led them from the room they had been in back to the library, where surely a map was found of the entire continent. But that was not so easy as it first look in Imladris. “In what are they interested here?” muttered Tinnuriel frustrated after an hour searching for a map of Palisor. Then she sat down just to draw one from memory. It became a crude one and not in the right proportions, but it helped visualising. Silinde saw now it was even further away than he had thought and far more northeastern. “The lands there are increasingly becoming kind of overcrowded with mortals and it feels not like a home anymore. Some succumb to the reality and just fade, others die, or leave like me. But all of that are personal choices still, not communal, which is sad in a sense,” told Tinnuriel. “I don’t want to be a shadow.” “Is that what happens to us?” asked Silinde frowning. “Eventually yes, we are a part of life in the nature around,” waved Tinnuriel with an arm around her. “And the humans are not?” puzzled Silinde. He had never heard of this, but felt no doubt she was right about this. Being a wraith nobody really wanted after the creation and demise of the Nazgul. It was an horrendous life. “Eh? I don’t know really about that. Mortals are not my speciality. Perhaps you know?” said Tinnuriel. Some things were indeed a big puzzle if you hadn’t access to the right books. Imladris had fortunately some upon the subject. “I always understood it was no shame to grow old and die, and you no longer exist,” said Silinde. “Death ought be a gift of sorts.”

Tinnuriel pulled all sorts of faces when she paged frantically through the books Silinde had found for her. With the native Sindarin of them both, all books were well accessible and needed no translations. Imladris had always been a Sindarin speaking hub, well from the start. “Our luck to Thingol who threw Quenya out of the door. I can’t read a word of that,” grinned Tinnuriel. “Same fate happens to Sindarin someday too, when your people is gone,” noted Silinde convinced. It had happened more than once in South-Gondor and where he came from. There was more history there, even before the third age. Those coasts had been well within reach for the Numenoreans. How busy had been those lands then? Tinnuriel came from a rather remote corner of the lesser known world. But it didn’t make her lesser than the Noldor and Sindar around here. “Human ancestry with the Peredhil fades off when generation on generation are elves they marry, blood thins out that way, until barely is left at all,” said Tinnuriel. “Just 50%, then 25%, then 12,5%, and so on.” Silinde nodded that in this case it reduced with a certain number each generation. He put those facts aside as not important to them both. If he wanted to know about himself, he got to find his father first. Was that man still alive? Who had loved his mother? The southron father of his older brothers wasn’t his. He had dark hair, but it was not black. Nor was he tanned of skin as the southrons. His older sister had that skin and hair. But she had not inherited the spirit of her father, but had devoted herself to the ideals of Dol Amroth and the leading house there.

The three children were possibly of another sister aunt Maia took him before he was added. But she had said ever little of it and brought up four children on her own, so far possible. Silinde had been around five years old when Dyando and Angar were taken to sea and never got back to live with them once more. Nilida found a position with the princely family and worked for them still. She had housing there, loved what she did and was respected. Aunt Maia now lived alone in a big house in the Old Town of Dol Amroth. The neighbourhood bordered at the causeway above, which was much older than the town itself. It was the route towards the palace at the end of the peninsula. “We can only find out by interrogating your aunt and see what she got to tell about her family,” said Tinnuriel breaking into his thoughts. “We must travel back to Dol Amroth then, I never really questioned her, not did she want to tell,” nodded Silinde. He was not looking forward to put the woman under pressure about his past, who raised him. “I am not afraid of that,” said Tinnuriel. “And otherwise I got some convincing tricks to have her talk. She cannot withhold what she knows about you, if it is not much. There might be a lead so we can search further. Your blank mind won’t give now any information. So we revert to other methods.” What was the relation his mother Merenia had with his aunt Maia? Only that could be answered by members of Maia’s family. It was time to return.

[Ercassie]

Erfaron Silugnir and Ospiel Iuliel
With Tirindo Aiwenarion at the Archery Grounds
@Legolas   @Aranadhel

Turning for the equipment shed, the Sinda found something - or rather someone - else first. Hazel eyes widened then narrowed before she ran to greet her brother.

"It is not I .. that shall know despair," Ospiel vowed, receiving Ospion's bow with one hand, even as her other pushed him slightly, seizing him in the same moment to pull him back close thenafter. With the good-natured play that only siblings can accomplish.

"Have you seen this one ?" she cocked an eyebrow and indicated the unfazed figure of the tall Noldo behind her.


"It has been something of a while since last our paths crossed," Erfaron observed on recognising Ospion with a side look and a nod. "But apparently the Valar hear my plea. For see now what a greater count of witnesses !" he celebrated with a smirk. He had spent an age - not this age, but another long ago, - scouting in Hithlum with the Sindar siblings. It would seem that the Swallow was further outnumbered ..




"My Lord Legolas," Tirindo marvelled, turning from his own dismay at the growing number of distractions from his training, to discover a far more intriguing one. "Let me assure you that no such introduction is remotely necessary. Tales of your prowess with the bow are legend. You honour us, with your presence."

The archer bowed his head in respect while Ospiel glanced at Erfaron for an explanation. She at least was unfamiliar with any of the infamy that Tirindo proclaimed for Legolas, having spent but brief visits this far East. After a swift account shared between the old friends, the female turned back to the newcomer, ignoring any effort her brother or friend might try, to put her off.



"Well at last there is presented something of a real challenge," Ospiel grinned, unashamedly. "It would be all the greater excitement and enjoyment... if you were to join in. What say you, son of Thranduil ?"

"I am afraid, o Prince, she's not heard of you before," Erfaron opened his hands before him in a grand gesture. "Perhaps a demonstration shall leave a lasting memory ? Certain folks hereabouts clearly think they are fair at Archery. I am sure you could give them cause to reconsider such bold claims."



Tirindo, held his ground a little ways off from the other three, as though he could pretend he had misheard such an absence of all owed reverence to the Elvish Prince. He had never been so embarrassed. Since the last time he had been forced to endure certain Mole company. It was his goal at least to give every impression to Legolas that he was not 'with' those others.


Erfaron sat down where he had stood up, once more readying to be well entertained. But ..

"You too .." Ospiel added pointedly, dragging the Mole up by her one free hand.

And finally Tirindo showed that he could smile ...

[Legolas]

Legolas
Archery Grounds
@Ercassie @Aranadhel

Legolas smiled at Tirindo's words, feeling a sense of gratitude and humility wash over him. It was always an honour to be recognized for his skill. "Thank you for your kind words." Legolas replied to Tirindo with a bow of his head. "I am but one elf among many, and my skill with the bow is only a small part of who I am. But I would be honoured to join in, if it woulda also bring joy to those around me." Then Legolas turned to Erfaron with a gentle smile. "There is no need to apologize, for your friend. I understand that not everyone may be familiar with me or my reputation. I am happy to make new acquaintances and prove myself to those who may not know me yet." he said graciously before he turned his attention back to the group. "Now, let us put our skills to the test and see who comes out on top."

Legolas felt the warmth of the sun on his skin as he stepped up to the archery range, the familiar scent of freshly-cut grass filling his nostrils. He took a deep breath, drawing in the crisp air and feeling his lungs expand as he raised his bow. The weight of the bow in his hand felt natural, like an extension of his own arm. As he drew back the bowstring, he could feel the tension building in his muscles, the world around him fading into the background. His focus was singular, his mind empty save for the task at hand. He narrowed his gaze, staring down the length of the arrow as it pointed towards the distant target. Then, with a sudden release, Legolas let the arrow fly. It sliced through the air, glinting in the sunlight, before striking the bullseye dead center. A satisfying thud echoed across the field as the arrow lodged itself firmly in the wood. Legolas exhaled, feeling a rush of pride and accomplishment wash over him. Legolas turned to his fellow elves, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"I have not lost my touch, it seems." he said, his voice quiet and reserved. "But there is always room for improvement." He turned towards another target, drawing another arrow from his quiver. "It is not just about hitting the mark, but doing so with grace and precision." he continued, his words measured and deliberate. "A true archer must always strive for perfection, even when it seems unattainable."
As he let the arrow fly, Legolas glanced once more at his companions. "Also, it is not just about the skill of the archer," he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. "It is also about the bond between the archer and the world. Without the natural world around us, our bows and arrows are nothing more than mere tools." He lowered his bow, turning to face the others fully. "I am grateful for all nature and for the gifts it has given us," he said, his eyes flickering with a hint of emotion.

He took a step back, allowing the other elves to take their turn at the range. But even as he watched them, Legolas felt the pull of the forest calling him home. He knew that he would return here, to this place of peace and tranquility, time and time again. He enjoyed the peacefulness of the valley and the company of the elves who dwelled there. However, as he looked around at the beauty of his surroundings, a fleeting thought crossed his mind, reminding him of his home in Mirkwood. It brought a twinge of bittersweet longing to his heart, a feeling of missing something he knew he couldn't have in this place. He pushed the thought aside and returned his attention to the present moment, determined to enjoy his time in Rivendell to the fullest.

[Finrod-Felagund117]

Finrod Felagund is watching Legolas and the others at the archery range from several feet away nervously. He had wanted to practice alone so no one would see him miss the target. He sighs softly he just feels like he can't do anything right with his training. When he saw Legolas he thought about asking for help but he is too nervous to ask. He knew all about Legolas and everything he has done. Finrod Felagund blushed in shame when he remembers his disastrous training session yesterday, he had missed all but one shot and even that shot just hit the edge of the target. Maybe he isn't meant to be a warrior and defend his people, but he wants that more than anything. Finrod Felagund sighs softly his blond hair coming loose from the braid and getting in his eyes but he doesn't try and fix it. Maybe he should just give up on his dream.

[Ercassie]

Erfaron Silugnir and Ospiel Iuliel
encountering Tirindo Aiwenarion, Ospion and Prince Legolas himself
at the archery training grounds.

Ospiel had been endeavouring to prise the canteen out of her brother’s grasp, and compel him to join them in contest. All in vain thus far, it seemed. “Very well,” she sniffed, as though it were her choice rather than having no choice handed to her. “I shall have to let my skill speak for the both of us,” she warned Ospion, and left him to his drink and amusement. The infamy of the Woodland Prince stood up to all rumours and reputation. For the shot of Legolas was true, as true as any could expect to be. And the Elf’s remarks upon the subject which had brought all together here were quietly absorbed by all that heard them. Without remark, until Tirindo took point in response.


“We are grateful for your demonstration, my Lord. And your sage contemplation,” he allowed, politely. “I must say that the songs and stories which hold you in such honour, are most accurate. Long have your people amidst bough and bark embraced an affinity with the true art of the craft,” he agreed with the Prince’s observation. “Though I might confess this is far from the first time that I have held a bow myself.” he put in, not to be outdone by modesty.

“Yes but I imagine much more of our new acquaintance’s experience comes from hunting beasts in the forest,” Erfaron put in, helpfully. “Whereas you spent over 500 years standing at a gateway and imagining what it would be like to have some Enemy even come along that you could aim at ..” the ‘comparison’ continued.


His Noldorin acquaintance blinked, with needless apathy at the insult. Where the Mole was concerned, after all, Tirindo was prone to almost expect a word as insult. And rarely was he mistaken where it came to their exchanges. Little did he realise on this occasion, that Erfaron had deliberately elected to not mention another unfulfilling occasion when the ancient archer had actually fought in an all-out war, out on the field. For even a Mole was not like to reference the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, to simply make a point. Not when the Noldo’s son had died there, and so too had other far more significant (to Erfaron) Elves. Whose memory made even the usual instigator bite his tongue rather than belittle for a squabble.

“Turns out that we did not require to ever leave home for a foe to find us, nonetheless, from within,” Tirindo bit back, regardless. His hackles raised.


“Goh,” Ospiel scoffed at the pair of them. “Stop wasting time with words already, lest we count the Prince winner by default !” she urged the Elves to cease their war, or at least focus. “And where would the fun be found in that ? You are good, Prince of the woodlands, I will give you that,” she bowed, quite elaborately before Legolas. “And no songs or stories are told this side of the sea, concerning my accuracy. But I need not any Elf’s approval to know that I can too make my mark. Come,” she batted Ospion and Erfaron out of her way, and took strides to rival the Legend’s prowess. “Move your silly selves out of my way if you are both too scared to step up and take a turn. I for one have not made contest against a Prince for some time.”

“Forgive me,” Tirindo asked, turning to Legolas, whose respect mattered more to him than the outspoken Sinda. Erfaron simply crossed both arms, and leaned in toward his elder. So that he could mention ..

“Don’t try to steal his attention, now that there is some thing worth seeing ..” he jerked his chin in the direction of his friend. As Ospiel ignored them all regardless.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, Noldo of Tirion-upon-Tuna
come to pay call on an old friend and neighbour, Orotingion Liriteco
His residence, in the Valley

He was not one of a habit to pay calls, and that was not merely because of the very few people he could or would tolerate to pay calls upon. Tirindo was not an Elf designed for small talk. He enjoyed long talk, the sorts of endless debates and reminiscing that two of the Eldar could partake of for hours uncounted. They had been known to speak into the night and find the dawn before they tired of conversation. But Tirindo did not ‘drop by’. And he certainly would not be expected this day.

For all that, he did not fear that he might be turned away. His friend and fellow Noldo was of an often similar disposition. They had dwelt both in Tirion beyond the sea, in Sirion which lay now underneath the sea, in Ost-en-Edhil where holly now reigned over the ruins, and most lately here, in Imladris. Not to mention a good many other homes each, though in these independent of the other.

A particular subject which the two ancient Noldor had in common was standing the custodian, of a young soul who they oft locked horns with. And so would Tirindo look for counsel and understanding about Celedir as frequently as Orotingion might wish the same, about Uruviel.

This day he could not blame his grave face nor the listless hours he had languished in of late, not upon his foster son. Except that, Celedir was very much sat at the heart of it. But it had been Tirindo who lost his temper, and his wife, Halyanis who had took the lad out for ‘some air’ to let them all cool heads. That had been now nearly two weeks ago. And even Tirindo’s anger had subsided to the point of alarm. For why had they not yet returned ?

Without Halyanis to comfort him, and unwilling to cause alarm to Nariel or Ennora, the Noldo had done his best, alone, to keep up the belief, the hope, that he was over reacting. He knew without doubt that he trusted his wife. He knew also that he, he who loved her with his all, had driven her beloved young charge out of their home.

That home was empty and grown cold. And so though they were not scheduled to meet until the first moon of each month, Tirindo had decided to overlook his misgivings about keeping to schedule, and commit to an errand he liked even less.

Worse than turning up without an invitation. He was going to have to ask his old friend for help. And as much as he respected and admired Orotingion, there was nothing Tirindo disliked more, than asking for help.


He cleared his throat, and knocked at the door of the only Elf he trusted, outside of his wife. It did not occur to him until that very moment that he did not know his friend was even at home ..

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

(Caranoril) Uruviel "Raxiel"
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

Things were growing quite dull these days, in the valley. So much peace and quiet was nice for some, but Uruviel, (called Caranoril by her father), was eager to move on and find some better adventure abroad in the land. She longed for more excitement than watching vines grow. Her grandfather might find that thrilling, but she found it duller than dirt. In fact, dirt was sometimes more exciting; sometimes if you dig a little, you might find something interesting.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, polishing her sword in preparation to get started on her next journey, when the knock came at the door. She frowned slightly in puzzlement. Not many folks came to call on her grandfather, and so she mentally went through all the most likely candidates. Which was easily narrowed down to either someone wanting some wine, someone wanting him to do some sort of scribery done, or.. Tirindo.

The elleth wiped her blade clean before sliding it into its sheath, then rose smoothly to her feet and laid the weapon down before opening the door. She was right; there stood Tirindo. Her grandfather's oldest friend. Uruviel was briefly tempted to greet him in the language of her father's people, simply because she knew that he, like her grandfather, refused to speak that language and that it would likely annoy him. If she had been her mother, she most certainly would have done exactly that. But Uruviel was less inclined to be so disagreeable just for the fun of it.

"Alatúlië!" She smiled as she greeted the visitor, before continuing in the same language, "My grandfather is in the vineyard. Please, come in while I go and fetch him. Or would you prefer to go out and join him there?" She asked, as that seemed like it would surely be preferable to staying indoors. Still, she wouldn't be surprised if the dusty old elves wanted to stay indoors and discuss ancient memories for the rest of the day. Personally, she couldn't see how anyone would rather stay indoors when there was such a nice day out there to enjoy. She had been going to go out and shoot a few arrows as soon as she finished with her sword, in fact.


(Welcome!)

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, greeted by young Uruviel
at the home of her grandfather, Orotingion Liriteco
at his residence, in the Valley

A feint smile escaped the Elf, regardless of the cause that he had come at all. For it was always a gladness to visit at halls where his native tongue was spoken. As though home was not a place, but rather a memory. And they might dwell there in truth if they kept up the charade of dwelling in the past. It was welcoming indeed then, more than the young elleth who met him likely knew, or maybe cared to. This one was a buoyant spirit indeed, though she hid it well when it suited. And not for the first time, was Tirindo struck by the irony, that he should forever now find himself faced in life with an endless tirade of irrepressible flame-haired ladies … If he did not know better, he might believe that his late sister had managed such a feat from beyond her grave, and watched him somehow even now with a wicked smile on her porcelain countenance, judging that he ought never forget her. Still if he wished to dwell in the past ..

“Gi suilon* Uruviel,” he returned to the maiden’s greeting with a cordial dip of his chin, and the name which her grandfather favoured. If he had been half tempted to commend her upon language lessons well learnt, it was a shame that impatience usurped the intent. “Nay, I would not see my old friend interrupted from his recreations,” Tirindo declared then, with the typical Elvish tendency to use ‘old’ as an amount of time he’d known Orotingion, rather than a measure of either of their considerable ages. “Nor would I presume that he ought come when summoned by one he does not expect. But pray do join me, if we may, in locating him.”

He glanced at her expectantly, his 'invitation' delivered, as though she had not made the offer first. It had been a long time since he had last seen the vineyard, and was rather astounded to have found the elleth indoors, as much as her grandfather outdoors, for that matter. Possibly it was some punishment that she was undergoing, and he placing himself far from where he should be bothered by the inevitable complaints. Still, if Tirindo intended to speak with his friend on matters that young ladies ought not put ears to, then speaking out of doors promised that the young thing would, should she be of a mind to follow, likely become otherwise distracted by the world, and swiftly, all too easily then, fall away from any care of what the two Eldar might remark of any goings on within it.


** Greetings to you. (Q.)

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

(Caranoril) Uruviel "Raxiel"
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

She blinked in some puzzlement when the old elf declined.. seemingly both options? And then proceeded to suggest the latter as if it were his own thought. Uruviel gave a slow nod though, as she decided against pointing out that that was exactly what she had just offered to do. "Well, then let us go and see whether we can find him." She suggested with a little smile, deciding to let the matter drop and be forgotten. Turning back toward the interior of the home, she let her grandfather's guest find his own way inside after her. He'd been there often enough not to need a guide, even if she had not been leading the way through to the door which led out toward the back yard. Whether the front door was closed, would entirely depend on whether Tirindo decided to close it after himself.

"Do not blame me if he puts you to work pulling weeds," She commented over her shoulder with a little grin, unable to resist a little bit of teasing, and assuming that he had followed. Of course, that task had had nothing to do with her choice not to join Orotingion in the vineyard. Nothing at all.

Stepping out into the back yard, her feet hardly made a noise on the soft grass, and she smiled as she enjoyed the sunlight on her fair skin. The light made her red hair seem almost to glow a little as she ventured down one of the many rows of neatly staked vines. They were just a bit taller than the top of her head, and she didn't expect to be able to see her grandfather so easily even if she could have seen over the tops of them, since she expected him to be kneeled down, yanking up all of the unwelcome plants.

There was no rush about her exploration, as she saw no reason to cut out the fun part of this. While it would certainly be quicker to walk past the ends of the rows until she saw him in one of them, she found it more enjoyable to wander up one row, then down the next, until she would eventually locate him. Unless Tirindo urged her to find him more swiftly, but why should he? They had all the time in the world, and nothing all that important to bother them, as far as she knew.

---

Orotingion

He was several rows down from where Uruviel began her search, as she most likely knew. Oro was deep in thought as he carefully excavated out the roots of a dandelion which had decided the vineyard was a suitable place to place itself. The elven vintner quite disagreed. After managing to evict it from the soil, Oro frowned disapprovingly at it before depositing it into the basket of weeds. Then he cast a look down the long length of the row and sat back on his heels, somehow managing not to sigh in despair. Maybe he should take a break, walk to the end of the row, and start from the other end, to give himself a chance to stretch.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, with Uruviel
at the home of her grandfather, Orotingion Liriteco
at his residence, in the Valley

When his hostess obliged, the Noldo, paused only long enough for a slow double take. She'd left the door to him. Well it was a good thing he was a little more conscientious of her grandfather's privacy ! Who knew who else might otherwise intrude otherwise upon that other's sanctum. As he closed out the wider world, he could not help but think, how typical. Of the Sindar, of the young ... His own clan, his own age group were generally more possessive, by nature. As history had proved. Of course they'd seen things, lived through things that the younger generations would never understand. Thus he said naught on the subject. Well .. nearly.


"To labour on the land that feeds us is no hardship," he replied soon after instead, almost upon instinct rather than any real thought for what he said. Smalltalk. Now that was a labour, he sighed.

The day was fair and the vineyard no fell place to spend it. With no master but yourself it could be a pleasant labour, he imagined. Fulfilling, satisfying. Though tending the earth was not Tirindo's own interest, he understood the motive for his friend's sake. The father of Orotingion had been a vintner. So his friend's commitment to that same was tradition perhaps rather than choice.

Tirindo could appreciate the tradition. Of course his own father had been a hunter in the service of Finwe. The firebird, famed as much for his fury as his skill with a bow. His eldest and only son had not inherited the red hair, and the mighty bow had been flung into a fire by the only one of his sisters who had.


It might have been strange to march, in pursuit of the cheerful young thing who led him, but the Noldo was hard put to be severed from old habits. At least Uruviel could not see, or she likely would have laughed. And being laughed after by cheerful flame-haired females was a tradition which Tirindo would be far more readily severed from. If he had the choice. If this one was drawing out her prance through the long rows of vine, still he raised no audible complaint. Patience the old Noldo had in droves. And the rest .. that built up, quietly, privately. Thankfully there were enough fell things still even these days for him to unleash that. Without loosing it on those he would wish no harm.

Usually.


But unrushed, and despite the motive for his visit, he was not sure now it came to it, how he might raise this. Would his friend think him the villain of the piece ? Had he erred ?

Tirindo might even be keen to have Orotingion call him a fool and send him home, with the security of a second opinion, that perhaps there was not anything wrong at all. On the other hand he was coming to miss Halyanis. They had endured time apart before, of course. But the last time had convinced him not to revisit the experience.

For that matter he was almost missing Celedir. It was strange what a person could grow used to. One thing he was sure of, he had lost enough people in his long life already. He was not prepared to lose anyone else.


Somehow Tiri held back from enquiring if the young maid was quite sure her grandfather was even out here ? He had almost fallen into memory of pursuing merry flame haired young maidens .. although that tradition usually led to trouble before he found anything else.

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

(Caranoril) Uruviel "Raxiel"
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

If she rolled her eyes in response to Tirindo's comment, he would not be able to see that from where he followed in her wake. Uruviel had no objection to plants, of course. Her aunt had enjoyed gardening, back home. What she considered home. Or at least, part-time home? Whatever. She missed Merilhel. She'd have to return there, once she left the valley. The thought brought a little smile to her face as she wondered what her aunt was up to these days. Probably something plant related. Who knows, maybe she was pulling weeds, too.

Speaking of weeding, Uruviel smiled when she spotted her grandfather step out to the end of one of the rows of vines, at least ten rows down from where she and Tirindo were at the moment. "Ah, there he is!" She announced cheerfully. She had been about to turn into the next row, and while she was tempted to still do that, just to see if Tirindo would continue to follow even when his objective was in sight, she was growing a little bored of that game. Instead, she skipped happily over to where Orotingion had placed himself. "Grandfather! A visitor." She declared.

---

Orotingion

Uruviel's voice made him look up. What visitor would.. ah! He smiled as he spotted Tirindo trailing along after the elleth. Rising from where he had been about to wage war on another cluster of weeds, he pulled off his gloves and waited patiently for them to get nearer.

"Greetings, my friend!" He spoke cordially, once the two were near enough for conversation, rather than hollering across the distance. "It is always a pleasure to welcome you to my home." He smiled. "Would you like something to drink?" He did not have anything out here, but the house was not too far away, and some refreshments for them both might be nice.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, visiting in the vineyard
with Orotingion Liriteco and his granddaughter Uruviel
at their residence, in the Valley

It was highly likely that Tirindo‘s young ‘guide’ had tired of his company before she tired of her game. Still, the Noldo was equally relieved to note her grandfather. Refraining from following the elleth into a ‘skip’, he raised a hand in greeting, as Uruviel declared him. And made small work then of the distance to come upon his old friend in a rather more stately fashion all his own.

Orotingion had removed his gloves before they stood together, suggesting that he was willing to take a reprieve from his weeding. And when the other offered up refreshment, his guest wondered if he should be the excuse now that would allow his friend that comfort. When in another’s halls, after all. Grey eyes made a point of avoiding the young girl’s expression, and hoped that she would not mention that he’d initially refused to wait back in the house. Now that it looked like they would be immediately returning there. Imagining the girl’s grin at observing the old pair sat in the dirt together otherwise .. won over his doubts.

“Glad greetings, to a generous host,” Tirindo smiled, in so much as he ever managed to. His feet fell further apart but his shoulders did not relax. “It would be rude to turn down your kind invitation,” he answered, feeling like the explanation would clear him from an apparent turnback of choice. “Particularly since I have come to seek your counsel, my friend.”

If there were Elves who would have eased in slowly before smoothly revealing their goal, the Noldo was not one of those elves. He felt it only fair to have Orotingion know from the outset, that his guest had not come hither on some idle whim or else to simply indulge in the fair wines that this house could surely boast. He was not going to deny his friend whatever comfort was available however, to sweeten the conversation that would come. Today would not be a peaceful musing on the stars above or acknowledging the relative wonders of life in the valley.

It was, ironically after all the wars and horrors they had lived through, now the quiet which was the problem.

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

|
....Orotingion.... Uruviel "Raxiel"
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

A grin of amusement spread across her face when Uruviel heard her grandfather make the same cordial offer of a drink, as she had done. The grin came more from the response given by their visitor, though. The fact that he accepted it when Orotingion offered, when he had declined when she made the same offer. And he had practically insisted on coming out here to find her grandfather, and now they were going to go right back indoors probably, to sip on their drinks and discuss old times or whatever boring stuff they talked about. Maybe he had declined out of a secret concern of what sort of drink he might receive from her? She didn't know.

Oblivious to his granddaughter's amusement, or at least, the cause for it, Orotingion was pleased to hear Tirindo agree to a drink. Though his interest was piqued when the other elf mentioned coming for his counsel. He wondered what about, but did not ask right now. It was surely something of a more private matter, and therefore, he decided it was for the best that he had agreed to go inside for a drink.

"Well, then let us go inside and see what refreshments are available." He smiled. The matter was settled. "This work will no doubt still be here when I return," He commented with a wave toward the weeds. If, by some miracle, the weeds did all manage to be pulled out in his absence, he would not complain a bit! Though he very much doubted that would happen. "Raxiel, dear, would you care to join us inside, or are you going off to play, now?" He inquired, using the name he had bestowed on her as a sort of pet name. "If you're bored, I'm sure we could find something to keep you busy?" He suggested.

Uruviel couldn't help wondering if her grandfather had forgotten she was not a child anymore, that she no longer ran off to play any chance she got. But she didn't let on that she found the question a bit ridiculous. "Oh, don't worry. I've got plenty of things to do," she shrugged, deciding not to add 'better things than listen to a couple of old guys ramble on about 'the good old days' and all that. She had, at least, learned some manners while living under her grandfather's roof. "I'm off to meet Ennora, I'll see you later." She waved and then hurried off before he could think of asking her if she'd mind doing some of the weeding while he was gone, or worse.. asking her to serve their drinks or something like that.

Shaking his head slightly, Orotingion smiled somewhat slyly toward his friend as they started toward the house, after Uruviel had hastened off. "I figured, if I asked her to keep away so that we may speak in private, she would only become too curious to stay away. But asking her to join us.. she would find the idea dull, and choose the opposite of what I suggested." He explained in a lowered voice, in case Tirindo had wondered. "It usually worked with her mother.. and usually works with her, as well." He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked leisurely down the row of vines.

Uruviel, in fact, was headed toward the house as well, at a swifter pace then the other two. After she had hastily fled from the view of the two old elves, going around the end of the row where they stood, she then traveled down the length of the row next to where they were. Trying not to be heard, she hastened her steps toward the house to gather up her things before she would go and meet her friend from the land of her birth.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, with Orotingion Liriteco
and his granddaughter Uruviel, at their residence, in the Valley

For all that he would never admit it aloud, accepting refreshments from the Master of the house seemed mightily more appropriate to Tirindo than allowing himself to be made subject to young Uruviel’s attempts at scavenging from her grandfather’s pantry. While the ancient Noldo did not doubt that the fair elleth was competent in many arts and skills, he was not so certain that he would include such domestic matters to be her strength and while he had not come hither for the refreshments, neither did he possess any wish to suffer a prankster’s practice. He had not quite forgotten Ennora’s attempt to offer him fresh cordial one afternoon, only to end up on the worst side of a ‘mistaken’ dorwinion wine from her grandmother’s stores instead, the potency of which had rendered him quite not himself. Mistakes were to be expected of course, as the young grew and learned, but where it came to some very particular youth .. he did expect just as much to be vulnerable to their pranks and amusement. There had been enough tales shared by the two Noldor of their younger relations, for the Elda to be wise to the possibility. Let alone the tale of the Dorwinion wine incident which Mallosel somehow blamed him for ! And while finding himself unexpectedly compromised in a friend’s house was not the worst thing he had faced in his life, Tirindo would be mortified regardless should it happen more than that once.


He took the path back to the house with his old friend then, rather more relaxed in likeminded company. Orotingion had a way about him which would surely see him able to calm his guest’s more pressing concern. Hiding a smirk at the use of the elleth’s epesse, Tirindo did not regret watching Uruviel flee from all threat of keeping them further company. And he nodded his head calmly once as the maiden supposed she would visit with her friend. The other young Silvan had found herself quite listless already since repeatedly calling on Celedir had repeatedly met the news that he was ‘not at home’. It was only a matter of time before Ennora suspected that his foster son was ignoring her or worse, the truth .. and then they would doubtless all hold Tirindo accountable for the loss. With luck Uruviel would distract her for a time yet.

“Ever do the young turn from what is advised, almost as though they seek to be contrary,” he sighed in agreement, with a slight shake of his head. Had his friend guessed at his cause for seeking counsel ? It would not be difficult. It was ever relations which set Tirindo into a fluster. For certainly he was happiest when left alone with his scrolls and his ‘collections’; the ‘museum’, as Celedir tended to call it. It was not that he did not care for company. But why could that company not all be as relaxing as his friend or his wife ? “I wonder did our parents ever find us so at odds with their way of thinking.”


Their own parents of course had lived in a world apart from anything like the one they now resided in. Tirindo’s parents, wakened to the world to find ways without guidance of their own, had succombed in the end to the dread crossing of the Helcaraxe. Rendered to that fate in efforts to appease their lovestruck, youngest daughter's ambitions. If it had not been for that abysmal turn of events, Tirindo might never have met his Halyanis and come to pass through that horror with a fellow heart stood at his side. But still the cost, .. he dearly hoped that he and she were not now fated to some equally fell end for the sake of an impetuous younger generation.

Of course few minds would take such a train of thought to bitter frigid nightmares, on such a balmy afternoon. The kind welcome of a friend in a land they could thus far suppose might not come unto ruin … it should comfort him. And so Tirindo strolled in an uneasy silence with his friend. Poised to drop his concerns as soon as ever he might be free of the burden, and still wary to be called out as the cause of his own misfortune.

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

Orotingion
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

As he led his guest back to the house, Orotingion remained mostly quiet, content in the companionable silence between the two. Though the comment about their parents brought a little smile. "I am sure that they had their moments of frustration, same as we all." He contemplated, recalling how his own father had tried to sway him against leaving the shores of their beloved land.

Soon enough, they had come to the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of Oro's study, and Tirindo was encouraged to take a seat in one of the comfortable chairs situated there. He had not to even ask whether Tirindo would prefer this place, or another. First of all, it was probably the most private room in his abode, and second of all, they were both lovers of books and scrolls and liked to collect old things that the younger generations may consider 'ancient museum pieces'. Which was probably why the two of them got along as well as they did. And, thirdly, Uruviel rarely cared to enter this room, and so he had no need to worry about prying ears.

Taking up a bottle, and two glasses, he filled both of the latter from the former, and offered one to his friend. After thousands of years, the vintner had no need to even take a second's pause to consider and decide what option would be best to serve in this situation. Given the information that Tirindo had come to ask advice, and what Orotingion also knew of his friend's preferences, the drink he had chosen was just perfect for the situation.

After setting the bottle down where it was comfortably in reach, and yet not in the way, Orotingion took a seat across from Tirindo and settled in. "So, what is it that troubles you, my friend?" He asked with genuine concern, even though he already had some suspicions about what the trouble might be.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, visiting with Orotingion Liriteco
at his friend’s residence, in the Valley

Coming to the comforts of his friend’s study, the familiar scent of a great many hoarded tomes and scrolls rose up to greet him, as though the room itself was an equally old acquaintance. There was no need to set the candles to flame just yet for the day streamed in with a charming natural light still from outside. The seat which easily embraced the Noldo did so that it was impossible to remain too erect. The chair was fashioned for a casual repose. Not Tirindo’s typical style. Still one he had indulged here before now, and would again if the world was kind. Still if the world were unkind he would be just as convinced to seek out this fond refuge. Accepting a glass of the proffered wine, it was time though to offer up something of his own in exchange. And he knew already that it would be no fair trade at all. For all he had to offer was his trust and faith in a good friend, that and a story which required the both.


“You will not be surprised to hear that it is down to Celedir” he commenced with the telling, as though he were about to lay down the entire blame of the thing upon his foster son. “I suspect that I have mismanaged him once again,” he rather clarified then and leaned back into the chair. The sturdy seat supported and propped him up, as their owner held his patience. “It reached the point where I wished I should be spared the dealing with him. And now it is so.”

The Noldo sighed, and found the courage to make his admission. “Be careful what you wish for, they say. So he’s gone off and of course Halyanis took up with him. But they’ve been .. off .. now, for some time. More than a week. And I never believed that ..” Tirindo paused to sip from his wine, as though he required the refreshment to coax out his conclusion.

“I am in two minds now whether I am bothered by their absence because I am housing guilt over losing my temper,” he shared, “or because it has been so long now that I should be concerned for their safety. Have you ever had a one for whom you were responsible for .. run away ?”


Grey eyes eased up slowly and sought for some reassurance in his friend’s expression. “I should be used to it by now,” the houseguest almost scoffed. There was no need to speak the names aloud … for the tales were well known in this room. First Feapoldie, eloping on the eve of the Noldorin migration to Alqualonde … and, afterwards, Nariel, fleeing the third and final kinslaying, at Sirion … Both of those he’d cared for had abandoned him after an argument. And the trying retrieval afterwards .. He shook his dark head slowly. For there had been another common denominator in those two back cases, besides his own involvement. Tirindo could (and did) blame Erfaron for leading both the Noldo’s sister and some years later still, her daughter too .. astray. But this ? This time the Mole had held nothing to do with it. That was the unlooked for edge to the familiar situation.

"I do not know what I ought do," the archer admitted. "Or even if I ought do anything at all. What .. would you ?"

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

Orotingion
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

It didn't take long for the information to come, and Orotingion was not overly surprised to learn that it was Celedir who was the root cause of his friend's trouble. It seemed always to be so, ever since Celedir had entered their lives. Oro frowned slightly as he heard his friend reveal that he had wished to be spared having to deal with his adopted son, and that now.. it was so. He thoughtfully sipped his glass, considering this as Tirindo went on to explain that not only Celedir, but Halyanis had gone off and had been gone for over a week.

A week did not seem like a great length of time to elves, in the matter of visiting distant relations, or going on a journey. But to take off to cool one's temper, or take some time to think.. over a week seemed a bit excessive. Especially, from what he knew of Halyanis.

When his friend asked whethe rhe had ever had someone run away, that he was responsible for, Orotingion could have laughed. Surely, that was a rhetorical question. Unless Tirindo did not recall the tale of how Orotingion's beloved daughter had found her husband, that is. He considered. Perhaps he did not know the full tale, after all? It had been many centuries ago, and it had occurred during a time when Oro and Tirindo were not living nearby one another. It had been before Oro came to dwell in Imladris, and indeed, back in the long-ago days when the elves and dwarves still harbored friendship. It would not overly surprise him, if Tirindo had not heard it, for Orotingion did not like to speak of it.

He shifted slightly and set his glass down, leaning forward as he looked at his friend with thoughtfulness. "When my daughter took a notion to run away from home, long ago," He sighed softly, dropping his gaze briefly to the carpet before raising his eyes again. "I waited, in the hopes that she would return after a few days to cool her temper." He explained quietly, regret still evident in his eyes. "When a week passed, I became worried. When two had gone, I decided I had better go and find her." He stood and sighed, facing the window as he clasped his hands behind his back. "By the time I located her.. she had taken up with that.. Sindar." He couldn't repress a hint of distaste as he referred to the elf his daughter had, eventually, married. "I brought her home, but.. her heart remained in the Greenwood." He continued softly, frowning out at the scene through the window. "With him. She returned home with me, but I had lost her, from that point on." He sighed.

"I should not have waited..." he murmured softly, more to himself. Though he loved his granddaughter very much, he would have much preferred that her mother had lived. And Ruivellë may not have died if she had never met him. He turned back to his friend, recalling that this was about his family, not Oro's. "If it were only Celedir, I would perhaps say, he's only off on some adventure, and will return presently." Oro frowned slightly. "But with Halyanis gone with him.." He stepped closer and reclaimed his seat. "You know her better than I, but even I don't believe she would stay gone for this long, without sending some word." He mentioned carefully.

He allowed a moment of silence to pass, so that they both might think. "Uruviel has been longing to venture off, and visit her aunt in the Greenwood," he mentioned. "But, I have been hearing of trouble lurking abroad, and I worry for her. I have been urging her to remain here... I worry for her every time she leaves the valley. But.. these days, I feel there is more cause for worry." He explained with a frown. "It troubles me to hear that they have been gone for so long, without sending word. If it were only Celedir, I might expect that he would not think to send word, nor care if he left you worrying. But Halyanis.. I do not think she would leave you wondering and worrying for so long.. do you?"

---

(Caranoril) Uruviel "Raxiel"
Orotingion's residence, in the Valley

She hadn't purposely intended to eavesdrop. Uruviel had wandered down a different row of vines and come to the house earlier than they, because she had hurried, and they had traveled at a more leisurely pace. She hastened to her room and prepared her bags as swiftly as she could. This was a perfect time to get going, while her grandfather was busy entertaining his guest. He had given all the arguments, and pleaded as much as he could, and she had told him that she was going anyway.

She had plans to go see Ennora before she left, but she figured it would be best to go ahead and grab her stuff so she could just leave straightaway, before Grandfather tried to stop her in a more dramatic way than simply begging. He might 'put his foot down', and she really didn't want to have to be treated like a naughty child trying to sneak off to do mischief. She understood that he worried about her, but he worried far too much, she thought with an eyeroll. Well, he might complain about her taking off without telling him, but she would argue that she'd already told him over and over and over, and that it wasn't her fault that he didn't want to accept it.

Carrying her saddlebags in one hand, her bow in the other, Uruviel was tiptoeing past the door to Orotingion's study, on her way to the front room to retrieve her sword, when something.. alarming.. caught her ears.

"It troubles me to hear that they have been gone for so long, without sending word. If it were only Celedir, I might expect that he would not think to send word, nor care if he left you worrying. But Halyanis.. I do not think she would leave you wondering and worrying for so long.. do you?"

She paused, turning to stare at the closed door in surprise. Wait.. Celedir might be in danger!? And his mother? She frowned, lingering to listen for whatever Tirindo might reply, while her mind raced with thoughts about what to do with this information.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

Tirindo Aiwenarion, visiting with Orotingion Liriteco
at his friend’s residence, in the Valley

The release of all that had been pent up within, left the Elf no lighter of heart but rather more unnervingly just .. empty. As though somehow by even admitting what had happened, telling another living soul, that it had all become inescapably something that he would have to act upon now. He was out of excuses. Out of options. He could no longer claim ignorance for an alibi.

On the one hand this was at least a productive move. For evidently waiting on the situation to resolve itself, all of its own accord, had not proven any sort of effective answer. Tirindo was not a fan of admitting when he had erred, mostly because he rarely believed that he had. It just took a while of time for others to come around to his way of thinking, that was all. And always he had assumed that was a defect of those other people, rather than his own obstinacy, forcing them to give in before time, simply for the sake of ending the argument. More than that though, this whole affair was an issue of things beyond his control, and he despised such a state of being. He was all about the control. Craving it, keeping it. Which was how he lost his temper .. when he lost control .. Halyanis was ever the peace that calmed him. She controlled .. him .. and he loved her for it.


He did not press for his friend to arrive at an opinion with too great a haste, for he knew that Orotingion was a sage thinker. It was one of the things he respected of his peer. The peace which descended in moments after the guest’s outpouring then .. afforded the brusque immortal a chance to reflect on how he might find the matter if it was his own initial learning of it. To be entirely fair, he was not sure he was starting to feel any better about any of it. Nor that he ought to. Silently he sipped from the generous refreshment, as though the taste might fill him. But fine as the elixir was, the Noldo knew he could not enjoy it this day. And certainly now ..

His friend’s recollection of Ruivelle running away … it certainly caught at Tirindo’s conscience. Not the least because his friend had described his daughter as having left in order to cool her temper. Meanwhile, it was neither Celedir nor Halyanis who had felt a need to calm themselves. The one of them had clearly felt hurt, the other one disappointed, and maybe both had been a little of both in fact. But they had gone .. in order to give him time to cool his anger. And if they had chosen not to return yet, that did not speak well about their impression of his anger ! Or of him ?


“I am a thoughtless friend,” he confessed, both honest and abashed at having to be so. Orotingion’s daughter had been married in Mirkwood of course before Tirindo ever learnt that she existed. He began to see now though that his friend had spoke not of his own private sorrow, rather than just avoided raising a delicate subject to the other. Or maybe his friend was as unwilling to admit being run out on, as he had been as well. The archer could well understand that. Quietly now he acknowledged the revelation, the acceptance that yes, here was one who truly would understand. Who knew. “I am honoured that you feel faith enough to speak of this with me,” he realised aloud, and leaned in warmly toward that friend, once Orotingion returned to his seat. “For I was under the impression that your daughter had gone exploring, yet with your disapproval .. ” he confessed and then broke off, shaking away the need to tear further at the other’s reopened wound.

He was assured now of course that his wise acquaintance was even more qualified than he had realised to offer some insight into the current circumstances. The mutual understanding though was not the sort of blessing that a person ought to celebrate. “So. You know.” He concluded. There would, however, be no judgement between them. Wilful youth they had been in their day, wilful youth they had been cursed with in their turn. “Celedir would not have paused with thought to send back word,” he glowered in agreement with his fellow about impetuous Sindar. After all, the hapless youth was like to follow a bird just to see how far it would take him .. Halyanis though .. no. She was a sensible soul.


“I ought already to have set out after them,” the Noldo decided to take that much from his friend’s account. “If perilous things you say you have heard of late.” he considered the warning “They took to horse, one apiece, although I recall no great stock of supplies.” he realised belatedly. That even further fed his disquiet. For though he had faith in his wife's capacity to find what she needed from the earth, he knew only one direction that they would have set out to see with no plan to require many tools. It would be the same direction that the young Sinda ever felt compelled to return to. Like all their folk, that pull of home .. Though there was no home there now. “Have you heard any rumour of ill things upon the paths to Ost-en-Edhil ?” he sat up, stiff but more comfortable in doing so. For purpose, focus, determination … he would have a plan now that he trusted his concerns were more than simply feeling.

He did not even think until after he’d spoken, that to remind his friend of that same ruined home .. might be a second hurt to drive into the other Noldo’s heart. For Tirindo had only ventured to Eregion the once, following a rumour that his niece had settled there. He had found it already under attack by the Abhorred. But Orotingion had lived there, raised his child there, it had been his home, same as it had been Celedir’s ..

“He speaks oft of going back there,” the Noldo made his thinking clear. “If she were seeking to console him .. then perhaps … ” Grey eyes clouded as Tirindo raised his glass in one hand, and swirled the perfumed contents in deep contemplation. “May I beg of you any maps that you might have still of the region ?” he suggested grimly