Nin

An Accounting

Herb Garden
This garden is enclosed by high bushes where many a valley bird builds nests, their songs rising high every morNing and night. The garden sprawls about the side of the house, and its colors bleed into the halls of healing through their large windows; geometric patterns of granite are inlaid in the walkaways. A variety of rare and not so rare herbs and flowers are tended carefully by the healers and gardeners. A small stream bathes the far corner of the garden, submerging itself after the bushes until joiNing the Bruinen--its margins are laden with flat rocks carefully arranged to permit moss to grow, until the stream reaches a pool shortly before disappearing beyond the garden walls.

A symphony slowly awakens, coaxed from slumber by Anar's pale fingers drawn across the graying night sky: pattering water that drips from roof-bound iclicles, the trill of morNing birds, soft plop of snow sliding from the brances of tress and landing upon the ground. Stars still shine in the western horizon, reluctant to attend to their own sleep, and Isil himself delays slumber to gaze upon the rising of the sun.

Three there are that attend to this music, this play of dawn from the quiet seclusion of the Herb Garden, one stretched out upon a divan and covered in blankets, a sketch book and pen in his long slim hand. Two others, nethordyr, seated upon chairs by the door to the Halls of Healing. Gondramind blinks at the new day, grey gaze distant and thoughtful, then opens his sketch book and takes up his pen once more

As long as winter has lain upon the lands of Elrond's vale, even the faintest stirring of new life - a faraway foretelling of the spring to come - is remarkable. And it is into these stirring gardens that another steps from behind the silvered door to the Last Homely House. So do the pinks and purples of the dawn lend further warmth to pale features, playing in jeweled tones within the argent eyes of the Lady of Imladris.

Yet by their drift over the bushes and herb beds, Arwen's arrival is not without a purpose; and as her gaze finds Gondramind, one might guess it to be him she sought, for indeed a thoughtful furrow comes to prominence upon her fair brow before her steps even continue towards him. Her first words are for those who watch over his rest, and they are words steeped in a quiet solemnity. "Does the Hirdan improve?" This she asks plainly, her words sparing naught in the way of subtly, as uncharacteristic as this may seem for the Heryn.

The two nethordyr part rise from their chairs and incline their heads in respectful greeting of Undomiel. The taller of the two, a chestnut haired ellon by the name of Baran, nods and slips his emerald gaze toward the quietly sketching Hirdan. "His hroa improves, aye Heryn," he replies, voice low so Gondramind would not hear him. "But the Arnethril, and Glasiel in particular, would have him tarry yet awhile."

Arwen offers a mere nod for the two Nethordyr at first, and a pause for thoughtful silence. But when her voice lifts anew, it is with a quiet conviction that leaves little to be argued with. "This, at least, has waited long enough”

The Lady waits for nothing more in return before descending the modest steps to the garden paths. Her greeting for the Hirdan is softer, but with no lesser resolve. "Gondramind," she echoes, neither statement nor question, but gently imploring.

His name called, and by such a singular voice, a voice that could only belong to one person, Gondramind turns toward the Evenstar. "My Lady," he says as he bows his head. The pen is placed within the sketchbook, the book is closed. "A fair morNing to you." And the Herald gazes upon her with deeply questioNing eyes, but says little more.

Thus flickers the faintest whisper of a smile yet to cross Arwen's features this morn - and it is more fleeting than most. "I should hope the same for you. Does it indeed find you stronger than in morNings not long past?" Sincerity colors her smooth mid-soprano, and yet the formality to be hint upon the subtle curve of her smile is thinly veiled.

"Aye, Heryn, it does." Gondramind cannot hold her gaze, and his colorless eyes slide to the book within his hands. "I very much long to return to work," he says, voice low and resonant, edged with a contained feeling, a well hid passion and something else, something older.... "We are, now, so near completion. And... T'would be good to end this. Give Fithurin its home. Roof and all."

At last does the Lady round the Hirdan's makeshift bed with slow, metered steps, their cadence silent over the soft ground in the midst of its thawing. "The time will come for you to take up your tools again, Mason and Herald. And yet..." she begins, her eyes ever following his more elusive focus.

"...And yet, I wonder if it would bring the security - the sanctuary - that you seek." As the weight of her words falls heavier in time, so does the timbre of her voice lighten to a gentler, kinder melody in effortless contrast. "Gondramind, how strongly does your homecoming linger with you? Do you remember what I said to you as you were borne by your kinsmen, broken and bruised?"

She circles round into better view and for some moments all Gondramind looks upon is that flowing line where the stiff hem of her winter dress whispers above the ground at her feet. A muscle at his jaw clenches softly, barely discernable, and his mien falls into that long practiced expression of firm and unreadable courtesy. He looks up finally and into the eyes of Undomiel. "Work has ever been my haven, my sanctuary. I cannot imagine that it would be less so now... when it is so needed" the barest quirk of smile upon his lips.

The sky brightens as Anar dispels the lingering shreds of night and Gondramind watches for a moment as the Heryn is illumined in the soft golds of day. "My lady," he continues, the soft basso of his voice slipping into the morNing air "I remember everything about that morNing. A morNing like this one. You spoke of an accounting. I shall make one if that is what you now seek."

"I do not deny the need for such an exchange, or my own troubled curiosity for what has come to pass. It has been many long days, and still there are those unsure of the account only you and your companions may offer. Of why many who knew the same have not returned." This Arwen speaks plainly and openly, but with a gentle urgency that begs that candor be returned. Her features now are framed in vibrant gold, but her even grey regard is kindled with a deeper fire, so like her father's eyes as wisdom and foresight pass as shadows over her youth.

The Evenstar's voice is burdened by the same reasoNing, and the weight begotten of ill tidings not yet spoken between Gondramind and the Lady. "But are you ready to offer me the truths and memories that you yourself so try to extinguish?" Her words - and eyes - seek to reach beyond what voices and appearances may foretell, and her focus is unwavering upon the Hirdan's face.

"My lady," Gondramind holds her gaze, or tries. His mist colored eyes do not waver, but the internal eye of him, seeks to look away. A pause for breath, the collection of thought, a gathering of words and memories and events to hand... "My lady," he replies yet again looking evenly upon her "I seek to extinguish nothing. Nothing of these past months," he hastens to add, almost in spite of himself. "Truth, as is know to me, I shall offer you, and memory too as it serves me." He sits up straight, sets his sketch book aside. "I know not where to begin, as the trip was long. Perhaps where Ramafaroth left off? What words did he deliver to you?"

Squinting his eyes against the bright glare of the morNing sun against the wet slickness of the melting snow impairs Duinlas' vision more than he is used to, and after one misstep which lands him with a muddy boot he tries shielding his eyes and looking downward. Despite the less-than-wonderful ground outside, the poet walks there for the simple freedom of walking. Spotting a small gathering in the herb garden, he makes his way (more carefully) toward them. A bright smile is on his face and he greets his friends softly, "My Lady, My Arphedor. I am glad to see you both. I hope I am not interrupting anything important?" his question is directed to Undomiel...

Undomiel looks upon Gondramind with eyes unconvinced, though gentleness still reigns over her tone. "I would hear what you would offer, Gondramind, for the wind herald's account was only that you journeyed still, and that those to leave the Golden Wood had joined your party. Much has happened since..."

If there is aught to follow her last spoken sentiment, it fades into unknown upon the Glirion's approach. What Arwen answers is spoken through a smile that, while sincere, spares little for levity. "You interrupt nothing in which there is no place for your thoughts, and so are welcome, should you wish to tarry." Arwen allows her gaze to leave Gondramind only for this moment.

What feelings stir within the Arphedor few could read, few could tell. But to the eyes of the Evenstar.... Gondramind looks away now, unwilling to be so read, even by her. "Mae govannen, Duinlas," he mutters, a sidelong cant to his head. "You are welcome to stay, go.... as you will," but his voice has a distant, noncommital and very polite air. "We discuss our journey to Erebor. You were a part of this, and can perhaps aid my memory and accounting."

It is to that accounting now he turns his thoughts and words, gazing again toward the Heryn, but looking at a fixed point above her shoulder. "We departed Erebor as winter descended. A brief stop was made in Thranduil's kingdom, before we hazarded the Old Forest Road through Mirkwood. We were so laden with stone that would could not try the safer, more hidden back trails through the darkwood. By the time we reached Beor... the High Pass was utterly closed by blizzard, and then avalanche... So we had to make a choice. Stay the winter, or hazard the Gladden Pass." He speaks with a growing discomfort that is difficult even for him to conceal. A shift of his shoulders, an adjustment of his hands in his lap, an absent minded twitching of his foot. He shifts his eyes subtly, and looks now full into the eyes of the Evenstar. "We chose the latter." Then he looks away, a furrow to his brow. "We united our groups because we felt it would be safer for all... I should have sent them all home, well before we left Beor on the inward journey..."

Silent is Idhrendae's approach through the golden lit garden, the newly risen beams lighting his path, as soft and quiet footfalls lead him to the gathering of elves within it. His approach is leisurely, unlabored, and the cook takes great pains to disturb not the precious plants, whether through his steps or the flowing white robes that dance with his every motion. His paces suddenly gain quickness, however, when the matter of Gondramind's speech becomes apparent, they leading the Herunnur with speed to the Hirdan's side. His gaze, as is strays upon those gathered, is calm, though perhaps there is a slight hint of anger as well, and he finally speaks. "Mae govannen. I see that we tread again upon familiar ground, though perhaps not to all present."

Duinlas nods at Gondramind's recounting of the return journey, "More stress should be placed that the Hirdan took council with more than just himself for our path. All were eager to be home. The BeorNings are good hosts, but to a point. And our Naugrim companions also wished to make the journey as quickly as possible." He falls silent for a while, "More haste could not have been made without risk. Both risk to our safety, or risk to the relations of us with the BeorNings." His gaze goes between the Lady of the valley and Gondramind, thoughts unspoken clear in his gaze. "Is this the first retelling of our journey?" His gaze looks up and acknowledges Idhrendae with a nod, agree with his sentiment."

The mention of their route freezes Arwen's eyes into a chill study of the Hirdan's face; but by the way they then fall with a markedly slow effort to Gondramind's injuries, one might wonder if their focus was upon a hidden thought all along. She remains thus veiled in her silence until the others speak. Her voice holds a certain resolve, unchallenged but by the a strain upon its melody. "It is the first I have heard," the Heryn begins, argent eyes noting both the Bathron's veiled anger and Duinlas' calm support. "I do not doubt the hardships you have seen, nor have I yet challenge that they were undertaken without reason." This she leaves with an appropriate silence before turNing again to the Hirdan's account, now supported by many. "It is past, Gondramind. Those to go before you may have walked unchallenged paths, but what would you have done, had you met the same challenges alone?"

Strolling a bit in a distance, a lonely elleth. In her arms lay folded blankets. As she gets closer, she can be identify...first by the reflect the newly rise sun made on her copper braid, then by the face. Olathlinn walks, pass the corner of the House, then, since she catches something, she moves back some pace and come in the way of the herb garden. "Still stranded?" she gives to Gondramind. "I thought, having see Braldor in the hall of fire that you were free as well..." she seems sincerly surprise, but more when she see Arwen, to who she bows of the head, gasping."Do I disturbe something?"

So intent is Gondramind upon the account he offers to the Heryn that Idhrendae's soft footfalls are not heard, and he is not aware of the bathron's presence until he speak beside him. The Hirdan nods greeting, and then furrows his brow and subtly shakes his head in disapproval of Idhrendae's veiled anger, before turNing to Duinlas. He says nothing as the Glirion speaks, but gazes downward at his own hands, thoughts traveling again - as they have again and yet again - the many paths taken, and those not taken, the many choices made, the alternatives discarded.

The Evenstar speaks and even as her dulcet voice weaves about him Gondramind still churns over, again and again the decisions made on this trip. And it is the Heryn's final question which pulls his gaze back toward hers. "What would I have done alone?" A soft note of regret, like the sound of blunt metal on stone, rings dully in his voice. "I would have hired dwarven haulers. We would have had the protection of the naugrim guard, and I would have met those same challenges.... alone."

A pause for breath, eyes that do not leave the Heryn's and Gondramind speaks again. "Mae govannen, Olathlinn. I have not been released from the healer's care.”

Duinlas folds his arms and gazes down to the Hirdan, still in a bed though Duinlas now walks free, "Forgive me for my petulance, Heryn, but I would not see my nos-brother, my closest teacher, and my friend go alone on such a journey. Though it may not be my place, I go for both my love of the world which will not be shackled by fear, and my love of Gondramind, who I would not see wander long alone again. Not less he develop a better singing voice than I." He adds the last in jest, but the humor does not raise the tone of his voice above the seriousness and devotion with which he spoke.

Idhrendae nods, slowly, though his argent eyes look to the Hirdan rather than the Heryn. "We would not have let you leave alone, Gondramind. Duinlas's words hold truth, in the feeling that they convey. It is one that I know many of the journey feel, though you may not think it so." A small frown masks his features for a moment, and at last his gaze falls upon Arwen, a respectful nod accompanying their motion. "Forgive me, m'Lady. The journey is, as you say, in the past. And rightfully so."

"You happen upon nothing any here would close to you, Glirieth. But that is not to say anything about the joy of the subject matter." This the Evenstar offers in a moment's stir from her solemnity, though its haze be shaken fleetingly. Even now, she takes a step back from Gondramind, wideNing the growing circle to include so many more, but at the same time, drawing further and further from the closeness of shared words and thoughts with the Hirdan. She speaks to him and others still, but with a hollow formality to color what wisdom she might offer.

"Do you think that they doubted you, Hirdan? That they might not have tarried, had you not asked? By Duinlas' words, I would not think it so." When she continues, it is in quiet reassurance to Duinlas and Idhrendae. "And I would not doubt your bond in the face of such decisions. I have neither suggested nor endorsed leaving the Hirdan as that which should have been. Already it is clear that there would have been loss either way." As plain and objective as this thought may be, her eyes offer a more present concern for the faces of the Imladhrim recently returned.

"I can see why." said Olathlinn at what Gondramind replies. She moves near Duinlas, touching his arm a brief moment then nodding to the Lady,nervous glance toward the daugther of Elrond. She sits on the blankets she puts on the ground first and look upward to him. She blushes. "May I admits something? Right here, right now that may ease you, hirdan?"

What words are spoken by Duinlas and Idhrendae seem to little affect Gondramind, though he listens to them intently, though some, perhaps, could well see the subtle shift of light and shadow within his eyes. "Heryn..." he mutters, as she takes a step back. And he would hold her with his voice, though he knows she does not leave. Perhaps it is a holding of her regard that he seeks, an unuttered need to tell her things he would not speak of before others...

He looks away from her. "I do not think they doubted me, Heryn. Aye. And therein is.... /comfort/ of a sort. Aye" and the Arphedor strikes that word with an emphasis that implies, perhaps both more and less than the meaNing of the word itself.

Gondramind adjusts his shoulders and an official and politic note returns to his voice and his manner "Loss there was, and it is deeply regretted. Among the naugrim too. Thane Braldor and his people sacrificed much for us. And for friendship alone. This I believe. He is, to my mind Heryn, a true elf friend." A sigh of breath. A look to the others present.

"Think you not so friends? And Olathlinn.... Your care is appreciated, but I need no comforts. Truly."

Olathlinn hrms. "Need it or not, I have to say it once and for all...like I like seeing you adrift with a house unfinished.." she says softly, adding a winks. "In a team, each has their task, each has their place. It is only if the team fails that the members of that team has to be regards, not just one. You made me see I was as important caring for the pony than Idhrendae with cooking and Duinlas with his numerous questions and skilled move. That is more than your jobs was! You char for the ensemble as well as the individue in it...none leader that I knew so far was doing it so well" she takes her breath. "...think that most of us would have follow you, even if we have known it would have cost our life. And that was our choice." the glirieth insiste on the word choice."You made of each of us a team...we did suffer lost that was unexpected, but we also gain a lot more because of you...in such circumstance, no one would have done a better jobs." Then she raises with a blushing and bows. "Sorry for the interuption Madam!" She disappears swiftly into the house, leaving the blankets.

Duinlas reachs to touch Olathlinn's hand as she approaches and smiles. But he listens intently to Undomiel's words and sighs, then gazes at his friend again, "If you claimed to control our wills completely, you might have a claim to guilt that you seem to cling to, Hirdan. But even the Silmaethor of the Tirith willfully pledge their service. Mason though you may be, No Feanor are you, your quests are neither in vain nor in folly." Typical of the poet, he speaks of ancient history in modern times... then he laughs, "Oh! I am the incessant questioner!" he laughs again at the title, and smiles to Olathlinn

The barrage of words and attention fair make the Hirdan squirm in his captive bed and for a moment, just a moment, he offers a swift and silent plea to the Heryn before himself addressing the gathered company. A tight smile sharply quirks the corner of his mouth at Olathlinn's words. "Thank you, Olahtlinn, and a fine member of the team you were mellon. Namarie..... And... Duinlas," he sighs and draws his hand across his forehead. "I think comparing me to Feanor is... interesting. Thank you. Now if you would all mind... I... appreciate your care. Deeply. But..." He lifts his sketchbook by way of explanation. "I hope to finish the design for the roof, aye, sometime today." He looks again toward the Heryn and hopes to speak volumes with what he cannot say aloud.

Galaden, walks out from the Halls of Healing, on his way out into the wilds. His long, flowing elven cloak unfurled behind him, and a small letter, in a white envelope, with a red wax seal, clasped in his hand. The forester is suddenly curious at the little crowd and he hears the title of Heryn spoken. He never passes up a chance to gaze upon the lady of Imladris and he stops nearby to look at the company, his errand duty forgotten.

Arwen offers a smile at Olathlinn's departure, one that lingers To the Hirdan, it now speaks of a deeper reassurance even without words. "Then perhaps there is aught more to say of Braldor and his company later. For now, I must consider only what you have shared thus far, bid you all a farewell... until other words might be shared. But there is time." These last words fall past her lips in quiet aside, perhaps meant more for Gondramind than the others, but there are few who could attest to her distraction. Her smile for all settles last upon Galaden, both a silent greeting and farewell as she slips past the edhel and into the house.

Duinlas glances to Lady Arwen then back to Gondramind, clearly thinking it is not his place to dismiss what the Lady might think are good influences on him. He glances down and then leans closer to Gondramind, a loud whisper coming out from his lips, "I may be excused for petulance, mellon, but you take the lembas! I would be most disappointed if you were the only edhel not attending my and Dairwenraiel's wedding!"

Gondramind blinks slowly at the Heryn's words, and nods to her.... "Until other words are spoken... at another time." His grey gaze lingers upon her as she departs and then he smiles absently at his nos-brother's merry-noted whisper. "I shall not disappoint you, my friend. But /you/ must put in a good word with Glasiel." He chuckles softly, eyes traveling from one edhel to another, lingering a moment upon the newly arrived Galaden. "Mellyn..." he sighs. "I am weary. Pardon me but..." He closes his eyes, feels the sun warm him. "I think I shall rest... a deep rest, aye..."

As Arwen departs Galdaden realizes that his message is actually for her, and he runs off after her, so struck by her beauty he had totally forgotten.