©
2003 I. Chishti
A Grand Spring Feast
Garden
You stand in the wonderous gardens of Imladris. The whole area is beautifully terraced, and it seems to spread on forever. Though you cannot make out all the colours present in these magnificent gardens, the scents of thousands of flowers fill the air around you, and you can see the rows of flowers and clusters of bushes all around. Overhead, the clear, nighttime sky bathes all in pale starlight. A path leads away West toward the House of Elrond, a dim yet luminous white, while another leads away South to a more secluded area of the gardens.
A few open spaces of lawn are to one side of the pathway, flanked by bushes exuding the sweet scent of lilac. Past some slender, leafy trees, reaching up into the sky, clusters of many rosebushes offer their perfumed blooms. The soft chirps of crickets can be heard, and here and there among the flowers can be seen the glowing flashes of fireflies.
IC time is: Midnight < About 12:19 AM >
IC day is: Orgilion
IC date is: 28 Ethuil
Moon phase: WaNing Crescent
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 6 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor
RL time: Fri Oct 03 14:06:32 2003
[Imladris Garden ZMO(#2619)->Idhrendae] The starry late night sky above the cliffs is clear except for a few thin wisps of high clouds. The Misty Mountains loom against the clear sky in the east, shadows against the stars.
Darkness reigns about Valley, but for the gentle brushing of argent starlight upon its grounds. The sky is clear, and air newly warmed by the coming of spring graces those that would come to the gardens. And it seems that many would come, for tables and chairs are arranged about the flowers, and slender trees that would bear witness to the night's occurances.
To one side is a clearing, suitable for dancing, the melody provided by the group of musicians that are readied aside it. And there is food as well, a grand feast displayed extravigantly upon the largest of the tables, meats, fruits, and else resting upon it's surface. It is Idhrendae who works behind this table, preparing it for those to come. His murmurs mix with the first notes of music, as he fusses upon the few remaiNing imperfections in the food.
Linnet approaches through the darkness side-by-side with her friend Istawen, arms linked, their low conversation punctuated by slightly higher pitched giggles. They pause now and then to admire the stars, or the soft darkness, or their own attire; smiling and laughing at nothing but the excitement of the eveNing and the pleasure of being alive. Linnet can barely contain her glee at the thought of the eveNing ahead... her mouth waters at the thought and sight of all that food. She catches her breath at the sight of it... "Istawen! Just look at that!" She waves an arm towards the massive table, the figure behind it included in the gesture.
An elleth approaches the garden, hunting bow strung over her shoulder, though she knows there is a feast in progress. Ilfwen arrives just behind Istawen and Linnet, and calls a cheerful, "Mae govannen!" to all as she admires the display of food.
Standing under one of the blossom laden trees, Cuwen's hair is dappled with starlight. Her dark eyes shine as they takes in the wonderful feast that is set out. A small spring flower petal drifts down from the branches. Laughing, Cuwen blows it away with a light puff of breath. Patting the lute case at her side, she walks forward to join those who have already arived.
Another steps out from the shadows wrought by the eaves of the Last Homely House, the starlight then crowNing her raven locks in subtly silvered shine in these nighttime hours. But pale features bear the gentle highlight of a smile, as the moonlight permits to be known in its wash over the Lady's face. Her garment is soft and airy, and her mood would seem to match by the ease of her smile to those around.
But her steps fall still near accross the banquet table from Idhrendae. "A fair eve, Bathron. The Herunnur Neltilwen had said you were busy with the preparations, but I would not have believed it if she had described this much." The arrival of several ellith keeps the Heryn's eyes from resting anywhere for long - a smile for each and all.
And yet another to join the feast. An edhel in pale-blue robes clasped about his waist with silver. Duinlas moves with intentional grace, and makes not a sound as he approaches both the Heryn and the Bathron. "Mae Govennen, Herryn. And Mellon-Bathron." Then, with a sweep of his hand he bows low and as he rises he gestures toward his robes, You shall warn me, Idhrendae, of any food which may spill or stain these. For I have stolen from the alterations table the very beginNings of robes for my wedding. And Dairwenraiel's mother has lectured me that this shade of cloth was unique to the entire valley. So I shall not risk her wrath."
"The food looks wonderful, mellon," ILfwen says to Idhrendae, "THough I fear I cannot stay..." After a long day of hunting, Ilfwen appears weary and her blue-green eyes drift toward the garden porch. "Namarie, mellyn, and enjoy this wonderful feast!" she says, starting toward the house.
An ebon brow lifts with Arwen's brief assessment of Duinlas' so-acclaimed garment. "Indeed you are bold to take the risk of even wearing them at all, I should think. Is Dairwenraiel herself to know about it, or are you so confident that she will not be joiNing in tonight's festivities?" As plain as is her jest, it is spoken with a carefully tempered grace that does not change in her farewell to Ilfwen. No sooner than a pale hand falls from her wave does it move to hover indecisivesly over a tray of fruit.
Approaching from another side, a second group of conversing edhil enter the garden. The tannur Gailluin is among them, her golden hair in intricate arrangement at the back of her head and glinting silver as the starlight finds a companion in the milky-hued pearls adorNing her gilded locks. Her azure eyes move from face to face, a smile of greeting on her lips, though there is a distracted air about her. Upon seeing Istawen and Linnet, Gailluin smiles, beginNing to make her way towards them, but does not stop her searching. "Mae govannen, mellyn," the glindis greets as she approaches the knot of edhil near Idhrendae. Her cobalt gaze travels over food and drink, an approving smile upon her lips. "A worthy feast indeed, Bathron," she says brightly.
Istawen's eyes grow larger as they approach, "Food and dancing, what could be better to herald the beginNing of spring?" The elleth waves to the Herunnur, a soft smile of greeting to him, before turNing to wave to the Heryn. "Namarie, Ilfwen," she calls, before her gaze lands upon Cuwen's lute, "You are ready to play for us, I hope, mellon." Istawen calls, smiling also to Gailluin. "Come, Linnet, let us go to the food. And the others."
Laughing lightly as she overhears Duinlas, a strand of Cuwen's odd copper hair falls in front of her eyes. "You are sure you wish to temp the fresh Spring mud?" Cuwen teases as she approches. "Mae Govannen Duinlas, Heryn," She says with a nod. Duinlas looks at Arwen with a careful eye, both his eyebrows going up, "I would expect that she may... but she has not seen these robes yet. And if she sees me in these, I have no fear the tailors will remake this garment into something completely unfamiliar!" He nods emphatically, as if he has figured out the perfect solution, "As to why I wear them, it is all I have that is clean."
A smile marks Idhrendae's features as the first pair arrive, and a wave of his hand serves to invite all the table, assuredly prepared when given a final glance. A small bow is won, upon the Heryn's approach, and a twinkling of the cook's eyes at interplay she shares with the courier. "I should have you diverge from this pie, Duinlas," he says, motioNing to a creating of the brightest red berries. "For though it's flavor would be great, I would not risk the displeasure of either your betrothed, nor that of her mother." Still more join the gathering, and each recieve a smile in turn, though words are given to but a few. "I thank you Gailluin, and all others who have come. Please, each at your pleasure. I daresay there is enough for to last this gathering the night, and into the morn." A light glance goes again to the feast, ere the elleth Istawen draws his attention, and a hand is raised to her welcome.
The Lady picks up on Istawen's comment to Cuwen, and offers a nod as her silent assent. "It seems there are many here of musical inclination," Arwen muses, with a fleeting glance aside to Cuwen, Duinlas, Gailluin, and Istawen. "Pray, are we to hear more song before the morNing awakens?"
Aelin walks lightly down the steps of the garden porch and approaches the feast.
Stepping out from behind a corner shrub, Faerandis at a glance takes in the food, the company, the music, and the night. But mostly the food ... soft is her step as she approaches a table.
With a glance back over her shoulder, Cuwen laughs lightly. "You will all have music soon enough, mellyn. Just as soon as I sample some of Idhrendae's wonderful foods."
Nodding a thanks to Idhrendae, Gailluin moves to stand near Istawen, smiling brightly at the other elleth. "Istawen, I envy you," she says, eyes twinkling playfully though her distracted air remains. "To have a betrothed with such skill is certainly desirous, and in such a specialty as food...well that is a true blessing." The tannur smiles teasingly, her blue gaze flicking briefly across the faces of those gathered once more. "Don't you agree, Linnet?" She sighs, jokingly "We should all be so lucky."
At Arwen's query, however, she smiles. "I should certainly hope so, Heryn, though I doubt it will be from me."
"Mae govannen, elves." Aelin says as she takes a seat at the table and stares delightedly at the food and drink around her.
Glancing at the wonderful variety of feast items, Faerandis surmises that Rend has provided them, since he stands at a table making minute adjustments to the offerings. She approaches him and whispers, "A grand feast, mellon. Do you need any help?"
Linnet approaches the table, disentangling herself from Istawen for a moment, eyes huge at the sight of the food. Catching the end of Duinlas' remark, she edges away from him, knowing her capacity for over-excitement and therefore the likelihood of a spillage. She hovers around the table, unsure of how much she can decently take. A deep breath, she steadies herself, and turns to Gailluin, smiling. "Yes, I agree; although I should count myself lucky with someone blessed with lesser skills than Idhrendae."
"I am well, though I thank you for your offerance, Faerandis. Please, enjoy the meal." Idhrendae steps sideways, giving a critical glance to the gathered dishes, and a response is at last given to Cuwen, as if the cook had been long in thought. "Pheasant pie is a favorite of mine, though the recipe is of more general creation of myself." Yet another dish captures his sight, and he glances subtly to Duinlas. "Or this milky ichor, of the BeorNings. 'Tis an interesting recipe, though I would not go without sampling it."
"Ah Taladauren, but I fear there is always the risk of forgetting your purpose after one delicious mouthful. Are not the cooks of Imladris so reknowned?" This Arwen says through a quiet breath of laughter, akin to birdsong as it floats into the trees - but it does not fade without a passing smile for Idhrendae, in silent thanks for such a spread. At last the Lady chooses a plump pear, faintly blushed in its ripeness.
Elrohir has arrived.
Aelin looks up in wonder at the clear, dark sky before turNing to Idhrendae,"What of your wonderous cooking would you recommend, mellon?"
Smiling at Idhrendae's response, Faerandis turns to the table and looks carefully. Ah, here's one she can't identify. A pastry base of some kind, with some sort of whipped creation spread over it, pinkish in color. Centered in the cream is a small morsel of some kind that looks like meat. Delicately picking one up, she takes a bit. Her eyes widen as she realizes she still can't identify it, but it's wonderful! After a moment, she takes a larger bite.
Istawen looks up, smiling wideNing as Gailluin approaches, until laughter slips out unbidden at her words, "Not so loud, mellon, or he shall hear you. And you are right, a blessing indeed. I hope to have him teach me a few things, as my talents certainly do not lie within the kitchen." A teasing glance is sent to the ellon in question and she says in a stage whisper: "But I would not like him to hear me admit it," Her attention is distracted by the Heryn's question and she smiles, "Music, indeed. Perhaps later we could persuade some to sing, if so, I shall be more than happy to accompany them. But this buffet is more pressing, at present" She says, with a teasing smile.
Cuwen chuckles as she helps herself to a plate of pheasant pie. "I will be sure to try more later, mellon, but," at this point she grins raising her voice so Arwen would be able to overhear, "I must be certain not to forget the performance I promised!" She smiles, turNing away to find a seat.
Faerandis' eyes narrow as she finishes the last morsel. Not a cook of Rend's caliber, nonetheless, she fancies herself a fair connosoir of cooking lore, and she turns back to Rend. "Mellon, what is IN this concoction?" she asks, pointing to the pastries. "I can't identify it. Will you share the secret?"
The shadows give way again before the passage of an ivory-clad elleth, markedly absent in manner and mien. And though she stands poised a moment, ethereal as a column of moonlight, Ailiell is yet herself. The sleeves of her gown are rolled up to the elbow a smudge of pale lavender gracing one temple, quite removed from her knowledge. "Idhrendae!" She laughs, distance fading away as rapidly as the smile which blooms in its place. "You have outdone yourself. But, where is Master Baggins? Tied up in the cellar, I suspect, as your table is yet full..."
"I hear much about your pheasant pie, Idhrendae, perhaps I shall sample it," Aelin says, standing up and surveying the table.
Aelin laughs freely for Ailiell. "Mae govannen, mellon." She says smiling widely at Ailiell.
Firithael comes up the bank from the southern part of the garden.
Firithael has arrived.
Silent for a while, Duinlas gathers the dry and spill-safe foods onto a plate, glancing around as even more fill the garden. He smiles to Idhrendae, "Splendid Ichor, mellon..." though he does not take any onto his plate.
Only the twinkling of his eyes shows that Idhrendae has heard and understood the words of Istawen, and though he does not speak now, the Herunnur will sure remark upon them in the future. Indeed, another has a request, and after giving nod to Aelin, he responds, with some amount of humor in his fluid voice. "I cannot in sound mind give lease to the recipe, while so many remain near. Perhaps, if you would come visit me in the kitchens... It's an old family secret, you see." He winks, lightheartedly, though Ailiell's words forstall further speech upon this. "I think it is perhaps too late for Master Baggins, or else my cooking is too failed. Would you not share in it, and inform me of my reasoNing?" A grin accompanies these words, and he waves to the newcome elleth.
Arwen's smile is one of contentment, Cuwen's remark renewing the Lady's smile, it would seem. Before seeking her own seat in the gardens, she takes a crystal platter, fork, and knife from serving table, taking care to brush a smattering of pale pink petals from atop the plate.
A brief aside to Aelin follows upon the elleth's approach. "I doubt you shall find anything on this table unworthy of the same praise."
Her glance growing more hurried in its traverse of the feast's attendees, Gailluin smiles, somewhat distractedly. "Aye, 'twould be a disaster indeed should Idhr-the bathron in question-" the tannur winks knowingly "-hear us speak of him so. But on the subject of skill, the buffet does call to be tried..." The elleth moves towards the table, taking a plate as she laughs brightly, the plethora of foods to be tried delighting the glindis no end. The approach of Ailiell calls her attention, impossible though that may seem, and she smiles brightly. "Mae govannen, Ailiell!" she calls, hurriedly turNing to the difficult choice before her once more.
"So it seems, my lady, though I hate to admit I have not often tasted his recipies," Aelin replies.
A bit of shadow detaches from the edge of the house, moving quietly through the night, approaching the gathering of elves. "It is rather late, is it not," calls a clear voice, deep and potent, "for such a feast? Even the moon will soon tire and go to its rest, and the morNing will wake and turn your feasting into a breakfasting." Stepping into the light, Elrohir adds, "Sister, I did not know you took meals at this hour."
Smiling understanding, Faerandis takes a plate and selects a piece of pheasant pie. The delicate appetizer has whetted her appetite for more substantial fare.
Following Faerandis's lead Aelin also chooses a bit of pheasant pie to taste.
Duinlas turns and inclines his head as one of Arwen's brother approaches the gathering, "Do be Hypocritical Herion. But I only chid your words, for you should take part of the food, much labor has been expended in the preperation. I suggest the milky ichor. A favorite of the BeorNings, as well as our elf-friend Braldor."
Taking a bite aelin smiles, "You fail to dissapoint me Idhrendae, but sadly no more can I eat for other duties call." Aelin turns regretfully from the tabkeand walks slowly up the steps to the porch.
Aelin walks up to the porch.
From Garden Porch, Aelin comes out of the garden gate to the east.
Aelin has left.
From Garden Porch, Aelin has arrived.
Glancing around the company and espying Ailiell, Faerandis makes her way over to the elleth, pheasant pie firmly in one hand while wielding a fork in the other. "Greetings, mellon," she says. "I haven't seen you for a time. How do you fare on this beautiful night?"
Even without facing the passing shadow to speak in the night, Arwen's smile grows as one who knows him well. "Perhaps too late for Bilbo. But for you? Might an exception be made, when the company is good? Or would you not tarry awhile as I do, Gwanur?" Both an answer and an invitation, it is warmly spoken, no trained ettiquette to hide the true essence of the Heryn's smile.
"The only true problem with so much good food. The question of which to try and which to leave behind." Istawen sighs dramatically, following Gailluin to the table and staring fixedly at the foods on offer. Her dark head lifts, light gaze landing upon Aliell and she smiles a greeting to her, "Mae govannen, Arnethril, you are just in time to help /us/ eat all the food before Master Baggins is awake." she says lightly, before turNing to Gailluin, "What are you going to try, mellon?" she asks, looking very confused, a smile in greeting to Elrohir as he appears.
"Share in it?" Ailiell sighs, softly, and goes grimly about filling a plate. "Only if it will aid you, Bathron." A glimmer of a glance turns up to Idhrendae, ere falling on the others near at hand with a soft grin. "I -- ah, Faerandis." The elleth's pie is considered a moment, and the sturdily wielded fork as well. "You are battle-ready, I see. I am well enough, my thanks and ... Herion. Heryn." Scattered thoughts fly wide, as does her focus, a bit of cheese speared and forgotten. "Mae govannen, all."
Faerandis' head tilts slightly as she studies the ellith. She senses some preoccupation in Ailiell's mien, and considers her words.
Well enough? Elrohir smiles momentarily, and says, "I would not think to impose on so merry a company..." Elladan says I have the temprament of a thundercloud lately, and I would not for anything dampen your spirits with a spring shower." Even so, he comes forward looking over the prepared foods, and adds, "Nonetheless, I could easily be persuaded to sample one or two of these dishes as I innocently pass through the gardens on my way to meet Father..."
Faerandis says, "Try the pink one. It's delicious!"
With a twinkle in his eyes, Duinlas leans against a table (after checking that he would not be leaNing his robes into any bit of food!) and regards the elusive son of Elrond with amusement, "Perhaps you should tarry longer, and wait to sample some music and dance. For we shall need every able-bodied ellon to fill the garden with dance."
Faerandis smiles silently as she overhears Duin's words. She, too, had noticed that the company was abundant with her own kind and on the verge of suffering a dearth of male dance partners.
"Aye, so much to choose from...and there's always the trouble of the cook taking offense for some dish untouched" Gailluin answers, a light playfulness to her tone though the choice before her is ponderous indeed. "Well, pie is certainly a favorite of mine," she says at last, cutting a healthy-sized portion from the particularly messy-looking specimen. "And one cannot leave such a foreign dish as Milky Ichor untouched," she adds, taking a portion of that as well. "And then there's...there's too much left." The tannur sighs, shaking her head. "You will be the end of me, Bathron," she teases, lifting her playful azure gaze momentarily to Idhrendae, taking the opportunity to once more scan the banqueters anxiously.
"It is a pity that the Thane had left so soon, Duinlas. He would have enjoyed the dish, at least." A rueful glance is cast to the quite full plate of ichor, though his tone is light and amused, in contrast to the Arnethril's first words. "You should do me a great service, Ailiell," he says, solemnly. "One that should not soon be forgetton, when next you have need to test your herbs." A soft bit of laughter accompanies these words, and a smile goes to Istawen as she comes near, and a soft bit of speech as well. "Surely you have tried many of these previously, meltha. I would not think to have you try each one," he says, a quick glance given to Gailluin, with a smile.
Back at the table and her appetite assuaged, Faerandis looks the offerings over carefully for just the right item to polish off an excellent meal. Glancing at Idhrendae, she says, "A masterful feast, as always, mellon. I am overwhelmed. What would you recommend to finish off that mighty piece of pheasant pie?"
Undomiel meets her brother's concession with a gentle shake of her raven-haired head. "I would think none so ill-tempered as to stifle such a fond occasion as this. But have your way, Elrohir. It does me good to see you." Yet, as he steps to study the banquet more closely, Arwen's focus drifts invariably to Ailiell upon her greeting. There do grey eyes settle awhile longer than upon most others of the gathering, but what sentiment there passes remains unseen beyond simple curioisity to the elleth's scattered mien.
Finishing off her pie, Cuwen stands returNing the plate to the table. As the copper-haired elleth passes Elrohir, she smiles. "Mae govannen, Herion." Reaching the table, Cuwen sets down her empty plate. "Is there any place, mellon, that would be preferable for one to be to perform?" The elleth has taken the lute case of her shoulder, and gently removes the delicate instrument.
And still more quendi keep arriving... for down the path from the south garden comes yet another elleth. A smile spreads slowly as she spies the figures by the buffet table, and her pace quickens slightly. "You haven't finished all the food, no?" Firithael calls as she approaches, her tone light. As her eyes alight on the endless selection of delicacies, she breaks out into a grin and nods, satisfied. "Good even', mellyn," greets the elleth to those around her. A small bow goes to the children of Elrond. "Herion. Heryn."
Elrohir shakes his head slightly, and says to Duinlas, "I am afraid I cannot... Elladan is no doubt waiting for me in the Hall. But for a fresh pastry or two, and a jellied salad such as I see yonder? He can wait that long..."
Istawen smiles brightly at the Bathron, "But I know how good they all are, which makes choosing between them even more difficult. With dogged determination, she selects small amounts from many of the dishes, before nodding her head in satisfaction and moving toward a table. "And you are nearly finished, Faerandis!" she says, with a laugh at the elleth's question to Idhrendae, seating herself across the table. Green eyes alight on Cuwen and sparkle in excitement, "Why, anywhere we can see you, mellon. For wherever you are, we shall hear you." she says, her gaze turNing upon the instrument.
Idhrendae's face loses some of it's merriment, at Faerandis's question, and he quickly ducks beneath the food and table. A brief shake of his head is given to Cuwen's query, though skewed with motion towards the clearing, and at last he is fully risen, holding between his hands several bottles of Culyave. "I'm terribly sorry, mellyn. They had slipped my mind, in the business of preparation. Please partake in them, now that they are available." Again does he shake his head, though now a smile marks his features, though of his mistake or of Firithael's greeting is not known.
Duinlas leans closely to Idhrendae so that only he may hear, "I shall not demand perfection of presentation, but Dairwenraiel and her mother may..." he leans back and winks to convey that at least the Bathron will have the Glirion as ally in coming months.
Faerandis' smile breaks slowly as she shakes her head in wonderment at the tall cook. "Once again, you have the answer, mellon," she says. "But what is it? Culyave. I'm not familiar with it," she says, studying the bottles. Reaching behind her to the table, she selects a wine glass.
Plate now quite laden with all manner of delicacies and not-as-delicacies, Ailiell tilts her path towards a table, pausing only to whisper a word in Firithael's ear. "... ... ... nethordur ... ... ... prepare." A warNing glance, perhaps in jest, accompanies this, then slips beyond her to meet the Heryn's gaze. Ailiell inclines her head slowly, smile softeNing.
Seizing a pair of pastries, and a platter of jellied salad, Elrohir says, "My compliments to the chefs for preparing such a bountiful and delicious feast, and I regret I cannot tarry longer now. Yet perhaps later I can persuade my father and brother to join me in returNing... I have little doubt you will all be here for hours to come... Certainly there is too much food for aught else!"
Cuwen smiles, nodding. "Thank you mellon." Holding the instrument protectively, the elleth makes her way to a small clearing. With trained hands, she tunes the strings. "But please stay to listen for a moment, Herion. This will be the first time I have performed a piece I penned myself."
Elrohir hesitates, at the edge of the gathering, and says, "By all means I will stay and listen."
Once she is pleased by the sound each string makes, Cuwen begins a quick, light hearted melody appropriate for such a feast. Her trained fingers dart quickly over the strings as she begins to sing
"Said the Winter frost to the Winter wind
'What use in the Springtime day?
Where is the beauty in starlit nights
When the snow has gone away?'"
"But the Springtime day heard the Winter frost
And laughing she did say
'But the cold hath yet to leave my breath,
It has not gone away.'"
The music breaks off into a fast paced instrumental chorus, as Cuwen readies for the next verse.
"Culyave is wine, Faerandis, and some of the Hirdan Gondramind's favorite, though he seems unable to join us." His smile is dampened slightly by this thought, though still does he smile. Trusting the food to keep to itself for a moment, Idhrendae comes to stand beside Istawen, light steps carrying him around the table to her side. "What did you decide upon, beloved?" His words soften as he observes the departure of Cuwen, in anticipation of her music, and in joy of it.
The Arnethril's smile is met and followed, as Arwen moves through the growing crowd near the banquet tables toward Firithael and Ailiell. "It is good to see you both. I hear tell of the goings on in the Halls of Healing of late, and it has made you out to be busy indeed." But even as this is whispered, the Heryn turns at the strains of harpsong, the ease of her smile speaking of delight for both the tune and the words.
As the sun rises, another elleth walks into the garden. It is Silothiel, her normal gardeNing tools in hand, but as she sees the gathered crowd, and hears the beautiful song of Cuwen, she looks a bit confused. What are all these people doing in her garden? Slowly, realization dawns on her...Idhrendae had told her of a spring feast in the garden, but...was that today? She makes her way into the garden until she finds the Bathron. "Forgive me for my tardiness to the feast, Idhrendae, but...I seem to have forgotten about it with all my studying for the upcomming exams..."
Closing her eyes, Cuwen blocks out the outside world, lost in the joy of music. As the chorus finishes, her voice picks up with the next verse.
"Said the Summer sun to the Summer rain
'What use is there in Spring?
Where is the warmth that greets the day
When morNing birds do sing?'"
"And the Springtime day just smiled and then
She raised her voice in play
'Oh, dear brother, but the birds do sing
In the warm light of my day!'"
OpeNing her eyes, Cuwen smiles as the melody quickens, coming to a joyful conclusion as the music of the lute fades into the warm air.
Elladan has arrived.
Firithael blinks and glances towards the Arnethril, a faintly puzzled look in her eyes, although she shrugs and grins all the same. The offer of Culyave catches her attention, and she seems to be torn between getting the wine first, or the food first. Fortunately, the Linnor Cuwen breaks into song, and her decision is put off as she turns to listen. "Quite busy, yes," she whispers back to the Heryn, focused still on the singer. Glancing sideways, her eyes gleam a little as she adds, "Although perhaps the Nethordyr are even more busy than us."
Elrohir applauds loudly, and says, "That was simply lovely, Cuwen! Your talent is absolutely remarkable..."
Faerandis adds her applause, warmed by the song, lyrics and music both.
Duinlas hefts his glass at the completion of the song, "Splendid, mellon! A talent you have inside you, and that is no jest!"
A tall figure appears at the top of the stairs leading to the House, and Elladan's voice calls out over the crowd, "Indeed, brother, I agree that Cuwen's skill as a bard is notable. But that does not explain you keeping me waiting for you twenty minutes; now father is waiting for both of us. Come." Elladan shakes his head and walks back into the House.
Elladan has left.
Cuwen bows, her cheeks flushed. "I thank you," is all she says, still a little flustered from the first performance of a piece she had written. Holding her lute gently, the elleth retreats to the table to claim the rest of her food.
Elrohir scowls and says, "Excuse me, all. Lovely food. Good music. I must go and teach my brother the virtue of patience." With that, Elrohir hurries up the stairs after his brother.
Elrohir has left.
Nibbling at the food she's chosen, Gailluin's smile slowly fades, despite the merry tune. She smiles distractedly to Cuwen in praise, though her glance strays. Setting her still-laden plate on a nearby table, the tannur, sighs, shaking her head slightly. She moves silently to the southern portion of Imladris' garden, her path leading towards the Halls of Healing.
Duinlas abandons his plate of food onto the table and smiles, "Now that the songs have begun, perhaps you would suffer one such as myself to warble into your ears?" He speaks with a grin, to all assembled.
Arwen adds her appreciation to the thunderous applause that grows even still. Not until it fades does she venture a quiet aside to Firithael. "I would not doubt it. You will know once the tests have passed, at the very least."
At Elladan's brief appearance, however, ought else would seem forgotten. "But..." she continues to the pair of healers, even though her eyes are with her brothers' retreat, "We must speak another day." Then without so much as an apologetic smile, Arwen ascends the porch steps towards the house, a fleeting shadow in the wake of her brothers.
"That is surely deserving of dessert, Cuwen," Idhrendae says, with a smile in appreciation of her music, after the applause is ended. The sudden departure of Arwen leaves a disappointed look upon Idhrendae's face, and he sends a curious look to Firithael, with a shake of his head. "Yes, Duinlas. Perhaps a dance would serve well, now." He looks to the still overwrought table. "The continuance of the meal can wait, I think."
"Ah, a dance would be wonderful, I think." She gently replaces the lute in its case, hanging it from the back of a chair. The elleth knew she was no great dancer, but still, it brought her great joy from her love of music.
"Perhaps you would dance, Silothiel, now that you have arrived?" A friendly smile shows that Idhrendae bears no ill will for the elleth. "If any no of the studying you apprentices must endure, surely it is I, knowing of the efforts Istawen has devoted to such an end." Again the table draws his gaze. "Or perhaps you would eat. Certainly there is enough left from the early feasting."
Silothiel smiles, and sets hergardeNing tools aside. "I would love to dance, and then afterwards I could sample this wonderful of yours..." she takes a sweeping glance at the buffet. "It looks delicious."
With a flair of his hand, Duinlas gestures everyone away from the tables to the dancing area. It is quite clear of obstacles and the soft spring grass shall be happy to be danced upon. He speaks at once to the musicians who hold instruments, speaking in soft words, but briefly. Then he lifts his hand and the music begins. The harpists open, light and airy is their tune, with fingers flying along their instruments, strings bending under the fast-beat of a quick jive. The flutists open within moments, and the air is filled with immensely loud and fast music...
Then the words join, but not from Duinlas they seem, but rather part of the air, all around,
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!
Light are the stars, and the song rises hither!
Hair is streaming and the dancers are gay;
Keep your faces smiling, far away is the day!
Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Your feet are spinNing and heads in a tither!
Joy we must be making and body we must free!
For on we go now and together move like the sea!
Her foot falls light on the spring grass, Cuwen blends with the music as she begins to dance. With each turn, her copper hair flies out like a shiNing cape. The elleth's face is a mask of delight as her laughter mingles with the song.
Silothiel's breaks into a wide grin as she listens to Duinlas's song, and begins twirling and spinNing around as the lyrics suggest. Her smiling eyes beckon everyone that is on the sidelines to join in.
Idhrendae looks about for Istawen as the song begins, though she is not within sight, perhaps having ducked behind the the table. Shaking his head, he turns to watch Duinlas sing, listeNing in appreciation.
Glasiel comes up the bank from the southern part of the garden.
Glasiel has arrived.
Stars shimmer above in Ilmen, and also seem to shimmer on the glitteringly adorned brow of the Hirilin Glasiel. Her feet are bare as she lifts the bottom edge of her skirts to begin a lively dance on the lawn. Her appearance is sudden, for just moments before she was not in the garden, yet now here she is.
Istawen tiptoes up behind the Bathron as she watches him look around. She snakes a hand down his arm before catching his hand, "May I have this dance, meltha?" she whispers, softly so as not to interrupt the Linnor's song, green eyes sparkling. A smile is sent across the lawn to Glasiel, one of welcome and greeting, before her attention is back with Idhrendae.
The music picks up louder, harps dying down to a bassy thrum to which the flutists solo over, the sound of dozens of birds singing in harmony, and Duinlas leaps from his spot near the musicians and reaches to take up both Silothiel's and Cuwen's hands, moving with ease over the grass as he still sings. Now with all the others does the Glirion move and sing at once, his feet moving him in circles around and around, and always the words...
Dance all ye ellon, now we dance together!
Your hair is spinNing and my foot is as a feather!
Laugh loud and laugh long for we are just beginNing!
Later stars shall shine and drinks we shall be sipping!
Now we dance together, now we dance faster!
If our feet stop, it shall be disaster!
Move us faster, flutists, make our heads light!
For now we desire the rhythm a new height!
A gracious smile marks Idhrendae's features, and he bows low before he beloved, before rising to whisper a quiet word in her ear. "Of course, meltha." Taking her hand, he leads her towards the Hirilin, before the pair stop on the green, and begin to dance to Duinlas's music, in lively rhythm.
Cuwen throws her arms out as she spins, her dark eyes turned skyward. Although her steps are certainly not of a trained dancer, there is an honesty to them. Something that is found in one who's heart is glad and full of music.
Silothiel continues spinNing, faster and faster, her dark green skirt billowing out below her. It is a wonder that she does not fall over with dizziness.
SpinNing around in a circle, Istawen begins to laugh, face rosy with excitement and joy, "Faster, Idhrendae!" she calls, her smile wideNing in delight as she watches Duinlas with his /two/ partners. She pulls at the Bathron's hands, "An apt song, would not you say, meltha?" she asks, smile still bright, gaze moving from partner, to singer, to musicians.
"It is, meltha. I cannot wait to here the next words." With this, Idhrendae increases his speed, spinNing even more quickly about, though he sends a smile of enjoyment to the singer, and yet another to his beloved.
Now the music changes again, as the flutes and harps change precedence. The Harpists ripping open on their instruments a dizzying harmony of stringed sound fills the garden. There is no escape from the beat of such music. And now Duinlas claps his hands over his head once and laughs, the only break in his words, before they come again, and low, the beat has increased, and the feet must move faster, and the bodies must twirl unhinged, for even now the Glirion loses himself in the midsts of his song, his voice heard above all the music,
Quick is the harp and fast are the feet!
Listen to the dust dance from our meet!
As long as we sing, so shall we dance!
With song and dance meeting in a trance!
Call fair ellon and birds to us!
Have them join in our merriment with no fuss!
For timeless is our joy and great is our plight!
So quickly we prance, that we might take flight!
Long have we danced and yet we do not tire
Yet our mirth consumes all like a great fire
Shall We dance until the ending of our day?
Or shall we end now What you say?
Yea, we cry , Yea!
And at last, the music fades on a deep low note from the flutes and Duinlas ends his singing, the sounds fading away into the night.
Her feet nearly a blur, Cuwen loses all thought but the music. As the song stops so does the elleth. Her cheeks are red and her breath is fast, but her dark eyes shine with joy. "Wonderful, Duinlas!"
Silothiel's spinNing finally slows, and laughter is upon her lips. Fortunatley, there is a bench nearby for her to collapse into. She puts a hand to her head to steady herself. "My my, Duinlas," she says rather breathlessly, "That was an enjoyable song indeed!"
Even the Hirilin's feet finally come to a halt on the soft new grass, and she smiles at Duinlas. "Well sung, Duinlas. And well played," she adds to the musicians, with a gentle inclination of her head.
As Duinlas' song continues, Idhrendae and Istawen move in quick rhythm to the music, feet steping swiftly across the floor. Istawen claps her hands together rapidly, as the Harpists move into the limelight, before reaching out again to recapture her partner's hands. As it ends, she slowly comes to a stop, eyes alight with exertion and joy. "Wonderful, Duinlas, truly. Thank you for sharing that with us!"
"An excellent melody, Duinlas," Idhrendae adds, with a smile, turNing to Glasiel. "Well met, Hirilin. Have you come to enjoy the fruits of the kitchens?" A swift motion of his hand serves to display the location of the foods. "There is still a great amount remaiNing."
Brushing stray copper strands from her face, Cuwen smiles sadly. "I am afraid there are things I must do now." The elleth makes her way to the chair where she had stored her lute case. "Might I take some of your wondrous food with me, mellon," she says to Idhrendae, "lest I return to find that Master Baggins has disposed of it all?"
The velvet skirts of the Hirilin swirl around her as she turns to greet Idhrendae. "I would not miss it for all of Arda, mellon. What do you recommend first?"
Silothiel stands up from her seat on the bench, now fully recovered from her enthusiatic dance, and walks over to teh table. "Yes, Idhrendae," she echoes, "What should we try first?"
Duinlas takes a bow and returns to his plate of food. Remarkably, he has kept his robes perfectly clean...
"Of course, Cuwen. I do hope that you enjoy it." A smile comes to his face, and Idhrendae moves to the table, still holding Istawen's hand. "Hmm. The pheasant pie, of course. A personal favorite of mine, though not fully of my creation..." He trails off, looking over the feast. "Any of the pies, really, mellyn."
"Mae govannen all," a voice calls. Ilfwen steps into the garden, this time, her bow not on her shoulder. "I have had my rest, and come back to find this feast still going on! I regret to have missed part of it, though I am glad it has yet to end!" the golden haired elleth grins. "Tell me, mellyn, what have I missed?
Cuwen smiles as she takes a bit of food. Slinging her lute case over one shoulder, the elleth makes her way back. "It was a pleasure, mellyn," she says her slim figure disappears into the Last Homely House.
Istawen follows Idhrendae, brushing some dark strands from her face as they approach the buffet table. "Perhaps some wine, first." she murmurs, eyeing the food, "And the pies /are/ wonderful, Glasiel." she says, with a smile before turNing to wave a greeting to Ilfwen and a farewell to Cuwen.
Duinlas looks up with an alarmed look on his face, "Mellyn! I have tarried too long... Dairwenraiel's mother is bringing the Tailor to begin work on my robes... the very robes I wear now!" He grimaces and lifts up the hem of his robes like a lady runNing and he takes off sprinting toward the house and toward the caverns of nos Menelmen.
Glasiel follows the Bathron and his intended, her eye trained on Istawen. She smiles at the Nethordur's words. "Wine would indeed be welcome, mellon," she murmurs. "And how fare *you* this night?" There can be no mistaking the emphasis on these words.
A faint flush of colour rises in Istawen's face at the words of the Nethril, "I am well, mellon, thank you. My recovery has been fast, which I am very glad for." she says, turNing around and becoming elborately engrossed in pouring wine out for those around them. She takes two glasses, offering one to Glasiel, the other to Idhrendae.
Ilfwen heads to the table and pours herself a glass of wine, murmuring, "wine is most welcome after such a tiresome day in the forest." She then looks to all those around her and grins, "Have I missed the dancing, mellyn? Tell me, what have you been doing while I was resting?"
"And not only she is glad for it, Nethril." Idhrendae's tone is yet light as he waves farewell to those that depart, though a shadow of his previous worry rests upon his words. Taking the glass, he smiles his thanks, however. "And she shall stay thus for many a year, it is my hope."
There is a slight inclination of the Nethril's head, toward Idhrendae. Her gaze, however, is fixed pointedly on Istawen as she answers his words. "It is the same hope shared by *many*, Idhrendae." She takes a small sip of her wine, but her eyes remain on the Nethordur.
Istawen fidgets a little, reaching back for her own glass of wine before attempting a smile, though failing rather. "It was a stupid thing to do, one of the stupidest in a rather long line of stupid things. But, Tinnulanthir and I have learnt from it. You cannot hurt the ones you love without realising you have made a grave error." she says, glancing for a moment to the Bathron, "And those mortal-like symptoms were .. more than unpleasant, believe me." she adds, her smile a little more successful this time.
From the porch, Faerandis steps down into the garden, her eyes searching out and finding the color in bloom. Smiling, she pauses and notices the few remaiNing elves from the feast. Slowly, moves toward the table and pours herself a glass of wine.
Idhrendae places a gentle hand up the elleth's shoulder, and shakes his head slightly to her gaze. "Do not worry, overmuch, meltha," he murmurs. "I am certain that such a thing will not happen again. A valuable lesson has been learned here, I'd think." He raises a hand to all that have just arrived, though his smile is diminished. "For all of us."
Tinnulanthir quietly approaches the gathered edhil from one of the many garden paths. As he nears, the final phrase spoken by Idhrendae catches his ears, causing him to pause. Green eyes quickly move from face to face, summing up moods and trying to find the topic of conversation. As he is unable to do so, the nethrodur shurgs his shoulders and walks nearer to the group, calling out a cheerful greeting. "Mae govannen, mellyn, Nethirl. How do all fare this night?"
Faerandis remains near the table, sipping her wine and listeNing to the crickets' song in the night grass. A beautiful night like this should be shared, she thinks. Slowly, she walks over to the group of elves conversing a short distance away. "Mae govannen, mellyn," she says to all.
Ilfwen greets Faerandis, "Mae govannen, mellon!" She takes a sip of her wine, then asks, "What brings you here so late into the feast? Were you perhaps resting like I was?"
Smiling, Faerandis shakes her head. "No, although I was here earlier and partook of some excellent food," she says with a small bow to Idhrendae, "I had to leave to attend to some necessary chores. But now they're complete, and the garden drew me back."
Glasiel turns her sparkling blue-green eyes on one in her own care both as a healer /and/ as a member of the House she tends. Her smile is genuine as she extends a hand toward Tinnulanthir. "And you, Nethordur? How fare you this eve?"
Istawen waves, one of greeting and, perhaps, touched with relief as Tinnulanthir approaches. She smiles for a moment, turNing to the Bathron, "Never again, meltha. I did promise you that." The smile lightens, and she waves also to Ilfwen and Faerandis, slipping her hand into Idhrendae's before turNing to listen to Tinnulathir.
Averiel comes up the bank from the southern part of the garden.
Averiel has arrived.
"Tell me, mellon, how was the party thrown for Bilbo? Were you there, by chance? I, unfortunately, could only stay for but a moment," Ilfwen says regretfully toFaerandis. Ilfwen waves and calls "Mae govannen," to Istawen.
"Alas, no, I was called away before I could attend Bilbo's party, though I very much wanted to go. I heard a merry time was had by all, including Bilbo," Faerandis answers.
You paged Averiel with 'This is the Spring Feast. Lotsa food on a table. It's night, and clear.'.
With a bright smile the nethrodur takes the offered hand and bows at the waist. "I am well, Herunnur. How can I not be on such a wonderful night?" Tinnulanthir replies carefully as he begins to sense the possible topic. Glancing briefly at the table of food his eyes light up. "Excuse me but for a moment, mellyn." In a few long strides, the ellon is over by the table, filling a plate with food.
Averiel approaches the party, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and a too-serious expression on her face for such a lovely gathering. The distracted look passes, when she sees the glow on the aces of those about, and the abundant table. "Mae govannen, mellyn! I think there is enough to go around." she says with a small smile. "May I join the throng?"
"Certainly, Averiel." A swift glance to the table tells of its bounty, and Idhrendae smiles to the newcome elleth. "We shall not be relieved of the food, in any other manner." A swiftly raised hand welcomes Tinnulanthir as well, and a curious look is cast towards his plate. "What are you getting, Nethordur?"
"Just one more pastry, perhaps," Faerandis murmers to Ilfwen as she moves away to see if there are any of the pink creamy ones remaiNing on the table.
Averiel smiles in acknowledgement, and edges closer to the table, waiting politely for the Nethordur to finish filling his plate. Spying the wine at the other end, she grins. "I'll start with wine, I think!" and takes a large goblet and fills it quite full. "To the coming of the spring!" she announces, raising the glass high.
Ilfwen follows Faerandis to the table, saying, "Pastry sounds like a good idea, mellon!" After taking several bites, Ilfwen looks over to Idhrendae and remarks, "the food tonight is delicious! Well done, mellon." She then takes another bite, her mouth is too full to say anything further, though she raises her goblet at Averiel's words.
Faerandis raises her goblet with a grin at Averiel's salute, managing to sip the toast between bites of pastry.
Istawen turns, smiling a greeting to Averiel. "Mae govannen, Arphedor," she says, raising her glass also, before taking a sip. "Perhaps a pastry also," the elleth murmurs, turNing to the table also and inspecting the delicacies upon it.
"Only a bit of this and that. Pastries of course being the main staple," comes Tinnulanthir's reply as he joins the group once more. His plate is filled with a small amount of as many different dishes as he could place on it. He already is half way through his first pastry, which he sets down as he grins at the Bathron. "Wonderful, as always, Idhrendae! So what topic is found to be that in the conversation this night?" Then at Averiel's toast, he turns and raises his pastry for lack of a glass.
Laughing at Tinnulanthir's "toast," Faerandis looks around behind her, finds an empty wine glass, and sets it on the table in front of him. "Wine, mellon" she asks.
Averiel salutes all, and tips her glass just slightly toward Tinnulanthir's pastry, with a twinkle in her eye, before taking a sip. "So, besides food, was there a plan to dance, or sing, or just make merry with this fine wine?"
"A good question, mellon!" Ilfwen says to Averiel, looking toward the others for an answer. Setting down her pastry, she fills herself another goblet of wine and drinks it heartily before setting it down as well.
Faerandis says, "It seems the crickets will provide our only music this night," Faerandis answers. "I think the musicians are gone."
"There have been all three, Arphedor, though again they may occur, if the musicians will it so." Idhrendae glance trails to Istawen, and onto Averiel. "Or the poets."
Averiel laughs at Faerandis's conviction. "The musicians' are gone, but there are singers enough amongst us, are there not?" She smiles, and begins to fill a plate. "I'll not sing for my supper. I'll sing after it, perhaps."
"Singers?" Faerandis asks, her brows rising. "Now that I give it thought, I realize--I've heard harps in recent times, and musicians, but not singers. Who among us belongs to that group?"
With a smile, Istawen steps back a little, wrapping a delicious-looking pastry up and slipping it into her cloak, "I am afraid I cannot help. Duties call, in the shape of study. I have neglected them for long enough." She sends Tinnulanthir an exasperated smile, "Perhaps later we could go over the case study, mellon." she says, before turNing to Idhrendae and passing a few quite words to him. A smile and a farewell wave to all and the elleth is gone, disappearing into the House.
"If it is singers that are required," a resonant baso sounds from the Garden Porch, "then perhaps it were better I not attend this merry Festival." And with a jovial chuckle, the Arphedor nos Menelmen decends the stair and joins the company of revelers. An impish smile Gondramind offers each edhel prsent, and a nod of farewell to the departing Nethordur. "Namarie Istawen," he says and then looks to the food and drink. "Well. I have come late for much of the revelry it seems, but not for the food. Averiel, did I hear you say you would offer us a song?"
With a nod of graditude at Faerandis's offer, Tinnulanthir finishes his pastry and takes a small sip of wine. With the mention of the upcomming exams his smile fades and he looks blandly at the food in front of him. "Perhaps tis best if I too head back to my studies. Only a few days left till the test. Namarie, mellyn."
"A song? Oh, please do, mellon!" Ilfwen looks hopefully toward Averiel. "And perhaps some dancing to go along with it," she suggests. "Namarie, mellon!" she adds to Tinnulanthir.
"Regrettably, I, too, must leave this happy gathering for now," Faerandis says. "But someday, I will hear the sound of singing from elvish voices. Someday soon," she mumbles under her breath as she turns, waves, and ascends the porch steps. Stepping inside, she is gone.
"I am a singer, Faerandis, though better known of late" and here a rather pained expression clouds her eyes, but only for a moment, "as an Arphedor, of Nos Fithurin. But I've prepared no song, so if you let me think a moment, and take just a bit more of those pasties, I'll have to do something a bit impromptu."
Before Faerandis takes her leave, Averiel responds softly, "I am a singer, Faerandis, though better known of late" and here a rather pained expression clouds her eyes, but only for a moment, "as an Arphedor, of Nos Fithurin." "And I am sure you will hear singing, if you but listen, for it is in the air, now more than ever since it is spring." With a smile and a wave for the departing healer, Averiel turns to the others, with a smile for Gondramind, who alluded to singing, "I've prepared no song, so if you let me think a moment, and take just a bit more of those pasties, I'll have to do something a bit impromptu."
"I would be delighted to hear whatever song you would sing, Averiel," Idhrendae says, a smile marking his face at Istawen's parting words, though not of her leaving. A hand is waved in fond farewell to those who have gone, and greeting as well, for Gondramind has arrived. "Mae govannen, Hirdan. Perhaps you will not sing, but I would hope you would enjoy the food provided."
"As would I," Gondramind echoes the sentiments of the Bathron and immediately head for the wine and pours himself a glass of Culyave. "Averiel, I am certain your improtu verse would do Spring and Yavana herself honor. I am familiar with your tutor's verse. If yours is but a shadow to his, then... we shall have rare pleasure indeed." He moves then to stand beside Idhrendae and smiles warmly to toward the Herunnur. "And fear not, good friend. I shall do precisely as you recommend: enjoy the feast, and sing not a note."
Ilfwen finishes the last half of her wine quickly. She looks about and remarks, "The party seems to have gotten a bit smaller- though it is enjoyable nonetheless." She nods toward Averiel's idea of a song, and then looks toward the area cleared for dancing as she awaits the song's beginNing.
Strolling in, Mathusgi immediatley notices a few elves talking gaily in the middle of the garden. Mathusgi decides to go over and join them. "Mae govannen. How are you?"
Averiel smiles, and answers just as matter-of-factly, "We are well, and who could not be, with this spread! Please join as I did. The wine is particularly fine." She puts her plate, now only crumbs, back on a sideboard, and faces the others. "Very well. I have it. The song, that is." She grins.
Gondramind raises a glass. "Here here!" he calls, in merry agreement with, well, practically every sentiment expressed by Averiel, and then turns toward Mathusgi. "The wine is here, mellon, on the table beside us. Shall I pour for you?"
Laughing, Mathusgi nods his head. "Strange how I did not see that before. And yes, I would enjoy a glass Gondramind, thank you.
Gondramind smiles and reaches pours red wine into a glass for Mathusgi, all the while, keeping and merrily expectant eye upon Averiel as she prepare herself to sing.
Averiel laughs. "Well, seeing as it is spring, and you asked for something prepared in between my glass of wine and my pastry, I'll sing you this, though it is very rough." And she sings, in a clear tune, rather slow and deep,
Spring unfolds slowly,
as a bride does,
Pulling back the white
covers of her dower,
To reveal below
Glossy green frocks,
Bright satins,
blue and yellow,
A silken flower
Sewn on a gown,
filling her trousseau.
When the white blanket.
Is thrown off,
Spring is exultant,
As a bride is,
Hands stroking the smooth stuffs,
Colors a-riot
Spilling everywhere,
And she too,
Who began demure
Pale and fair,
Is now full of desire,
Bedecked in finery
Wrapped in the colors of fire.
Nodding and thanking Gondramind for the glass of wine, Mathusgi turns and listens to Averiel's song, learNing the words and the tune.
Taking a seat upon the ground, Mathusgi ponders over the words of the song. He contemplates what
they mean. He starts to sing it to himself, getting louder and louder.
The Arphedor of Menelmen listens intently to the song of the Arphedor nos Fithurin. He sips his
wine and watches her over the rim of his glass. A smile ghosts upon his lips and upon her
conclusion, the smile blooms fully and Gondramind applauds. "Your impromptu verse is inspired
mellon. Inspired."
"And inspiring, mellon," says Mathusgi
Averiel smiles softly. "Thank you, mellyn. It needs work. The meter and rhyme are terribly
choppy. If Rhunedhel were here, I'm sure he would have my head." She smiles, and bites her lip.
Mathusgi says, "It does not matter. Your song may have helped me complete my personal
challenge.""
"Beautiful, mellon," Ilfwen says quietly. She rises and nods toward the garden porch. "I'm
afraid that once again, I must depart from this fine feast...thank you for the song, Averiel,
and namarie mellyn!" Ilfwen calls, taking a final goblet of wine with her as she departs.
"Twas my pleasure, Ilfwen. Thank you for you lovely company." Then she turns to the Elf who has
just joined them, "How has it helped complete your challenge, mellon? Were you looking for a
rhyme for "trousseau", perhaps, and now you have it?"
"Namarie, mellon," says Gondramind, incliNing his head in a nod of farewell to Ilfwen. But it is
to Averial and Mathusgi that his attention returns with a grin. "The fruit falls not far from
the tree, mellon," he says to the Arphedor and then to Mathusgi. "And indeed, how will this
inspire you my friend?"
"Not quite mellon. As you well know I am an iron smith. I thought it impossible to make a sword
inspired by Spring. However, your song has created an image that is almost as beautiful as my
other sword." Mathusgi takes a sip out of the goblet. "It shall be a while. However, I believe
that it can be done," Mathusgi then smiles, and takes another sip out of his goblet
The Hirdan raises a brow. "A sword in the form a maiden perhaps?" He chuckles deeply and winks
toward the Angdan. "I don't recall your previous creation. Can you describe it, and perhaps
share the concept for your spring-spired blade?"
With Mathusgi's explanation, the hint of a teasing smile that is so often found on Averiel's
lips disappears, and is replaced by a look of pure joy. She seems taken aback, and smiles
broadly, and, in a tone of wonderment, "I am honored, Angdan. Truly."
Averiel nods to Gondramind, "Yes, describe a bit of it, please."
"Well, it was a sword I made a while ago. It is not too well known, I'm not suprised that you
haven't heard of it. It is a beautiful sword. Four gems within its hilt, each different colours
and different shapes. The blade is made of pure steel and has the words En Polod O Mathusgi
written on it. I even captured a bit of the lingering light of twilight in it...it does nothing
to help or hinder it...as far as I know."
With the change of to twilight...Mathusgi all of a sudden dissappears. As everyones eyes' adjust
they realize that it was just a trick of the light, for Mathusgi is still standing in front of
them, smiling.
Averiel blinks. "Nay, I've not heard of such a sword, Angdan, but swords are not my expertise."
Then the Herald dips in a slight curtsy, "My friends, I must bid you good night. I will see you
all soon, round and about." To Mathusgi and Gondramind, she adds, "Thank you for your kind
words. Perhaps I shall in fact put pen to paper, and polish up the song a bit, and make it ready
for my master." With a wink, she turns to leave.
"Good-bye Averiel." Mathusgi says.
Mathusgi says, "May the moon always shine upon you."
TurNing to Gondramind, Mathusgi says "I must apoligize, for the night is still young, however I
must attend to other matters of business. Good-bye Gondramind." Mathusgi smiles, then leaves.