Celeborn comes into the house from the front door.
Celeborn has arrived.
The door opens and a tall Lordly elf enters the last homely house. As he steps through, he spots Gerthan and inclines his head in greeting, accompanied by the words, "Mae govannen."
Standing just a little bit inside the Last Homely House, looking almost
as out of place as an orc, is Gerthan. He seems a bit flabbergasted by
all the strange folk that wander through the house, and his eyes are wide
in wonder. His attention is drawn to the door out to the porch, as an elf
enters. For the most part unfamiliar with the elvish language, Gerthan,
has, nevertheless, been around a few elves in his time, and returns Celeborn's
words, with a distinctly human accent as he says, "Mae govannen."
Imperceptable, but to those who know where to look, an eyebrow quirks
slightly as the human's accent is heard. A curiosity in Elrond's home,
no doubt! Stopping near the out of place man, the tall elf switches from
his native Sindar to the 'relatively' unfamiliar lilts of common Westron,
hoping that here is one that speaks it: "Good Day to you, sir. I am surprised
to meet one of the... edain here, but nonetheless, it is good to see the
second born take interest in this endeavor." The tone of this elf's is
friendly, but punctuated by the strange rolling, and almost musical quality,
that his birth speech colors to the Westron.
Looking puzzled even more, Gerthan, however, manages, "And a good day to you, Master Elf. Though I do not know of these, edain? as you called me. I'm just a simple hunter from the town of Bree in the west. Perhaps you might have heard of it?" He smiles a little.
Radagast comes from the eastern end of the Entrance Hall.
Radagast has arrived.
The tall Princling, leans back in thought at this new information from Gerthan before responding. "Nay, I am afraid I haven't. Or, atleast, it is no place I have visited before." comes Celeborn's reply, "But well thought of to be invited here, they must be. In any case, it is a pleasure to meet you, Adan of Bree. Soon, they say, in the Halls of Fire there will be a reception of sorts. Perhaps, I we shall speak more in there?"
Onwards from within the last homely house Radagast walks. Brown robes a-swish as long legs beneath stride; a pleasent sound for a pleasent face. A-glow with new found rest and toils pushed aside, the ancient wizard approaches; smile sure on his bearded face. "A good day, friends." He greets, halting for a moment at the door to the Hall of Fire. "I hear word that Elrond summons us this day? I shall see what this is about." With a tip of his pointed hat, the Brown One walks in.
Radagast walks through the doorway to the north.
Radagast has left.
Nodding to Celeborn, Gerthan says, "Well, perhaps one day you may visit our fine town. It doesn't compare to the wonderful things in this house, but is my home, and a place I hold dear in my heart." He turns towards the direction of the Hall of Fire, or at least, what he guesses to be its direction, before turning back to Celeborn. He opens his mouth at the arrival of a new stranger, but closes it quickly, as he disappears into the Hall of Fire. To Celeborn he says, "But I forget myself, and my manners. I am Gerthan Greenbriar. And I think that I will head over into the Hall of Fire, also."
Nodding his head in response, the tall Lord from the East replies, "And I am Hir Celeborn, a guest just as yourself of Hir Elrond. But, let us not dally any further and enter." With a hand, Celeborn makes a gesture to the north so as to assure Gerthan that he goes correctly.
Celeborn walks through the doorway to the north.
Celeborn has left.
You walk through the large door to the north and find yourself in the
Hall of Fire.
The flickering light of the fire illuminates the room in a warm
glow. The firelight plays along the polished wood of the walls, picking
out highlights of the carvings of vines and flowers that decorate the Hall,
and lining the many comfortable chairs in changing light. The fire burns
always in this Hall, crackling from within a large hearth of marble at
one end of the room. Songs in this Hall come to life, and dreams seem more
real than the waking world.
The firelight gleams from the polished
stone of the hearth, and glints of the metallic flecks running through
the marble. Wide enough that a tall man couldn't span it with his arms
outstretched, and tall enough that he could walk into it without bending.
Wood, large and small, is stacked near at hand to feed the flames should
the fire grow too low. Fire tools, cunningly wrought by the elven smiths
in patterns of vines, are racked on the other side of the hearth. Among
the tools are a number of iron mulling rods, meant for heating in the fire
and then dunking into one's drink to heat it.
Flanking the great hearth are two pillars,
one on either side of the fireplace. Made of the same marble as the fireplace
the pillars are carved from base to crown with interlocking patterns of
leaves, vines and flowers. Lit by the fire's living light, the flowers
reflect back gold and orange and red. Even in deepest winter, the stone
flowers bloom like living blossoms.
Songs in this Hall come to life, and
dreams seem more real than the waking world.
Contents:
Celeborn
Calthorn
Tara
Elladan
Elrond
Radagast
Glinraen
Duraglar comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Duraglar has arrived.
Mallenfith comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Mallenfith has arrived.
Warm firelight dances playfully upon the faces of the entering company, the already assembled. Soft discourse wafts from every corner of the hall as friends are met and remet, but behind all sound in this hallowed hall, beneath what is audible, echo the lingering strains of songs - songs of joy, songs of lamentation, every song that has ever been sung in this place, and perhaps a great many other places, laced about the very air to grace what hearts would hear them. And the air has a sweet smell, and it is warm, and all weariness washes from body and spirit, if only for a night.
Tinwuinhur comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Tinwuinhur has arrived.
Song's delight washing clean the worries of most, one man stands and listens - already arrived and still quiet. Before the great fireplace he stands - his figure a sillouhette against the licking frames before him. His back to the hall - his face to the fire. Aged, wrinkled hands are clasped behind his back in a postire of thought.
All in brown is he; with pointed hat and dirtied boots. His sweeping beard is that of a spider's web - catching little of the light that he stands before. And then he speaks - a voice as pleasent as the spring-rain and undertoned with infinite knowing: "Always do the songs of the House bring warmth to my heart where seldom it is but a chill." Words ring; still he faces the fire.
Soft leather booted feet connect with the floor of the Hall of Fire, and the Hirdan Mallenfith strides therein. His gaze falls upon the many faces, gathered upon this late Summer's night. His lips curl quickly into a grin, and to each of the assembled he respectfully inclines his head, then paces towards an untaken chair by the Everburning Fire. He sits down slowly, carefully it would seem, and the cushions beneath him sag under his weight. Mallenfith moves around a bit, then finally settles himself comfortably, glancing over his shoulder again to observe the growing crowd.
Where the fire crackles, and shadows dance upon air and wall, a chair is pulled close to the flames. Little may be espied of who sits there in quiet contemplation, save the hem of a red dress falling away from the seat edge, and grass-stained toes which just barely skim the floor -- the first hint that the chair's occupant may not be of the Valley.
From the south, with silent steps, a slender figure enters the Hall of Fire. Just prior to entering, however, he stops and moves against the wall. With sparkling, sea blue eyes he watches the hall.
Entering the Hall of Fire, Elrond breaks off conversation with his trailing counsellors, and surveys the assembly of men and elves. But when his gaze lands upon the brown robed wizard, he halts, and calls, "Aiwendil! You have made it, then... I am glad. There is a curious matter I would ask your help with, when you can spare a moment. It is something you assisted me with several years ago, and now I would ask you for help of a different nature."
Hard on Elrond's right shoulder, bare strides behind, comes Elladan, resplendant in bright and formal attire. His passage seems somewhat labored, labored bows to myriad visitors punctuating his course, and he shifts his tunic uncomfortably with some frequency. "Mae govannen, well met." "We are honored by your presence." He breaks his father's side and makes, with some measure of stealth, toward the wine cart.
Pausing, Master Elrond lifts his hands, and says, "Everyone; It is evening in the refuge of Imladris. Let song and merriment be upon everyone, and every refreshment made available to you."
Making his way into the Hall of Fire, is Gerthan. He looks around the room quickly, and with eyes wide, trying to take it all in. He takes a seat in the flickering shadows, just before Elrond speaks. He turns his attention to Master Elrond, and then takes a longer look at those in the room with him.
And in answer, minstrels make a song to sweeten the air. No words accompany, but the music speaks unmistakably glad sentiments of welcome.
At the mention of song and merriment, the expression of the blue eyed figure near the door changes little. However, the word refreshment kindles a fire within. His hands clap together, and rub vigorously across one another; the heat of friction may well be like the heat of the fires of the hall. Ever ready for refreshment, is the Tugwiol Tinwuinhur.
Foronwe comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Foronwe has arrived.
A lone figure slips into the hall. The dark-haired woman, for tis no elf, walks silently, looking around to catch a glimpse of her kindred to sit with. Her skirts rustle softly as she seats herself and listens to Hir Elrond.
Slowly, as if with great effort, Radagst turns from the fire - hands still clutched behind his back but facing the rest of the room. A long moment he stands; the flames behind he dancing with his shadow. "Sooner would I have returned if the road I had walked been more travelled." He greets in return - ruddied lips and rosie-cheeks all upturned into a smile from the wiseman. Thus spoken, the tip of the wizard's hat takes a dive: a bow. "Greetings and welcome." He calls, slender gaze enveloping the entireness of the room.
Slightly behind the Hir and those who walk with him, comes Foronwe. He is clad in fine green garments, and walks with a steady and sure pace. A look of wonder is lighted upon his face, as he enters the hall of fire, both of the flames that crackle in the fireplace there, and the wondrous scene that unfolds around him, as he begins to watch the unusual gathering. Slowly he enters the room himself, waving and greeting a few, and eventually stops and stands in the room, looking around.
Stepping through the doors into the Hall of Fire, a tall Princling makes his way along with a steady trickle of newcomers. For those who know him, he is the Lord Celeborn, newly come from Lothlorien to offer council for a time in the Valley. But still, if one does not, it is hard not to notice the striking elf with flowing hair of silver and a tunic of pristine white. Immediately upon entering the room, Celeborn moves away from the entrance, intent upon seeing and meeting with the hosts of the house.
Eyes of sheerest blue dance back and forth between those entering, and those already seated. They narrow as they observe faces unknown to him, but as the Herdir speaks, he quickly turns about-face, smiling warmly, and nodding a silent approval in return. He stands to his feet, and to his full height; slow, deliberate strides take Mallenfith to the cart, and to the bottles of wine. He carefully pours Culyave into a crystal glass, the light of the Fire shattering the deepest crimson red upon the far wall. As the one of the Herdir's Sons approaches, he nods a greeting, and speaks a soft 'Mae govannen, Herion. It is good to see you...".
"Before we meet in grave and serious council, let us share in good cheer each other's company, and rejoice in both our differences and similarities. For our diversity is our strength, and thus unified will become our most potent tool against the workings of the Enemy. So make merry and want for nothing on this night!" Elrond concludes, and turns to make for the cart with wines himself, when he espies the Lord of Lothlorien.
"Celeborn!" exclaims Earendil's son, taken by surprise. "I... Do not quite know what to say. I did not, in truth, expect you to come for Lorien. Is everything well?"
Tinwuinhur continues forward silently and swiftly, not even the aging
boards beneath his feet notice his passing. His eyes of locked on the refreshments,
like Feanor's were locked on the Silmarils. Nothing save death can impede
his motion, not even a Dark Lord or a legion of Sauron's foul horde.
Only the keenest ear might have caught the muffled thump from one of
the chairs before the hearth, and attentive eyes might have noted those
green toes shift to the left, as if the occupant's torso had suddenly slumped
to the right.
Indeed a tiny snore follows.
Elladan nods a silent greeting to Mallenfith as he pours his own tall glass, some words of formal greeting slipping with practiced absence from his lips, followed by some more resolute, clipped and officious. "Is the inventory of our weapons stock complete, Herdir? The council will need a report." He drinks deeply of his wine, then folds his arms upon his chest, turning to survey the room efficiently.
Still seated, quietly, out of the way, Gerthan espies the meeting of Elrond and Celeborn. For though a stranger here in Imladris, Gerthan indeed knows who Elrond is. His mouth drops open a little, for Elrond clearly regards Celeborn as someone of importance, the very someone Gerthan had spoken to moments ago, with no knowledge of who he was, let alone his importance.
The dark haired woman, Glinraen, nudges her kinswoman with a booted foot softly, a small smile on her face. Her eyes however flit from one elven form to the next, studying them each in turn.
Radagast's chuckle is slight, yet hearty. Obscure, yet plain to see. "The little one? Where is he? Asleep, no doubt?" The Brown One kids; seeking out Bilbo for sure. Search unfruitfull, he steps away from the fire - his staff in hand and supporting his length. Out of the way he moves - to the shadows where already another stands near: Gerthan.
A small smile touches Celeborn's lips as his name is called, and he in turn espies Elrond amongst those about the wine cart. Slipping through the press of folk gathered here, he finds a suitable place to offer a bow to the host before replying:
"Elrond, I am indeed glad to make it. Do not feel badly, my dear friend, for I am as surprised to have the opportunity to be here myself. All is well at home, and what troubles we had when we met last have been lifted somewhat." Smiling warmly now, "Indeed, it is good to see you again."
Of robes of brown and hair of white, proud this wizened figure stands. Time's touch having aged him well, this man's frame still stands tall and . Young of face, but clearly not so--deepest eyes that allude to definite nobility linger beneath busy brows of white; uncommon for a face so simple. Flowing mane of purest snow is his hair. Hair that once saw the color of brown now hangs past shoulders; a beard of the same overflows to mid-chest. All else of this man is hidden beneath the voluminous layers of his brown robes, cinched together by a belt of doubled cord. In his hand is a gnarled staff -- a stick no less.
Narwen comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Narwen has arrived.
Foronwe concludes his prolonged, and amazed gaze around the room, searching over everyone, and trying to take in the magnitude of this event. Satisfied at last that he has learned all he can from looking, Foronwe takes his actions up to the next level, and moves towards the wine cart, to retrieve some food and drink. He continues to greet several on his path, and while he eats his food, he begins to near some of the more important entities in the room.
His attention now drawn away from Elrond and Celeborn, Gerthan looks over to another figure who is nearer at hand, Radagast. Standing up and out of his chair, Gerthan closes the distance between the two. His eyes regard Radagast, and look him over. Clearly he is no elf, but he is also something more than a human. He bows a little to Radagast and greets him, saying, "Hello there. I'm Gerthan Greenbriar."
Mallenfith takes a nip of the wine, and nods. "Ah...Imladris Summer wines are truly unsurpassed." The Hirdan places the crystal glass, still filled with crimson wine, upon the nearest table, then crosses his arms sternly and turns to face the Herion Elladan again. His gaze follows the delicate movements of Elrond's Son carefully, and in response the Hirdan simply nods, followed by a brief silence of thought. "The inventory of our weapons stock is *nearly* completed; in a day or so it should be finished, and then I'll gladly present my report to the council."
Elrond laughs merrily at the very formality of it, and clasps his father-in-law's hand warmly, before turning to look for his son. "You will surprise your grandson even more than me, I think... And Arwen! She will be delighted. It has been too long since your last visit... It seems ages."
Glancing about, the Half-Elven adds, "And such a time for a visit, too...
The House has not been so filled with guests in a long time. The celebrations
will last the whole of summer."
The softest touch of booted toe rouses the chair's occupant like a
call to arms trumpeted over the mountainsides. Leaping to her feet is a
woman in mild disarray, her hair somewhat the worse for being slept upon,
and her eyes still puffy from the stolen nap. Her expression, however,
is cool, as if she and her companion had met up upon the garden path, and
the words which fall from her lips are only slightly rough from sleep,
"Ah, Glinraen, what good fortune that we have met here, overlong has it
been since I saw you last."
One hand steals to her hair, running a few fingers through the tangled tresses. To no avail. Her chin lifts and no more does she attempt furtive grooming.
"Nearly", echoes Elladan softly, obvious scorn disfiguring his face. He lifts his glass again, and swirls it absently before him. A deep inhalation of the Hall's sweet air, but it seems to afford him little gladness. Elrond's glance falls upon his son with some weight, and the princeling draws irrefutably bidden nearer. He summons something of peace and formality about face and frame, and bows very deeply before Celeborn. "Aye, surprised grandfather, and gladly so. Gladly so."
Radagast's grin grows two-fold at the sight of the human. Evidant in the old man's eyes is his amazement at the site of Gerthan Greenbriar. "A fair meeting of chance it is indeed then, Gerthan Greenbriar." Radagast greets; pushing forth his hand not holding the 'stick'. "Aiwendil am I - an old friend of Elrond's, I am afraid." HHe says, smiling fading at last. "For what reason do you come so far from your home? For few of your kin live out this way."
Ever light on her steps, and bright in her countenance, Narwen's smile grows warmer still at the sight of so many faces in the hall. She makes her way amongst the others, nodding at one familiar face, and smiling at another.
Elrond frowns, and the frown of the Host of the Last Homely House is indeed a shadow upon all merriment. "Elladan... You scowl like a tired old shoe. Drink some wine, relax, and try to enjoy yourself." More loudly, to Mallenfith, he calls, "That will be just in good time, Hirdan... Thank you for your diligence and those who assist you."
Glancing toward Radagast and the man he speaks with, Elrond murmurs, "Excuse me, Celeborn, a moment..." and moves slowly toward them.
Firmly, Elrond's clasp is returned by the Lord of Lorien. At the mention of the grandchildren, Celeborn's eyes dance with good cheer, "And here is Elladan? Grown so formidable, since last we have seen." With a return bow to the Elladan, he continues with a chuckle to the host, "Of course, Elrond. There will time later."
After fetching a small goblet of wine and placing it lightly within his grasp, it seems that Tinwuinhur's mission is complete. A smile spreads across his face quickly and he looks towards the fire. There he moves, not noticing the Dunedain that have found their respite near his next destination.
Celeborn chuckles softly and pats Elladan on the shoulder before continuing on to the wine cart for a goblet and some more mingling.
Celeborn walks through the large door to the south.
Celeborn has left.
Nodding in agreement with Radagast's assestment of himself, Gerthan replies, "Indeed, few people even leave the town I live in, Bree, and most that do, don't leave for long, let alone travel out this far east. I came with the wagon that brought some of our fine ale back here, for I understand Master Elrond is entertaining some guests from east of the mountains, who would prefer ale instead of wine." Something in the back of Gerthan's mind seems to click, and he asks of Radagast, "There is something familiar about you. A certain air, that reminds me of someone who passes through our town now and again. His name is Gandalf."
The quick eyes of Mallenfith flash over to meet Elladan's again. The Sinda Mastersmith inclines his head as the Herion disappears from his gaze; his hand dives down again to find the crystal glass, and up it shoots to meet pale lips. Mallenfith closes his eyes as the sweet liquid flows into his mouth, and at the sudden remark by the Herdir, he nearly spills some it it, correcting himself by bringing his left hand below his chin, and wiping it carefully. He chuckles, then grins and bows. "Er...yes, Hir. At your service."
Mallenfith turns around, and mutters something beneath his breath, shaking his head and grinning.
Elladan rises from his bow, and exhales somewhat audibly. He nods properly at the passing of Celeborn, then turns again to regard the hall. Elrond's back assuradely turned, his countenance retakes some discomfort. He shifts his uncooperative tunic and draws deeply again from his goblet.
Smiling broadly now, Glinraen watches her companion from her chair. "Indeed. Tara. Glad I am to find you here. Even if you are ....resting. I am enjoying the myriad of peoples here myself.Would you like a glass of wine? I am getting one for myself. " She stands but waits politely for Tara's answer before reaching for the glasses on the nearest cart.
"Gandalf! Hrm." Radagast replies, his quick eye catching the approach of Elrond. "I have met one by that name before, yes. Very wise is he." But a switch of topic is what the wizard chooses. "Ale you say? I would surely like a flask of it if it as good as you claim. For I do come from east of the mountains. Though sometimes from the north and south...and occasionaly from the west." Grin is semi-permament upon Radagast's face today as he regards Gerthan. A grin that is almost goofy and surely un-wizardlike.
By word's ending, the Brown One does a half-turn so that he may include both Gerthan and the approaching Elrond. "A fine gathering we have here today, old friend."
"Nay, Glinraen," Tara replies with hand raised in staying motion, "one more glass of wine will prove my undoing." A yawn seizes her then, and she rubs her face tiredly. But curious and attentive are the eyes which fall upon the brown-clad figure and the group which forms around him.
Perhaps surprised that Radagast has heard of Gandalf, his mouth opens a little, but closes quickly as he follows Radagast's movements and notices that Elrond is approaching. He smiles, as best he can and says to Radagast. "Indeed, our ale is quite good, and I wonder if there is any of it around in this hall. I could go for a mug myself."
Leaning against the left pillar that flanks the heart, Tinwuinhur looks into the fire. As he descries the red-hot cinders, a sad look passes across his face but it quickly passes. Lover of Trees though he is, he would fain go without heat.
Mallenfith sighs, and turns around to face the Hall again, and now even more people have joined the reception. Soft music flows through the sweet air, and the Hirdan walks with gentle pace back towards his seat by the Hearth, his long sky-blue cloak swirling gracefully around his legs. Mallenfith sits down in his chair again, his hand disappearing in a bag hanging from his belt, and quickly reappearing, holding a small scroll, which he opens and begins to read.
Coming up beside Gerthan, Elrond answers the Istari, "Indeed, Aiwendil... It is a good thing; there is still some unity among us. Though... There are no dwarves." Thoughtful, Elrond then glances down to the man, and continues, "You are Gerthan... Silvarion told me of your coming, and one other from your home... You are welcome in my home. It has been a long time since the folk of Bree were openly in contact with my people."
Calthorn comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Calthorn has arrived.
Elladan takes a quick and deliberate gait about the room. Sharp nods and polite words of greeting yet stagger his pace, then staggered his pace with a sharp jolt as he bumps carelessly into a wandering Narwen. Droplets of deepest red leap from his goblet, then are caught craftily. He withdraws a step, and bows. "Forgive me, Narwen. My mind wanders."
As the flames crackle and hiss loudly, Glinraen's gaze is drawn there a moment. Then she turns to Tara. "Indeed, my friend. As you say." She then walks over to the cart, takes a glass, and walks back, she gaze also follows Tara's and lingers.
"Dwarfs care for little else beyond their works and their mines, I fear." Radagast responds, resting both hands upon the head of his staff. "This city of Bree sounds most intriguing to me. More so yet if I could find myself some of this ale Gerthan speaks so highly of."
Bowing deeply before Elrond, Gerthan replies, "Thank you Master Elrond,
your hospitality is greatly appreciated. Indeed, it seems that our peoples
rarely meet now, and I am all the more glad that I have had the opportunity
to stay here in this wonderful house. There seems to be a very wholesome
and enriching quality about the atmosphere here." Smiling at the mention
of the ale again, Gerthan turns to Radagast and once again praises the
ale, "Indeed, our ale is quite good." Turning back to Elrond, Gerthan says,
"I am surprised though, that there aren't any dwarfs here, they pass through
Bree on a regular basis, and seem well travelled, moreso than certainly
my own people."
A small commotion catches Tara's eye as the princeling collides with
the hapless Narwen. A smile crooks her lips as she observes the two, and
soft are the words she speaks to Glinraen, "Ah, the grace of elves."
And thus he comes into this place, the figure of a man bound in a cloak of mist, yet he is not the only human within these walls, nor is he the last to come, only the most recent. So stepping into this room, his eyes gazes about looking for faces both known and not, yet not emotion fills his face at the sight of elf or kinsman.
For only into the beginnings of this Hall of Fire does Calthorn step, and no further will he tred at this time. Through the crowd of elven lords and ladies his eyes fall upon two, like him, and there they linger even as one rises to fetch for herself a glass of wine. Though for a moment his gazes drifts unto the other woman, where it stays for a moment or so, then passes away again as a sigh passes this man's lips.
Narwen glances down at her gown, a convinient resting place for the spattering wine, for the briefest of moments. "Ah, but I forgive you, my lord," she laughs, with a wild fluttering of eyelashes. "For it is said that I often have that effect!"
Mallenfith's eyes follow symbols, words, sentences, paragraphs, and with a swift move of his right hand does he further open the piece of paper, unravelling more words of wisdom. He halts his silent journey though, suddenly and without cause. His gaze travels again across those gathered, searching for the fair features of the Master's Son.
The collision does not go unnoticed by the eyes of Tinwuinhur. It may be said that he has an eye for such things, for he has been known to be party to such collisions himself upon occassion. With a laugh, he says aloud to whomever may be listening, "The fire within this hearth is not the only that burns here."
And so Elladan's countenance contorts with even more discomfort. "Perhaps. But you are the victim and not the cause tonight, I assure you, Narwen." He frowns at her stained dress. "I shall speak to Celebryn about remaking you a dress."
"This shall be my task then, Gerthan!" Radagst declares, tapping his staff gently upon the ground beneath. "I shall scour the house for a flask or two. When I find it, we shall sit and debate the quality of your brew. If it is as good as you claim, I shall see to it that it remains as such. If it is not, I shall request a meeting with the brewer of the blend."
Turning now to Elrond, Radagast smiles. "We shall have many a long talk before I leave again. You have gotten my curiosity with your request earlier this eve' and I shall await the time until we can discuss it in length." Again he turns, looking upon both. "Gerthan of the mysterious city of Bree from which the ale is good - or at least bragged of. It is good to have met you this day and I shall seek you out once I have found it."
"Hmm," Narwen narrows her eyes in mock displeasure, "I ought to find that an insult. But I suppose a new dress will restore my good favor!"
Bowing his head to Radagast, Elrond says, "Of course, Aiwendil... Thank you, and I look forward to the resolution of that matter. I hope, too, you will join us when we sit to council; for you have an insight beyond that which the rest of us can lay claim, and the wilds are as tame to you."
Bowing once again to Radagast, Gerthan says, "Indeed, it was a pleasure meeting your company today for me as well." Silently wondering what request Elrond had of Radagast, and perhaps realizing that his earlier assessment of Radagast was closer to the mark than Radagast let on, he watches him walk away, wondering if he will turn up some ale sooner or later. After Radagast departs, Gerthan turns back to Elrond.
Mallenfith stands to his feet with a quickness only attainable by the Firstborn. He then paces forth, his gaze still searching for the Herion. As he passes the Herdir, he bows, and to the small group he inclines his head somewhat quicker, making it a mere formality. Finally blue eyes meet eyes of deep grey, and the Hirdan directs his stride towards Elladan. He taps him upon the shoulder lightly, and clears his throat.
"For sure, Elrond. For sure." Radagast says in his final fairwell before embarking on his quest. Beer.
Radagast walks through the large door to the south.
Radagast has left.
Elladan dips his head graciously, though a frown still struggles on his lips. "Then a dress and a glass of wine should put me ahead." His own goblet he drains unceremoniously. He adjusts his cape's clasp upon his neck now with some obvious annoyance. "What will you..." A tapping on his shoulder, and the Herion wheels sharply. Arching brows beg the matter of this interruption.
The sound of the door opening brings Glinraen's attention to the doors. When she recognizes the identity of the newcomer and his seeming reluctance to enter further in, she tilts her head, as if curious. She half-rises as if to call him over, but something stops hre. She sits down again, but her gaze stays on him.
"So," the Master asks of Gerthan quietly, "What do you think of my home? Is it much different than Bree? I have not been very near that town in many centuries. It must have changed a great deal."
"If you will excuse me, Herion, I will try to finish compiling the inventory of our stock; it should be ready by the evening. I am truly sorry that I did not live up to your expectancies...", the Hirdan utters with a certain formal atmosphere surrounding him. A bow deep he makes, his arm graciously floating above his head, then rises again. "If you wish, you can inspect the stock yourself, Herion. I will be in my Guild of Artisans." Then, Mallenfith takes one step back, awaiting a response, if any at all, from the Herion.
Blinking a little, perhaps at the mention of Elrond's age, for though
he looks venerable, he certainly doesn't look centuries old. Gerthan says,
"It, well, it is wonderful Master Elrond. There are all sorts of wonderful
people in your house, an amazing mixture really. It is a shame, though,
that our peoples have drifted apart so far, and no longer have much contact
with each other." Gerthan has a broad smile on his face, and continues,
"This whole valley seems alive with...with...I'm not sure what the right
word is, but there is certainly some magical quality about it."
For her part, Tara appears unaware of the man newly come, nor of his
study. But she moves from the side of Glinraen, and wends her way through
the assembled guests, so quiet in her passage, as if spirit, and none pause
to greet her as she passes.
To a table laden with the fruits of the season, a rainbow of berries and assorted delectables does she go, and the frown which creases her brow then seems unduly fierce.
Elladan's expression melts to blankness. He regards Mallenfith closely, grey gaze swirling about the Master Smith for some long moments, broken its intent by curling lips, a brightening visage. And equally bright his voice, laced with laughter to lift any heart. "Nay, Hirdan, nay. Father is right, of course. Drink tonight, of wine and of music and of good company. And dismiss my mood as a casualty of long leagues travelled and hard battles wearied. I am not so enchanted by this hall as those not born to it, I fear." His hand falls lightly on Mallenfith's shoulder. "Your labors can wait."
Laughing softly, Elrond adds to what Gerthan says, "Almost as if... Time slowed here, and every day is new and fresh? Bilbo said just that to me, not long after he arrived to stay. I suppose I can understand the feeling, though one does not think of it, when it is something experienced every day. Very little changes here, or has in thousands of years."
His volume of Tinwuinhur's goblet quickly decreases in even increments, while the volume of his stomach increases in the same increments. After the interchange of volumes is successfully completed, the Tugwiol looks at it with disappointment and then sets forth towards the laden table. He approaches the Dunadan Tara and says in his soft-spoken way, "Why so dour, Maid of the North? Partake of these plums, and I reckon you'll no longer be glum." With a light laugh, he pops a series of berries into his opened maw.
Puzzlement sparkles in the Hirdan's eyes, but quickly that makes way for merriment as the Herion laughs. Mallenfith chuckles, and the inclines his head. "Aye, if that is what you wish, Herion." The Hirdan turns about-face and strides towards the cart again, this time grabbing a sweet red apple. Mallenfith takes a large bite, and eats it, still smiling and enjoying the light atmosphere in the Hall of Fire.
Absently running his fingers through his hair, Gerthan says, "It seems like Bilbo has hit the nail on the head, though I don't think I've seen him around, or perhaps I have and I just don't know him by face. Time does seem to stand still here, and it is a rather pleasant experience, especially for one as myself, as time always seems to be moving too fast for my tastes."
With that simple notice, the man smiles slightly, looking now at Glinraen with an utter calm about him. A smile and a nod does he offer, and that is all, for it is then he turns making his way once more from the room, cloak swirling somewhat at the sudden motion. And thus, as quickly as he came, Calthorn leaves.
Calthorn walks through the large door to the south.
Calthorn has left.
Bilbo comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Bilbo has arrived.
Mallenfith walks through the large door to the south.
Mallenfith has left.
"You would know Bilbo if you saw him," murmurs Elrond. "I am surprised he is not here; he is not one to miss festivities. He is the only Hobbit in our fair valley, and so a more familiar face for one from Bree, I think."
Arwen comes into the Hall from the hallway.
Arwen has arrived.
"Well, Hullo!" says Bilbo, entering as though on cue. "Tis not often I am announced by the Master of the House, but he should know that some of his denizens do sleep every once in a while." He looks about the room, having made his pronouncement from a few steps (Hobbit-sized, of course) from the doors.
Clearly surprised, Gerthan says, "A hobbit? Here? How odd. We get a few hobbits from the Shire in Bree, though I haven't heard of any that travelled about so broadly. What is he doing here, if I may ask?" He looks around the crowded room for a hobbit, but doesn't see him anywhere.
Elrond laughs at the sudden appearance of Bilbo, and says, "Here is the little fellow now. Welcome, master Bilbo; we have a guest from Bree; a town you are no doubt far more familiar than I. While I go see how dinner is coming, I will leave you and Gerthan to speak..."
At that, the Master of Imladris slips off, and out the doors to the
south.
Unaware of the light teasing voice by her side, Tara reaches suddenly
for a small clump of berries, a pale translucent pink in hue, a tiny cluster
of pearls, almost obscured by the exorbitant plumpness of the purple plums
which tumble out over the table in grand array.
Almost inaudible is her response, delayed by the tasting of the prized fruit, and when it comes, it is nothing but this, "Dour? Nay, only fearful your plunderings might have proved too thorough." Does laughter touch her voice? Difficult to say, for her face is as always, remote and chill.
Elrond walks through the large door to the south.
Elrond has left.
Bilbo snorts quietly as he enters further into the room, "Down here, Sir. I should ask, perhaps, what you are doing here since I do not mark you as one of the Dunadan's folk." He pauses, nodding to Elrond, then continuing, "Bree? How is old Barliaman these days? I daresay he keeps a good house, having even a few me-sized rooms available, but that would make sense, wouldn't it?"
Arwen enters the hall. The Heryn walks in a cloud of radiance. The gems bound about her brows glimmer in the moonlight that shines in the windows, and her gown seems to be sewn of more of the same, white gems which lend her an image of glowing starlight. Indeed, she walks in the likeness of the daughter of Thingol and Melian the Maia. Seeing her brother, she approaches him with a smile and an embrace.
Laughing tightly, Tinwuinhur reaches for more berries. These darker in color, but of the same type nonetheless. He is quite selective of his berries, though it may not appear so to the uneducated watcher, "Fear, in the House of Elrond? You have wandered in the wilds of the North for too long!"
More surprised than ever, Gerthan's face is a comic mixture of shock, before he finally breaks into a smile. He nods to Master Elrond, as he takes his leave, then turns his attention to perhaps the only person in the room who is shorter than himself, Bilbo. "Barliman is fine and well, as can be expected, and his ale is better than ever. I came here with a wagon of elve who purchased some of Barliman's best in Bree for some guests that are going to be visiting from east of the mountains. As Master Elrond said, I am Gerthan. Gerthan Greenbriar. Tell me, though, what brings a hobbit here, under the shadow of the mountains?"
The smile that has crept its way unbidden upon Elladan's lips brightens further at his sister's arrival, and he meets her entrance with outstreached arms, and warm embrace. He steps back a stride. "I am glad you came, sister. The armory's inventory is incomplete, our scouting has been too shallow to make a worthy report to the council of late, and father has commanded me to be merry." He straightens, and forces the smile from his face. "Now, say something to make me merry."
Bilbo bows politely, "And I am indeed Bilbo Baggins. What brings me
here is what brings most here: rest and quiet in fair measure. I am," he
looks after the departing Elrond, "a guest in this house, and have been
for some time. If it is Bree Ale you bring, you are indeed welcome."
Tis only a sidelong glance which tracks the elf's reach, but it is
enough. Tara stiffens slightly as he pulls from the pile the darker fruit,
and a muscle jumps briefly in her jaw. It is with elaborate gesture then
that she selects a plum from its brethren, the water pearled about its
skin, a promise of what awaits within, and consumes it slowly, deliberately,
noting at its demise, "Indeed."
Bowing in return to Bilbo, Gerthan says, "Yes, we did deliver some ale here, to Master Elrond, though where it has gotten off to, I can't rightly say. Aiwendil went off looking for it earlier, and he said that he would return with some if he could find it, but perhaps it has been well hidden." He pauses, and takes a long, extended look around the room, his eyes resting on a few faces that stir his memories, before returning back to Bilbo. "Are there any more hobbits about, or are you the only one of your kind here?"
Arwen glances over at the hobbit, catching snatches of his conversation, and smiles to herself. "Perhaps if you partake of the ale that our guest Mr. Baggins is so fond of, you will find yourself merry. They do say that it makes one merry, brother." she says this with a twinkle in her eye, but then her manner grows serious.
"I fear, dear Elladan, that my concerns have naught of merriment in them. I wished to ask you of the coming of Careithros. What does this portend?"
The man's querry overheard, and elf raises his voice from some recess of the room. "One is enough! Had the winter been any longer we would have run out of food as it is!" And much laughter ensues.
Bilbo's eyes light up, "Ahhh. Aiwendil is here! That is good--Tiramen will be pleased he did not take off for parts unknown seeking him. You see, he and I both have seen this wonderful bird that no one can identify--fiery red plummage like some drake of old. Quite stunning, I say, but I am digressing. I suppose the Steward would know the whereabouts of the Ale, but of Grimbeorn's folks are in town as well, as I have heard. Nobody tells me anything around here! As I have heard, of the Son of Beorn is in town, and with him his kin, you will have competition for the ale."
Tinwuinhur glances sidelong at the Dunadan, his smile still remaining broad upon his smooth, pale face. He sees this one as a challenge. He selects a berry more carefully this time, careful not to offend the prickly Dunadan with any words.
A frown needs not forcing on Elladan's face now, and his voice darkens the air about him. "Not father's dotage, I hope. His wisdom bade let the Darkbow enter, and the fallen man's profession of repentance seems sincere enough. But mine is not to read men's hearts. They are strange and fleeting, as this one's life illustrates truly enough. He is my ward, though, and so will make no mischief here, I assure you."
Laughing, Gerthan says, "No, it is these guests who the ale is for, and that is why I am here, to see over the delivery of the ale. Although, I could sorely use a good mug of Barliman's best, myself." He pauses, and scratches his chin, before asking, "How long have you been in Bree, Master Bilbo?"
Content to sit by the fire and watch and listen, occasionally Glinraen's gaze goes to Tara and Tinwuinhur. As Bilbo and Arwen make thier entrance, a small smile hovers on her lips. She sips from her glass and often arranges or rearranges her skirts. Apparently she is unused to wearing such, though her familiar scuffed boots peek out from beneath.
Bilbo's eyes glance up, as he tries to recall, then he gives up, "A long time--it is hard to reckon time here, as some may tell you, if you not a native, so to speak. Mark my words, your perception of your time here will not match up with how long or short you hae been here." He speaks this quietly, as though it is semi-secret, and he glances about as he utters it, then returns to his normal voice, saying, "Every so often, I am able to benefit from Barliman's weed, for some are willing to bring it back for me, though they are less willing to fill a pipe themselves."
Arwen nods gravely to her brother. "If you are assuring that, then I will have no fear, and I think that our father's wisdom in reading men's hearts is known well enough." she comments. "I do think he bears watching, till repentance is proved. Enough, though, of these matters! Let us serve our guests the ale which our folk travelled so far to provide them!" she laughs. "I shall call Thelinen, and he shall serve ale in quantity. Perhaps even Estel will come, and drink." she smiles. "But he is likely practicing on the field." she says, a slight hint of wistfulness in her tone.
Laughing aloud, merrily, Gerthan says, "Indeed, Master Elrond himself has told me that time passes slowly here, and he even quoted your words, if you can believe it." Smiling, and still laughing a little, Gerthan says, "Today you seem to be in luck, little master, for I have a pouch of the Southfarthing's finest, that I brought with me, though I'm afraid I have just one pipe."
Elladan answers with a tone similarly wistful. "He is not shackled by such obligations as draw Elrond's sons hither and thither. Doubtless he is on the field, and will be until the council is called. I think he will not tarry here overlong this summer." And with this his glance steals upon Arwen's face, closely assessing.
Bilbo slips a hand into his jacket, producing a finely crafted pipe, "Bifur was kind enough to bring some his folk last year. I've several, if any are lacking. They get little use amongst Elrond's folk, I'll say. Perhaps after I've had a bit to eat, a smoke would be nice."
Arwen looks away from her brother's inquisitive glance, her eyes sweeping across the hall. "Would you come with me to summon the Steward, brother? Or will you stay among our guests?" After this question, the daughter of Elrond looks to the door of the hall.
Continuing to smile, Gerthan says, "Well, then, later tonight, after the meal, perhaps we can have a quiet smoke somewhere. Perhaps, Aiwendil will have found the ale by then, and we can also enjoy some of that. I wonder what time tonight's meal will be. I'm more than a little hungry myself, I'm afraid to admit."
Elladan's glance holds hard upon Arwen's face. "I will go with you. To ensure that you return." And with that his mouth creases in a soft smirk, joyless, nearly furtive.
Bilbo nods, "Dinner? Anytyhing you might want, most of the time, and I gather the Steward has gone all out for this gathering, with so varied a group." He hooks his thumbs in his waistband."
Elladan walks through the large door to the south.
Elladan has left.
Scratching an itch behind his ear, Gerthan says, "Yes, this is quite a gathering as I've never seen in all my days in Bree. I wonder if his guests from the east have arrived yet, do you know?" He looks around the room, but then realizes that he probably wouldn't recognize them in this crowd even if they were standing next to him.
Bilbo shakes his head, saying with a bit of sarcasm, though cheerful, "I am the FIRST to know who will and won't be arriving, but you might try his sons, perhaps, or the Steward himself who often seems to know more about the goings on in and out of the Valley than anyone else."
Shrugging a little, Gerthan says, "Well, it really isn't that big of a deal. I was just curious. There is certainly more goings on here already that my head is in a whir, without the arrival of Master Elrond's guests." He smiles, and says, "Well, I think I'm going to get a breath of fresh air, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be heading outside for a little while. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bilbo, and if you find me after dinner, we can have a quiet smoke."
Bilbo nods, "I would be pleased. Well met, Gerthan."
Gerthan walks through the large door to the south and enter the hallway.