Sounds of laughter ring loud and merry over all other noises. Yet beneath it the sounds of merry drums and harps and flutes play merry tunes, few the same but all jolly. Within the centre of the camp of the men of Hador a large fire is lit, many tents have been moved to place this vast cooking area. The smell of roasting meets of many varieties rise into the crisp cool air, and the sweet smell of preserved fruit waft on the light breeze.

Many barrels are lined up on heavy benches and people come to and from pouring as they like. For it is Yule and then people of Hador drive the cold off with their mirth. Many an Elven face to can be marked enjoying the younger folks lively revelry. In a central square cordoned off from the fires many people dance, truly it was to be ordered some young ladies, yet many a young lad was to tempted to stay back.

Amidst this scene of joy a figure sits sipping ale from a large mug and he sings loudly to a merry tune played by a soldier upon a old wooden lute. The man wears a thick green coat over many layers of wool and leather so even without the mirth the cold would bite him little, and with the ale and the song he seems all but immune. His warm breath clouds on the sharp and frosty winters air as his lungs below tunefully to 'A rainy market day'

There is nothing like music to catch the attention of a Sinda elf, perhaps. And as if to prove that point, the tall, lithe figure of an elleth gowned in pale green makes her way from the feasting hall. A silvery cloak covers her shoulders and trails to her feet, barely skimming the ground as she walks. Her steps are silent and swift, and graced with that ease of movement that makes the Eldar curiously so suitably fitted for foot travel. Though, once in view of the celebration, the maiden tilts her head with a broadening smile. One of the Edain, in particular, catches her eye and she watches the man sing joyfully as he sings to harmony offered by another playing a lute. Almost involuntarily, the maiden Mirelinde, among sparkling blue-grey eyes and cheeks touched with rosiness, begins to sing along. For well she knows the songs of the Edain, her kinsfolk of the grey-elves having long befriended the Atani

The red faced Baradil hammers out the first verse, his voice is fair, but the tune is indeed a merry one.

        "On a Rainy market day, I was seen to run away"
"With the prize boar Gilly, tucked aneath my arm."

        "A lady she did spy me, No doubt identified me."
"So I trotted with my trotter, and I gave her some charm."

        "I said 'M'Lady please don't see me, they say he is to fat see,"
"They plan to slit his throat and serve him up for tea'".

        "She saw his bonny face then, and his hairy little chin then,"
"She turned her other cheek and I made off down the street."

The scouts breath is ragged for he sings loudly with a group of soldiers who's voices rise above many, other players seem to join this tune, bonny drums begin to pound with the stamping of Baradil's feet. The verse ends and a strange musical mix occurs as several different refrains oddly harmonize, or perhaps it is the ale. Yet as the second verse lifts Baradil sups his ale and doesn't join in this time, yet his feet still pound the heavy flags beneath them. The dancers seem to begin to move with this band of revelers too.

Moving a pace or two closer, her voice weaving in harmony with the other singers not so concerned about their pitch, the maiden fairly laughs as she sings, though even her laugh is musical and seems to follow well the notes she matches. Thoroughly caught in the mirth of the moment, she takes no notice that she is the only of her kin singing the rather absurd lyrics, and some of the Noldo attending offer her odd glances of concealed amusement as Mirelinde sings yet louder with the song's chorus.

The second verse ends as does the chorus, but Baradil seems to be readying himself to burst forth again. He sees an elleth singing the tune, as well as any old salt of the taverns of Hadorsford. He looks her in the eye and smiles kindly and lifts his hands to clap her, both for fine singing and fine friendship. Yet the third verse bursts out, many of the camp now sing in unison, Baradil rejoins the goodly chorus.

        "On a Rainy market day, I was seen to run away"
"With the prize boar Gilly, tucked aneath my arm."

        "So my boar sat afore me, and doubtless he adored me"
"Hearing my fair words and marking them all true."

        "I said 'My fair Boar Gilly, You'll be fairer in my belly"
"You aren't a pretty pet see and you are to damn smelly'".

        "I saw his bonny face then, and his hairy little chin then,"
"I changed my mind and made him my best friend then."

The song ends with many rolling drums and plucked stings and sailing pipes. Claps, cheers, laughter and whistles rise from all in unison. The air crackles with excitement and the merry band are cheered to the feet.
The thick hands of Foggy an old guard of Hador's drags Baradil up to standing. His face is flushed despite the other score of musicians and singers who are cheered. He moves to sit as the applause die down and another song burst off. The young man looks back over to the Elleth smiling, though still looking a touch sheepish.

Though the elleth does not clap with the rowdy group, she does keep singing, her foot tapping in time with the tune. Catching the Dor-Lomin scout's gaze as the song comes to a merry end, Mirelinde offers the Edain a smile broad and brimming of cheer. Laughter escapes her as she sings the last note, and turns to Baradil now. "Well sung, mellon!" she says, tugging a bit at her cloak as it furls with an errant breeze. "That is a song I've not heard for some time. 'Twas fun to join in it once again."

Baradil smiles an stands and walks away from the band of men. Turning as he goes to clap each of them. His gait is light and smooth, it seems merriment and ale have removed any remnant of the pain of his wound. He walks to the Elleth his face broad with a smile,
"Good Yule to thee M'Lady. I have no Elven drinks to offer, though I am sure M'Lords have, but Ale Cider or wine I can offer, plentifully and all of good craft. There are meats and fruits and breads, pick any M'Lady." He bows and smiles as he rises.
"Its fair to here an Elleth sing our songs." With a glance to some of the more sober Quende and a smile back to Mirelinde, he begins again his voice hoarse from singing
"I fear the folk of your city mostly deem it a little foolish and lacking in wisdom, yet it makes me laugh." And he laugh he does loudly as he hears another tune kick up from the same warrior minstrels, Yet the words to this one are a little more colourful. They concern a lady, her garter and a quiet apple grove and a young tinker.

"Mae govannen!" the maiden returns in reply.
"Mirelinde you may call me, mellon, for such is my name," the elleth says spryly, her tone and eyes touched with continuing mirth.
"And 'tis fair to say we of Sindar kin deem your songs worthy of singing." Her brow raises at one lusty- offered phrase as the men--intoxicated by drink and song--continue in a bawdy chorus. She laughs with a wink at the scout. "Well, most," she hastens to add.
"I had all but forgotten what day it was, and so as the music drew me from the more stoic stone surroundings of the hall, imagine my delight!" she explains, motioning over her shoulder towards the fortress. "A fair and welcomed respite it is. I am fairly weary of needlework," she confides with a smile.

Baradil smiles and looks back at the Elleth pleased to hear, she is pleased by the merrymaking. "I am glad we please you. We are under instructions to keep the noise lower than in Hadorsford. Oddly I would say we have succeeded. The noise is less than a rowdy tavern, yet the mood is goodly." He smiles again as the new song ends.
"It will quieten later for we will sit to a more formal feast, and then I think our lords will sit with us, as some of the more refined bardic folk play there trade." He looks about at the dancing folk and grins,
"It seems to me an Elleth with a voice as fair as yours, who is versed in our folk music, would be a more than welcome guest. Will thee come?"

"I should not miss it," Mirelinde answers happily, chuckling as the song ends and more laughter commences about the fireside. She turns to the scout, and little question there is that she looks forward to the event. "I shall come and perhaps bring a harp to sing as well," she says. Lowering her voice, she adds.
"It has been long enough in which I've been surrounded by those Noldo less inclined to join in the songs of the Atani. Rest assured my voice shall mingle gladly with yours." And she laughs softly again, making a quick glance of those surrounding.

From the towers and walls of the fort, Soldiers come, clad in full mail. Among them are many golden hared men of Hador, performing their purpose within the city. As is the strength of this place, even in times of joy.

Yet near the pair, a voice rises up above the music. It rings out angry and most irritated, completely contrasting the mood of the day. A burly Guard of Hador's men lifts a young blonde hared lad up by the scruff of his neck. "You stupid fool. Drunk, Drunk!! What of my Yule, I'll have to take your watch too, you idiot."

The young lad in the grip of the mail-clad guard opens his eyes and smiles, the eyes flutter open and shut again. The guard drops him heavily with a dull thud, yet the lad is not pained and the guard shakes his head, "Elagil will here of this Rimil. Thank you for my Yule."

Baradil hears and sees all that seems to have transpired and he frowns yet it soon turns to a smile.
"Excuse me M'Lady Mirelinde, I haven't taken watch for a good while due to wounds. This fellow deserves a Yule's eve and the lad cannot be roused in any fit state. I will take his watch, for the ale has not got to me." He bows again, as he rises he speaks again, "Though as I say the folk of Hador would love your company and perhaps I will be down here again by sundown."

He moves to the large Guard who is about to walk back to the eastern wall. A few quiet words are spoken and the guard smiles and bows to the scout. Turning again to Mirelinde the scout smiles broadly. "Well fare thee well and enjoy our hospitality."

"Fare thee well, mellon!" The elleth's call is cheered among the crowd, lifted so the retreating scout may hear. Calls for drink and more song are raised from the those merrymakers, and Mirelinde walks among the outer edges of the crowd to find some mulled cider to drink and ward against the winter chill. Once again, songs are raised, and the maiden listens, tapping her foot and sipping the warm cider within the cup, smiling broadly.

Baradil bows again and smiles,
"Well fair thee Well Mirelinde and I hope to be able to hear your harp and voice together." He nods his head and turns and moves of towards the walls patting the Burly guard apon his broad shoulder. "Have a fair night friend."

Songs continue to float around the camp and the sound of laughter continues to float over all. Many people begin to move around the group large, as tables are being set out and meats are being placed upon them. This feast will take a great time preparing and thus many of the revelers join the effort. Yet the beating drum keeps the heart of the party rolling as Baradil clambers up the steps to the Eastern wall of the Barad Eithel, taking his first watch for many weeks.