A Friendly Challenge: Part II
OOC Note: This log follows the RP logged in A Friendly Challenge: Part I. Just in case it wasn't obvious already.
Garden
You stand in the wonderous gardens of Imladris. Beautifully terraced, the gardens seem to go on forever. There are rows of small, delicate looking flowers, in every colour of the rainbow. Their scents form a fragrant perfume, delighting your sense of smell. Some clusters of small bushes bloom here and there, spreading their leaves under the clear, sunny sky. A white pebbled path heads back toward the House of Elrond, while another leads away South, to a more secluded looking area of the gardens.
Swards of soft green grass stretch out on one side of the path, and mixed in here and there are colourful wildflowers. Some slender, grey barked trees rise, flanking the lawns, their long and leafy tendrils waving slightly in the breeze. The rich smell of other flowers drifts by you, and as you turn, you see many rosebushes, their branches covered with clusters of full blooms. Bees busily buzz around the garden, delighting in the warm summer air, and the sunny weather.
Autumn has kindled its fading fire upon the Vale of Imladris, for even the most distant trees blaze brightly with vivid reds, oranges, and golds, all of which shine more brightly beneath the last rays of the sun setting in the West. The air in the garden is cool and still, though very much alive with the merry sounds of elven laughter and song. A few tables stand in well-formed rows, their cloth draped surfaces adorned with the assorted fruits of the passing harvest: apples and figs, fresh-baked breads, pastries, and several spreads of meats and cheeses. A central table remains cleared, and several chairs stand around it for those who wish to sit. At its head a small service cart stands, bearing several bottles of the finest wines.
Both the eaves of the porch and the garden trellises are bedecked with lanterns, their light casting a festive glow over the stone-paved walkways and terraces. Garlands strung of the very essence of the fading days - colorful leaves and dried berries - weave their way around with the strands of softly glowing lights.
In the center of this festive autumn scene stands the Miruvorthaer Eryndae, her garment the very hue of the deepest red wines she so prides herself to have made. With hands slender yet strengthened by age and work in the vineyards, she carefully positions the last of a large set of goblets atop the service cart, then turning the bottles of wine so that their finely-scripted labels are easily read. She is a meticulous host indeed.
As the banquet begins, the dwarves begin to arrive, gandering at the work put into for their arrival. One such dwarf, who is finely dressed, with a long raven, black beard tied with a silver, gem encrusted chain. In his hand is a black, wooden cane, with a metal tip and bejeweled handle. It is Nwurvor, who leads several other dwarves, who wheel in several barrels of ale and some carrying crates of mugs. Bellowing out in a cheery tone, "Ok, put those barrels next to the tables...we'll show 'em how good dwarven ale can be!" A burst of laughter comes over the Senior Merchant, as he gazes around at the crowd, till his eyes come upon Eryndae in which he begins to stride over to her.
Sirithil steps out of the house, resplendent in a shimmering intricately-embroidered red and gold robe. The elf-maiden smiles at those present, granting everyone a cheerful 'Mae govannen' as she makes her way towards one of the tables.
Kitazara comes into the garden and gazes around. "That's just wonderful!" She laughs happily when she sees the other dwarfs and the barrels. "Aye, show them our way of life!" she shouts and walks to one of the tables.
From among a group of laughing elves emerges Idherveld Tatharwen, calling back over her shoulder, "We'll see about that, mellon!" then moving slowly, in pure enjoyment of the sights and fragrance of the great evening, toward the wine table. Since entering the garden she had made for that goal, but finds it hard to pass by friends without merry conversation. Indeed the elleth has a more radiant demeanor than usual, perhaps the glow of the hours spent lately under the autumn sun. Her long violet-colored skirt barely rustles with her graceful walk, and this night her hair has been gathered loosely to the back of her head and adorned with miniature roses.
Through the open doors of the house, light as a leaf blown over the porch, comes the Lady of the Valley. For a moment, the Heryn Arwen remains standing on the edge of the porch, looking over the gathering with the faint trace of a smile, then descends the stairs to mingle with the crowd, hesitating here or there for a brief word of greeting.
Celebaelin comes from up the southern bank and takes a few fruits on a plate from the service cart to eat at a table nearby. She nods and waves to those she recognizes and settles in to watch the dwarves' antics, every so often munching on a piece of fruit. She says little while watching the others around, more content to observe than to talk.
Once satisfied with the arrangement of the glasses, Eryndae's eyes lift to the sky and its colorful frame of autumn leaves. In this moment of reverie, the lady takes a slow draught of the crisp air before returning her focus to present company with sparkling eyes and a smile renewed in warmth. Her voice lifts in bright greeting as she notes Nwurvor's approach. "Ah, good Master Dwarf! I trust you have come prepared to make good on your promise to share a drink with me?" The timbre of Eryndae's words remains warm and gentle, but the bright twinkle that lights her ice grey eyes suggests a mischievous eagerness not fully shown in her courtly manner. The elleth regards Kitazara with a similar smile. "And we shall show you ours as well!" she chuckles. To the several elves that now enter, the elleth offers a winning smile.
Sirithil comes up beside Eryndae. "Drinking with dwarves?" she asks, her emerald eyes shining with mischief. "Sounds like an interesting diversion. I wonder who will last longer? Eldar or Naugrim?"
As he walks over, using his can nonchalantly, Nwurvor has a grin upon his face as he comes to the elven maiden, "And good day. I have brought three of our finest ale's...and mugs made by my own hands to drink them out of, can't drink ale without proper mugs." A slight bow before the maiden as he glances around at the people, "I see you took great care in setting this up, I'm sure my fellow dwarves will find it in good spirits and that the elves will even be inclined to try the ale we brought." Gesturing at the three barrels, "There they are, Dori's Glory, Miner's Gold, and Homeward Stout...and I think you should try the Stout, it is very aromatic, and smooth." A glint is in his eyes as he boasts about the ale.
Sirithil laughs. "I would certainly enjoy the chance to indulge in dwarvish ale," she says. "So is the Stout the best of the three? No matter, I'll try them all."
From the southern garden, a lightsome lady as moonbeams, pale on pearl, approaches as the evening. Until she notices the large gathering, her turquoise eyes are captured by her own reverie, but as she nears, an expression of mild and not unpleasant surprise. She stops somewhat on the edge of the festivity, an exclamation of stillness and serenity, silver and shadow, to scan the faces here gathered. She smiles very slightly as she sees Arwen, a small nod of greeting if the lady catches her eye, and her brow flickers only slightly at the faces of the naugrim. She keeps her silence and her place, still as moon over meadow.
Eryndae's aside to Sirithil hints at her enthusiasm as well as the stirring of a mildly competitive spirit within. "Indeed, we shall see! The Gwinthaer and I have ensured that the best selection has been brought up from the Hir's wine cellar. And I must confess that I am most... anxious... to sample the ale you and your kin hold in such high esteem." Her last words are extended to Nwurvor as well, both sincerity and uneasiness meeting in mild contrast in the tone of her voice as she eyes the barrels and crates of mugs.
Once uncertainty has again been swept away, the Miruvorthaer turns to Celebaelin and Tatharwen. "Mellyn, will you not join in the event? Your tastes would undoubtedly be a welcome addition to our panel of experts."
While taking a mug of ale Kitazara grins at Eryndae. Then she raises her mug, "Cheers my friends, let us drink to solidarity between Dwarfs and Elves."
Weaving between the tables and passing elves, Tatharwen approaches the wine table in time to overhear the dwarves' boast of their ale. An eyebrow raised, she chuckles and looks more than eager for the challenge. She greets the Miruvorthaer, Celebaelin and Sirithil. With a small nod, she formally but pleasantly greets Nwurvor and his companion dwarf.
Nimmeril's arrival in the gardens is unobtrusive. She hovers on the fringe of activity, impassive whilst the silver pools of her irises shift their focus from person to person. When Arwen is espied, her Silivriel eases toward her, a lithe figure in pale silks that remains, by and large, removed from the gathering in general. Nimmeril is a subdued presence even now, and naught that she may do seeks to draw attention to herself.
Where there is ale to be found, Glim is ne'er to far to be found, and indeed, he comes, following the directions his nose points him in. On the arrival, he sees several other dwarves, along with a good deal of the Elven kind. His grin shows that there is little chance he could be more pleased than to have a good drink. He removes his own mug from his belt, and holds it high, as if it were a weapon before a battle. He walks forward to Kitazara and offers, "Aye, a fine proposal, lass. And may it be true fer many ages."
Sirithil raises an ale of the dwarfish stout. "Hear hear!" she says. "Friendship is a rare commodity in this age; but may we share it in abundance!"
"Ah, I would more likely keep with the elven wine, mellon," Celebaelin tells the Miruvorthaer as she stands and makes her way over. "Taking in a mug of dwarven ale is not exactly the most comfortable proposition I have heard. I would, in the service of the Valley, of course, lend my tastes to the breaking of a tie." She subtly wrinkles her nose. "Not that I think we will have one." She smiles and takes up a glass of wine, chuckling at Sirithil's exclamation and display. "Indeed," she says, raising her wine glass, "to friendship!"
The corners of Ele's lips turn up slightly at the edges, and her face becomes a pleasant and inscrutably professional mask at the toast. Lacking a glass, she watches carefully with a mildly hospitable expression but says naught, moves not.
"Very well then! To friends and honored guests," Eryndae proclaims in response to Kitazara, her bright words part of an attempt to mask her cautiousness as she drifts to the center table and reaches for one of the topmost mugs in the crate the dwarves have brought. "Then shall we partake of your ale first?" Her question hangs in the air more as a silent request for direction than an invitation, for indeed the graceful elven lady appears out of place with a stout mug in her hand.
"Good, good." He turns around to see his fellow dwarves walking amongst the elves and joining in the festivities and shouts up in cheerful and anxious tone, "Dwarves don't forget to try the wine of the elves, as they will try our ale." His eyes turns, inclind towards the elves, "I think Dori's Glory is the best we have to offer...tho it has a bang to it...and Miner's Gold is our smoothest ale...I brought three fine ale's that I hope you will find pleasing." His tone is straight forward, tho held off a little to show kindness and not his true feeling about which drink is the best, "This I hope will be a fine meeting of dwarves and ale alike, we are allies and in these times we should be friends as they have begin to say...and all dirnk merrily the ale and wine."
Ale? Nimmeril shudders a bit and rather instead collects a cup of wine from a passing servant, content with that familiar libation. Still, toward the dwarves she has a degree of amity, and a gentle smile lights her lips whilst she listens to the toasts, contentment showing on her countenance. The pleasant ambiance sits well with her.
With hurried steps, Tinweril walks towards the table where the Quendi and their guests the Naugrim are already gathered and the banquet seems in full swing. Her green eyes shine with anticipation, as she is eyeing eagerly the array of viands and drinks. The elleth has evidently taken care to look pretty on the occasion, as she is wearing a kind of light shawl to decorate her usual plain dress and a couple of bracelets. He hair though is accurately tied up as usual, though decorated with a couple of beautifully carved wooden combs. She smiles her greeting to everyone she knows while passing by and, overhearing the last words, she rises her eyebrows: "Ale? We're drinking ale today?" Her voice bears a hint of disbelief as if she this drinking habit seems to her highly unusual.
Kitazara looks happily at the others before she drinks her ale. After a long sip, she begins to sing, "Ah, ale and wine, dwarfs and elves, everyone come together and forget their worries..." She sits down at a table and drinks more.
Sirithil smiles, knocking back the mug of stout, then refilling it with Dori's Glory. After all, she can have wine any day. It's not every day that dwarves visit the valley. "What a wonderful evening for a party!" she says. "Worries? Who has worries?" she adds with a cheerful grin, knocking back the Glory as well. She turns to Nwurvor. "Please, tell us tales of your journey."
Nwurvor walks over to the cart with the wine's, taking a glass of a red wine, looking at the glass a bit awkwardly, even tho this is not his first taste of the wine, "You drink the ale, and I shall drink your wine in good show of our mixing." The dwarf speaks dignified and respectable, keeping himself well mannered in the cheery company. He raises his glass in toast to everybody, "Let us just see how good each others drinks our, as we both have been keeping them in high standards." His grin keeps up, tho not full as he holds the glass of wine, possibly even more forced that he lets on.
Tatharwen shares the Miruvorthaer's uncertainty. Taking a mug and filling it from the barrel of 'stout', Tatharwen looks into its contents suspiciously. Then, as if realizing that her action may give offense, she lifts the mug hesitantly to her lips and takes a delicate sip. Briefly a look of distaste flashes over her features, but nevertheless her second draught is deeper. The taste seeming to grow on her a bit, she takes another drink, then raises the mug in response to Nwurvor's toast with a pleasant smile. Upon which she holds it between her slender hands, making no further comment.
Pale lips purse thoughtfully as slender eyebrows quirk in response. "A...bang, you say? I suppose I shall sample the other one first then." Thus Eryndae taps a few modest swallows of the ale the dwarves called Miner's Gold into her mug. She straightens slowly, squaring her shoulders and lifting lifting her chin, but no more than sniffing the brew just yet. To Tinweril she looks, the Seinobennasdis' disbelief mirrored in the Miruvorthaer's own wide eyes. "'Tis a rare event indeed," she mutters, her eyes flickering to Tatharwen as the younger vintner takes a sip.
Sirithil raises her own mug in response to the second toast of the evening, with another "Hear, hear!" She's enjoying herself a great deal, wanting to show the dwarves every ounce of elven hospitality she can muster. She samples now the third ale, filling her mug from the barrel labeled 'Miner's Gold'.
Nimmeril is not so brave as Eryndae, nor Sirithil; she keeps in her hand the cup of delicate elven wine and observes, fairly closely, the reactions of the edhil as they taste this frothy liquid provided by the stout visitors.
Sending a surprised glance at Sirithil who looks as if it were not the first mug of ale that she was drinking, and then watching Tatharwen take a sip, Tinweril seemingly gets the idea of sharing the each other's drinking habits, but there is great doubt in her eyes. She tries to avoid coming too close to the dwarves and their ale at the same time to outflank them and manage to be in the proximity of Eryndae's wine rather than ale. The elleth takes a cup and looks at the Miruvorthaer, question in her eyes, as if looking for advice for further actions.
Eh...a drink is a drink, and it couldn't possibly be that bad. Glim gets himself some of the Elvish drink, and fills his own mug to the brim. He stares at it but a moment before bringing the drink to his lips and pouring it down. After a mouthful of the stuff, he stops...and tastes...eyebrows meeting as his forehead creases in thought. He swallows...not too hard, and smiles. "Ey, now...it's different. I'll give 'em that, but the gods curse me if the stuff ain't too bad!"
Tatharwen smiles at Sirithil's enthusiasm for both the toasts and the ales. Out of courtesy, she continues to reserve comment until the Miruvorthaer has asked for judgment. She then smiles a greeting at the elleth Tinweril and smiles with amusement at her uncertainty over the whole affair.
Holding up the glass close to his lips, Nwurvor, instead of slowing sipping the wine, takes the contents of the glass in one swing, gulping it all. His cheeks twitch a bit, tho hard to tell under the thickness of his beard. His tone is somewhat lax, shrugging a bit, not giving too much away on how the wine really tasted, "Its got a flavor to it...not a kick like the ale...but its an interesting change from the normal ale..." He then chuckles a bit, at a past memory, "Oh? Tales you want...I have a memory when I was back in the Shire...a hobbit wanted us to try some punch, saying it had a zing to it...Kind of funny, a hobbit made brew with 'zing'...Tho I suppose it was a similar experience like this."
Sirithil smiles. "Hobbits? I was in the Shire a few weeks ago myself," she says. "Encountered a group of Hobbits on the Stock Road. They were frightened at first, of course; but the way to a hobbit's heart is through his stomach, and having mushrooms with me at the time certainly helped." She grins. "Before long, one wanted me to accompany him to a tavern. I had to decline, of course; we were on our way to Mithlond, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless." She smiles over at those elves who seem somewhat... reticent at trying the ale. "Go on," she urges them. "It's different, but good anyway."
With a light shrug to Tinweril, Eryndae throws her last remaining bit of caution to the wind, swallowing audibly before tilting back her head and drinking in a half-mouthful of the ale. There she stands frozen for a moment, the liquid flowing over her tongue, before downing the draught with notable difficulty. "Hmmm," is her only initial assessment, and the elleth's eyes remain with the last contents of her cup while she ponders further comments. "Smooth indeed, though the bitterness is indeed a surprise....not entirely unwelcome, but a surprise no less," the Miruvorthaer qualifies. "What say you, Gwinthaer? I have long been a drinker of wine, and perhaps am a bit too set in my ways to fully appreciate a change."
"Now let me try some wine...." Kitazara says after she has drunk the ale. She take a glass and fills it with wine. Then she takes a sip and begins to shine, "Hmm....not bad, it's very good. Different and good. Just like elves." She says with a smile.
Tinweril smiles to Tatharwen, the smile is still uncertain, as she comes a little closer to the Gwinthaer and says in half-whisper aiming probably at not being heard, but at the same time having to speak louder than she could have preferred to because of the low humming of voices around the banquet table: "I was late, mellon, could you elucidate a little. Is this some kind of contest to find out who can drink more and still hold straight and steady?"
Shooting a glance at the other ale-reluctant elves, Celebaelin makes her way to the service cart for some fish and bread. She pauses to refill her wine glass, still not entirely comfortable with the idea of taking her meal with ale instead. She eyes the braver elves' reactions and chuckles to herself. Perhaps their seeming discomfort seconds her own hesitance. "I thank you for your invitation, Sirithil," she manages after thinking for a moment how to verbalize her thoughts, "but I would rather enjoy the company before the ale."
Eledurima moves her hand as an elf passes with a tray and he stops, stepping back courteously as she closes her small free hand about the stem of a fluted glass of miruvor and they exchange nods, hers of thanks, his of welcome. She raises the glass to her pearlescent lips and takes a small sip. Still she stands as silvery birch, watching the evident good humor. Then she shimmers movement lightly, making her way through the crowd to the porch, stepping up on the step, watching, listening.
Nimmeril's eyes are focused on Eryndae with a touch of concern, for she can see the trouble in swallowing that mouthful of frothy ale. With discretion she steps nearer to the drinks, finds a cup of simple and cool water, then offers it wordlessly to the Miruvorathaer.
"I too have found my tastes more given to wine," Tatharwen answers Eryndae carefully, "and thus perhaps my tastes have been formed rather by the grape than grain." She takes another drink thoughtfully. "Yet I find that the drink perhaps is best enjoyed in hearty swallows than in sips, as we are used to savoring wine."
Helegrhofel waves as he comes out of the house and into the Garden then he smiles at most familiar faces. After enjoying the view and scent of all the beautiful flowers for a few moments, he makes his way through the noisy and cheerful crowd, heading to the service cart. There he samples some fruits and pours a glass of wine. Taking a sip of his drink he makes out Tatharwen and walks closer to her.
Helegrhofel takes a peach off the cart and chomps into it. Juice runs messily down his chin and he has to get a napkin off the cart.
Helegrhofel goes to the service cart and pours a glass of white wine for himself.
There is a quiet creak, and a click of a door closing with a gentle rattle. A slender woman approaches on the path from the Greenhouse, only spotting the crowd of elves and dwarves when she is nearly upon them. A moment's glance has her directing a particularly chilly frown at one of the folk standing carelessly in a bed of chrysanthemums, yet she withholds her ire for the moment and instead lingers at the edge of the gathering, perhaps trying to discern its cause. The presence of a cart of food and drink, especially ale, in the garden does not seem to cheer her mood.
Emerging from the crowd she had been milling through, Arwen carefully takes up a glass of wine. She does not speak anymore now, although she glances warmly towards both Eledurima and Nimmeril as she spots them, and raises her glass slightly towards the dwarven guests in silent salute.
Nwurvor chuckles softly to himself as he looks at the expression on the elven faces as they try the ale, stroking his beard at the thought of his own expression. Then turns towards the the elf Tinweril, "Now, I don't think that contest would be a fair one...This wine hasn't got the kick of Dori's Glory...which has a bang to it...we dwarves were grown to drink ale, we don't fall easily with drink." He continues his laughter, as his belly begins to roll, he then pours himself a bit of the white wine now, "Lets see how this tastes, although Miner's Gold is a light golden ale, I'm used to the dark stuff...found it has more a kick...and tastes better."
Glim finishes his first mug of the Elvish drink, and goes quickly for another. "Heh...I'll say the stuff is good...a delightful change. Yah ferget different tastes when ye've been drinkin' the ale too long!" He looks about and smiles as he sees the Dwarves drinking wine and the Elves drinking ale. "Surely we've gotten ourselves turned around here." He takes another drink and begins to laugh heartily. "I'll tell you one thing..if I begin to grow and these Elves start shrinkin, I'll be back at the camp an' headin for home before ye can say the word 'Drink!"
Sirithil nods. "Indeed it is, Tatharwen," she says. "It is certainly best savored when drunk quickly. Wine, on the other hand, is meant to be nursed all night, every sip taken with the utmost care." She spots the arrival of the gardener-type woman, noting the anger on her face; Sirithil glances down, and is relieved to find she is not standing anywhere near the flowerbeds.
Elinbrant walks up to the doorway and looks out to the gathering. Leaning lightly upon the door frame he stayed put while watching the goings on quietly. A small smile flits about his mouth as he figures that it is a party and turns his ears to try to find out what the party is for, or about.
Another gulp of ale is taken in similar fashion, then a deep breath of fresh air follows. Eryndae's smile, however, does not fully return until she has downed nearly half of the proffered water. With gratitude just as discreet as Nimmeril's assistance, the lady nods subtly and a softened smile. "Many thanks, mellon. I think once night has fallen and the sun has risen upon tomorrow, I shall again resign myself to more familiar comforts." This spoken to Nimmeril and Tatharwen in her immediate company, the Miruvorthaer then lifts her voice in clear address of the dwarves. "Please, drink your fill...or however much you have a care to sample," she chuckles. "If you have a preference for boldness, I would recommend the red Culromenlin. I think you will find our white wines a more refreshing drink."
Nimmeril has white wine for herself, in point of fact. She touches Eryndae's arm lightly, gently, as a mark of reassurance before taking a backward step as if to resume her place in the shadows of the scene. She herself, by the way, has treated the garden with naught other than high respect: it was once said she has cared more for the greenery of the valley than the Firstborn themselves.
Smiling also at the Naugrim, Tatharwen makes a small bow in their direction. "You are most kind to offer us of your wares, sirs. And may the wine be to your health!"
Tinweril at first looks confused that Nwurvor should have heard her comment that was not really intended to be heard by the gusts, or so it seems. Although as the meaning of his words slowly sinks into her mind, her eyes give out a glint of spirited protest. "You are not trying to imply that your folk is better drinkers than ours," the elleth says rather irritably, though it really is hard to say what she might find that objectionable about that. "Or that our wine is weaker than that beverage of yours you call ale? Our wine can both gladden the heart and make the head swirl."
Noting Sirithil's attention, Dinaloss slowly makes her way to the historian's side, and says, "Good afternoon, Sirithil. What precisely is going on here? I had not known there were to be any festivities in the gardens today... And I am surprised, at the least, to see so much ale being passed around. It does not appear to be limited to the Dwarves, whose preference for the vile liquid is at least understandable. Their fortitude is widely known. There are many elves here, however, who will end up with a nasty headache, I shouldn't wonder."
Eledurima more holds than drinks her miruvor, but she notes Arwen's example of hospitality to the strange guests, and there is a slight nod of acquiescence, to herself more than to anyone else. Other than that, her trained expression remains the same: small smile, eyes that mask all but pleasantness, if indeed there is aught else behind them. As she finally speaks it is to one of the dwarves, the one who boasted of his ale and drinking prowess. Her expression is pleasant. "You might should be warned, sir, that the miruvor is some delayed of its effect and should be drunk slowly and experimentally for a time..."
Sirithil giggles to Dinaloss, slightly raising her mug-hand to get his attention. "It's not all that vile," she says with a grin. "Apparently they brought their best. At any rate, I can have wine any day, it's a welcome change."
After drinking the wine Kitazara peers to the barrels and then to the bottles. "So....what now?" She strokes her beard thoughtfully. "Hm...." She fills a mug half-full with ale and takes a bottle of white wine. "Now how will that taste?" she grins while mixing the two drinks together. She does it slowly, just like a ritual.
A smirk comes upon the face of the dwarf as it seems he is almost challenged in the fact of drinking. Nwurvor makes no heed to stand down, but gives of laughter in his response, "That be a challenge if my ears serve me right..." The white wine in his hand, is first sipped, then downed in another gulp, "Then I choose you try the dark lager of Dori's Glory...it can only be made when the weather is right in the mountains, are finest...made to finish the night with a bang!" Boasts the dwarf as he fills his glass with the red wine that was recommended, "Tho, our mugs are much larger than these glasses too...and I have carved tankards that take in over three times that of a mug in ale..."
Glim notes an the appearance of Dinaloss and her conversation with Sirithil. Grabbing one of the free mugs, he fills it with Miner's Gold, and brings it to the pair. He thrusts it upwards to Dinaloss. "Here, lassie, we Dwarves are enjoyin' yer drink. Can ye do us the same courtesy and at least try some our brew?" He takes his own cup full of the wine in his other hand and takes another large drink from it, making a show of smacking his lips and letting out a happy sigh.
Elinbrant gives a smile to all around and slips around the gathering to reach the rest of the garden to the south. As he passes the service cart he slips his hands around both a glass of red wine and a mug of ale. He raised them both as he slipped away as a thank you and a welcome to all before disappearing into the outer reaches of the garden.
Helegrhofel decides to sample this drink called 'ale' that all dwarves are fond of and heads to the barrels. He takes a mug and fills it from the barrel labeled "Miner's Gold". Taking a sip he says "That is indeed a tasteful drink, however totally different from wine, like Sirithil said. It has a taste difficult to explain using the words of Westron.", then drinking the rest of the beer quickly, according to the Seinobennasdis' comment, he returns to his favorite drink, Himhithlin. "I will probably drink more later, that is an opportunity not to be missed. I guess I will not have the chance to drink any ale for a long time", says and heads back to Tatharwen . "What do _you_ think about ale?" he asks her.
Eyes widening, her eyebrows almost disappearing up into her hair, the gardener stares back in blank surprise at Glim. Only after a few moments, and a nudge in the side from one of the elves nearby, does she move once more. Gracefully donning a smile and accepting the mug politely, she says, "I will try your ale, good Khazad. Yet I fear it will probably not be to my taste. I have heard stories all my life of Dwarven beer, up to and including that it can curl one's hair."
Looking gingerly down at the mug, she finally says, "Well then... A sip or two." Looking up, she says in a louder voice, commandingly as she can manage, "No one is to tell Bilbo about this. The little fellow will be insufferable for months, since I outright refused to try his pipeweed."
Finishing up his wine, Helegrhofel looks for more.
Keen ears catching parts of Dinaloss' concerns, Eryndae steps back to offer a quiet aside. "Headache, you say? In that ill foretelling I find further confirmation of my resolve to stick to wine hereafter." She says nothing further in address to the gardener's apparent displeasure, but rather approaches the table again with a now-empty mug. Whether by virtue of hospitality or sheer boldness, the elder vintner hesitantly refills the stout mug with a different ale....if it can be called 'filled' by two or three swallows of the dark brew. With a quiet chuckle at Dinaloss' proclamation, Eryndae then sips of her own drink.
Sirithil giggles. "Not to worry," she says, "Bilbo will hear nothing from me." She downs another mug of Miner's Gold.
"Good evening, Seinobennasdir," Tatharwen says brightly to Heleghrofel. The formality of the tasting, with its overtones of diplomatic exchange, fade in her countenance as she once again remembers that she is at a feast. "The ale is...a unique taste...but the honor of sampling the Naugrim's finest sweetens it immeasurably." She notes with surprise that the Miruvorthaer has poured herself more ale. She has yet to finish her first half-mug.
Kitazara stirs the mixture in her mug and smells at it. "Ah, won't be bad." She takes a big sip from her mug.... A strange expression comes up on her face. "Uhm....I think it's just too wonderful...." She coughs and turns to green. "It looks better than it tastes...."
Tinweril, who actually has not yet drunk a single drop of either wine or ale though has her cup filled with some white wine, probably for the reason of favoring this drink, smiles to Nwurvor graciously: "If you take my words for a challenge so be it, though it was not meant that way. I only wonder what might be the measure against which we might judge the victor of the like contest." She shrugs her shoulders as id trying to adjust her falling shawl. "And I would not say that it really is not fair to drink from different vessels as well as drinking different beverages." While saying this, she sends a troubled look at Kitazara, who has been mixing both, but abstains from any further comment.
Celebaelin wanders over to the cart for some pastries and decides upon having a glass of water, rather than wine or ale, to drink. She considers Eledurima's statement about the miruvor and eyes the dwarves as they seem to compete energetically for quantity of liquor consumed. Images of intoxicated dwarves springing to mind, she takes a seat at one of the tables toward the edge of the party area, facing the group. She nibbles on some of the treats on her plate, feeling much more comfortable removed from the activity in front of her, and simply watches.
Glim gives a broad grin, bringing a hand to wipe a few droplets from his beard. "I s'pose that's all I can ask for, aye? I promise ye, if ya hate the stuff outright, ye may have me drink anythin' of yer choosin, and I'll do my best to have it down, aye?" He gives a hearty laugh, leaning back to take another drink, and accidentally tilting his head to far, stumbling backwards a bit. He throws out a free arm and spins it in horizontal circles to regain balance, and when he finally plants his foot solidly in the Earth, he laughs again. "Well now. That was a bit of bad judgment now, aye?"
Arwen smiles at the garden-lady's comment about headaches, and with a mumbled word of "being moderate" disappears into the crowd once more.
Sirithil giggles at the dwarf. "Indeed," she says. "I'll tell you what, when next you stumble, I will catch you." She switches to wine, having had enough ale now.
Galagad slowly walks down the stairs hoping not to be noticed because he isn't very exiting today. The bored elf sits at the table furthest away from the crowd. Not even a smile crosses his face sitting at the table watching the others be very cheery it only sends more sadness through him.
Eledurima shakes her head softly with a little grimace mixed with a smile, as much as to say, Well, you are warned. She gives a little 'philosophical' shrug and climbs the rest of the stairs to the porch and then the house.
Turns to see Kit turning green, "Ha! What are you doing? Trying to create some new brew, but having it backfire on you..." The dwarf laughs before turning back to the elf who challenged, "Well, I do say, changing drinks we would not be able to tell who would last longer or the what not..." He then turns with a slight, mumbled grunt looking at the rest of the group, "Well now, I do think this is a nice change all together...we've been fighting trolls, orcs, and even some humans so far on our trip...and a good drink is a restful place is a good celebration after felling two Trolls that have plagued both of us." Nwurvor gives out a long exasperated breath after that comment.
Dinaloss takes a dainty sip from the mug, and only thousands of years of experience at hiding her expression allows her to smile afterwards. "A... Hearty brew, to be sure," she says to Glim, her cheeks flushing red despite her best efforts. "Every rumour I've heard has fallen short of the mark. Only a dwarf could drink this, and not be overcome before they've reached the bottom of the mug."
Stepping down into the crowd, she looks at the rest of the beer in her mug dubiously, though those elves nearest her may overhear her saying, under her breath, "I wonder what effect this stuff would have on our rosebushes. They'd likely overgrow the house with a few drops."
Not even needing to sample Kitazara's concoction to imagine its foul taste, Eryndae's nose wrinkles with obvious distaste and half-wonder. "I do not suppose that is an endeavor you will try again, hmm?" This sentiment spoken, the elleth begrudgingly offers the rest of her glass of water, holding back her ale mug as if she truly would rather offer it away instead.
Kitazara laughs at Glim's movement. "Nice dancing, cousin!" Then she turns to Nwurvor "Well, dear master, always trying something new..." She laughs and looks at her mug. "You must end, what you have begun." With these words she empties the mug with one gulp. "I think....I'm feeling strange." She quickly runs away from the table holding her hand before her mouth.
Tatharwen watches the dwarf make her hasty exit with gentle concern. Bidding a good evening to all at the beverages table, Tatharwen decides to sample the meats to see which ones might help the taste of the remaining ale in her cup. She raises the mug to all one more time before moving away with a rustle of silken skirts.
Finishing off his last glass of wine, and setting it down, Nwurvor begins to walk a way a bit. Saying with a wave, in a cheerful as can be tone, "I think I will too leave for now, Thank you for this gesture and feel free to try more of the ale we have brought...and I hope to talk with you all more." At that the Senior Merchant begins his way towards the house, waving at the guests and bidding them good night as he walks off with a grin upon his face at the thought of the elven faces when they tasted the ale.
Galagad stands up pours some red wine gulps it down and walks up the stairs disappearing into the house of Rivendell.
With movements quick so as not to be easily noticed, Eryndae reaches her mug behind her back, carefully pouring it into a far corner of an unfinished flower bed. Perhaps she is following the gardener's uncertain suggestion....though not carefully enough, for a good portion of the ale dampens the hem of her burgundy gown. She does not seem to notice, and thus continues to walk around mingling with the guests.
Glim takes another sip from his mug. As he lowers the container, though, he notices many of the participants of the festivities have already left. He shrugs slightly and goes about his own business. The friends may be gone, but the drinks are there to stay, for awhile at least. He stays next to the drinks and fills his mug yet again with the fine Elvish liquor. He thrusts it into the air, saying to anyone that cares to listen. "Well...count this among the things I shall miss upon my farewell!"
Helegrhofel, drinking the last of his wine and feeling the party is somehow over, he walks closer to the house and murmurs, "Namarie," as he passes in front of the remaining people. The light breeze makes his cloak wave and with a quick hop he disapears into the house.
Tinweril smiles to herself, quietly sipping her white wine and not making any move to try any of the dwarves' drinks, sending at the same time a sympathetic glance at the unfortunate Kitazara, though her eyes do have an expression lingering there that says "I told you." The maiden nibbles at a biscuit and seems to be amused by the sight of the guests loosing their balance and stumble and enjoying themselves. She settles down comfortably with a whole plate of viands, and watches the surrounding merry-making, nodding from time to time to some friends or inserting a comment or two into their conversation.
Even as Eryndae sips the now-lukewarm water from the glass given to her by Nimmeril, her nose is at work sniffing the crisp autumn air, now thoroughly scented with the lingering blossoms of summer and....beer? Confusion settles into the age-deepened furrow of her fair brow as absent steps carry her along the paths of the garden and into the house, trying desperately to escape the smell that, unbeknownst to the Miruvorthaer herself, will now follow her wherever her feet lead.