A Warm Welcome
Kitchen
The room is warm, courtesy of a huge, roaring fire, over which a large turkey roasts slowly, its aroma filling the room and mingling with other smells of cooking food, as the Imladris kitchen staff prepare yet another meal. Great ovens cook fresh pastries and delicious smelling bread, and still other enticing treats are being prepared as you watch. A small round table and a few chairs occupy a place at the far end of the kitchen, away from the bustle, a fine place to devour a quick snack, or indeed a whole meal. Occasionally the small head of an elf-child pops in, and a tiny hand snatches away a treat, the staff kindly looking the other way. Even during the darkest hours of the night a cook or two can be found at work here, busily preparing for another day.
Though it is summer throughout the valley, the hottest season finds a greater intensity within the kitchen of the Last Homely House. The afternoon sun streams through the modest windows in golden rays, falling upon a room nearly emptied of its usual bustle. In place of the usual number of cooks, Amarelei stands poised by a large oaken table, hands crossed across her front, and deep thought plainly settled in the lines of her fair face. Before her on the table rests a parchment scroll laid flat, and a pile of scrap materials seeming random in its collection...a most unusual setting for what would normally be a typical, busy afternoon in the kitchen.
A few quick steps sound from the stairway connecting the Kitchen to the Halls of the Istfariath, and a few moments later, Celebaelin steps through the doorway leading into the former. She holds a small book to her body as she looks around the room, until finally her eyes set upon her compatriot deep in concentration at the table. Smiling, she steps forward, puts the book on the table, and opens it to a copied chart of the summer sky. "This may prove useful for our task, I believe," she says.
Following Celebaelin closely, the edhel Tavros enters the Kitchen. He is dressed for training, and appears to be somewhat beaten. Upon seeing Amarelei, Tavros almost completely cheers up, and then he becomes even more joyful upon seeing the plans for the glowing cake. He speaks cheerfuly, "Mae govannen, mellon."
Reverie finds its end with Celebaelin's words, and eyes of gilded green soften as they turn to regard the Elisthir. "Ah, Celebaelin! I was beginning to worry this venture had been left entirely in mine own hands! What relief to have my fear proven false," Amarelei intones softly, a marked lilt finding its way into her smooth alto. Lifting a single finger to her lips in quiet concentration, the young maiden looks over the book with a discerning eye. "It will serve, yes!" she at last replies with an excited smile. As her eyes lift from the pages, so do they flicker to Tavros as he enters. "A fair afternoon to you, Mellon Tavros! I do hope you have come to offer your help as well...? There is much to do."
The Elisthir smiles. "This venture should be left in no individual's hands," she says. "The stars alone say so -- there are enough here to be carved into our confection that the task will take as many willing elves are available to assist."
The tugwiol responds to Amarelei rather cheerfuly, "Yes, mellon, I am here to help. Wouldn't want you to make a mess of it, now would I?" He passes a glance to the plans on the table smiling, "So, are you going to do it the hard way or the easy way?"
The Galthor's enthusiasm seems to grow unbound, and yet still a sparkle of intense focus lights her hazel green eyes from within. "Then fortune has found me once more! 'Twas a delightful surprise to find the Bathril so willing to support this undertaking, and eager help makes it all the more bearable a task. And Tavros...that depends. I fear the 'easy' way is hardly easy at all!" Her excitement brings forth her words at a quick pace, yet ere another word past blushing lips escapes, the clear chime of a small bell brings her words to a momentary halt. When Amarelei speaks next, the words are called over her shoulder as the elleth hurries toward the fire. "Ah, the last layer is done!"
Carefully she rolls towels around her palms, then stooping down to carefully remove a cast iron cake pan from the cooking rack atop the fire. When she turns around, it is with a medium-sized layer of fine yellow cake in her grasp, its sweet scent filling the air. "The other layers are atop the cabinet beside the window, mellyn. Perhaps the two of you could each retrieve one?" A nod indicates the cabinet she speaks of.
Celebaelin looks at the cabinet and nods. She hurries over to pick up another of the pans with a layer of cake in it, eyes widening as she turns to walk back to the table. "I am quite comfortable with having the sky in my sights, but not so in my hands!" she says, slowing her step. "A drop would be disastrous!"
Tavros follows Celebaelin to the cabinet where the other layers of the cake are being stored, and in procession picks up the other layer. It is surprisingly light and fluffy, as he carries it to the table on which he is to place. After doing so he is tempted to get just a tiny taste, and he reaches out with his finger...
"But I trust your hands and the guidance of your step, mellon," Amarelei reassures Celebaelin, though the Lhimbadhril herself does not venture to turn around and speak to the others until her own carried layer is set safely down upon the oaken tabletop. As she turns, Tavros' covert intent is revealed to the keen eyes of a forester, and a slender eyebrow lifts in a curious arch. "Aye, but it seems some hands are not to be trusted," she mutters, inclining her head in an attempt to catch the Tugwiol's eye.
Tavros suddenly realizes he is being watched be the eyes of Amarelei, and he swiftly withdraws his hand. In the same instant, he remembers his late night training at the Archery range. Extreemly upset, Tavros bids farewell to his friends. "It seems mellyn, that I must leave you now, as I have an appointment elsewhere. It does grieve me to leave these beautiful eleth, but the Training Grounds call." Without another word he turns and leaves through the doorway, heading once again to the training ground.
Celebaelin smiles. "Well, at least the chances of our cake being eaten away from within are lessened," she says as the Tugwiol leaves. She looks at the plans and frowns in concentration. "There will be no easy way for this, I fear."
Little does Amarelei's enthusiasm wane as Tavros makes his hasty departure, and yet the nature of her farewell does find notes of mild discouragement interwoven with its gentle melody. "Then it seems this great labor lies once more in the hands of us two, mellon. If you think yourself ready for the challenge, we shall get to work at once!" Light steps nearly become skips as the Galthor rounds the table to stand beside Celebaelin. "We shall not be needing this just yet," she speaks of the book the Elisthir has brought. "I imagine we should set it aside, lest the pages be soiled with icing."
The clattering of iron on stone rings out through the valley, as a pair of riders on swift horses canter swiftly down the trail to the valley, and on through the path towards the stables. Riders, of course, are of little enough note... Except that there is something unusual about this pair, and their almost reckless speed through the valley.
"Whether or not I am ready is a bit more philosophical a consideration than I need right now," she says, setting aside the book and rolling up her sleeves. "What must be done must be--" she begins but pauses, hearing a dreadful racket coming into the Valley from outside. She turns and strides toward the window.
Just as Amarelei lifts a knife and begins to cut the soft, spongy yellow confection from around the edges of the largest pan, the sudden clamor from afar brings a glow of curiosity to gilded green eyes. "I wonder..." These her only spoken words, barely whispered as it were, the Galthor drifts behind Celebaelin to the high windows, nearly standing upon her tiptoes to peer through the panes out into the gardens. "Who could make such a racket? Surely the Rochonnath would not be riding so hard through the valley without notice."
Celebaelin says, "Surely no one rides so hard through the Valley at all. Such an event is hardly commonplace."
Curiosity inherent in one of young years wins out over the focus Amarelei had upon the task at hand, and with a conspiratory smile, she turns to the Elisthir. "Perhaps we should venture out to the stables for awhile...? The cake must cool, after all!" This sentiment spoken, Amarelei hardly waits to hear Celebaelin's reply before she darts around the table and out onto the porch.
Imladris Stables
The stable complex of Imladris is orderly and well-kept. Scores of healthy and contented horses stand in roomy stalls with fresh straw and are constantly attended by many stable hands. The walls and horse-stalls are built from the same beautiful wood as the main house, and there are ornate carvings of trees and flowers around the doors, and on the posts at each stall. Directly in front of you, opposite the main entrance, you see another doorway leading north towards the training grounds.
The swift hoofbeats stopping just outside the stable, one of the pair of riders dismounts first, leading his horse inside. The beast is breathing somewhat heavily, but Elrohir covers it with a blanket, before looking about for a groom. Instead, he spots Eledurima, to whom he calls a quiet, "Good day," before turning to look back for his brother.
Following right behind his brother, Elladan follows suite, dismounting and leading the lathered beast inside. He follows his twin's gaze, spotting the elleth and nods but says nary a word. Turning his gaze away from her he espies a groom and beckons the young elf over to both he and his brother's horses.
Eledurima looks up when she hears the horse and rider enter the stall so when Elrohir calls, her sweet smile of greeting is ready for him. She lays the comb on the stall door and brushes off her hands, coming out of the stall. "And well met to you, mellon." Her expression twinkles in the dim light. When Elladan enters she raises a small hand in greeting as well.
Eledurima says, "I should say that I am delighted to see you as I know all will be. You look fit, both of you."
"Eledurima," says Elrohir quietly, as he leaves his horse to the ministrations of the groom, and moves to stand beside his brother. "It has been some time since we have seen you in the valley. Welcome, of course, among us. We have been absent a while ourselves, on an errand for our father. It is good to be home."
From the tall willowy grasses surrounding the valley path, an elleth strides with steps both quiet and hasty. Gilded green eyes peer cautiously around the broad wooden doors, glints of curiosity and modest concern lighting their depths. Yet after a moment's study, a light sigh of what would seem to be relief rises and falls in Amarelei's chest. She stands straighter now, turning to the grasses behind her with a subtle smile and a beckoning flicker of her wrist.
Celebaelin follows Amarelei's gesture and quietly peeks in through the doorway. She looks at the groom, then at the horses, and finally at the riders. She makes rather little sound as she peers around the stables.
Likewise turning over his mount to the groom, though not without a farewell and affectionate stroking of the stallion's mane, Elladan nods as his brother speaks and then chimes in. "Too long it has been, I feel. But it does make the homecoming all the more looked forward to."
Despite her riding costume, the lady's demeanor is noble. And yet there is also a twinkling joy beneath that collected mask. She smiles and repeats, now that she has been recognized. "And I thank you, Elrohir, for your welcome. And I am delighted to see you as well, and Elladan. Have you had safe journeyings or adventurous?"
Eledurima's expression turns mischevious as she adds. "Or heroic?"
Dark eyes glittering in the somewhat dimmer light of the stables, Elrohir half turns, noting Amarelei and Celebaelin peering in. "Ah... It seems our arrival has been somewhat disruptive, perhaps; we've gained an audience. Come in, come in; we are happy to be home." Pausing, he goes on to answer the lady's question. "Ah... As to that, I would merely say worrisome. We travelled rather far abroad, even across the mountains. Not indeed so pleasant as your own travels to Lindon, perhaps. You have been staying in your ancestral home of late?"
No more than a moment taken in a feeble attempt to brush the flour from the front of her gown, the young Galthor takes a tentative step from the deep purples and pinks of the setting sun into the shaded stables. With a quiet warmth, Amarelei adds her welcome to present discourse. "Yes, 'tis a joy indeed to see you both safely home." Though her words remain soft in tone, her youth shines through in the excited lilt of her voice not easily hidden.
Elladan half-frowns at the mention of 'heroic'. "Nothing indeed to make songs of, milady," he answers to Eledurima. Then turning to the newcomers he nods again in greeting to both of them.
Celebaelin smiles and quickly puts her floured hands behind her back. "Ah, welcome home..." she says, nodding to Elrohir and, in return, to Elladan. "You time your return well, indeed," she says.
Eledurima gives a glimmer of warmth to Amarelei and her ingenuousness in a smile. She giggles slightly at Elladan's words. "Well then tomorrow perhaps." She is most obviously jesting. She turns to Elrohir. "Some of late, yes, sir. But most recently I have been in the Wood to visit my mother's relations." Her mischievious smile evaporates into a smile of friendship. "Well, I hope not too worrisome to enjoy the singing of the next few days? You have come upon a festival I think, if that old Arglin in the hall tells truly."
His brother's mood perhaps overtaking him, or else the news of song perhaps dismaying him, Elrohir frowns and says, "I do not think we will spend much time dancing and singing this week, Eledurima. While it is, as I said, good to be home, my brother and I have spent our time in recent months hard at work, and for good purpose. We must now rather to swift counsel, and perhaps more."
As if suddenly mindful of the wearisome journey he has now been on, Elladan's dark eyes actually seem to light up at the talk of a festival. A slight grin plays on his face as he turns to his brother, "I do not think father would have us spoil any festivities. In fact he'll most likely insist we partake in them just as a respite from our travails." His statement is made into a half-question that ponders enjoying a festival, and indeed some relaxation, for the first time in a long while.
"Indeed, it is so," Amarelei pipes up, flower dusted hands clasping absently at her slender waist. "The Elisthir and I have spent much time in preparation for Bereth en Elenath, as have all of the valley in recent days." The notes of her spoken melody fall slightly, as her eyes flicker over Elrohir and Elladan in their mixed reactions. "Well, if you wish not to partake of the outdoor festitivites, perhaps the greater peace and quiet indoors will suit you, at least...for it seems all will spend most of their hours out of doors in the coming week."
Eledurima's expression darkens just a little bit at talk of counsel and more. Her brows flicker together slightly before the brow smooths. But she glances at the two other ladies and smiles again. "And most surely you will take care of the Valley as always you do." Now these words are spoken sincerely. "For all do really hail you as the brave sons of Elrond the wise. We will be safe in our songs, I am sure."
With a non-committal 'Hmmph,' Elrohir shrugs as though unconvinced, and says, "Perhaps. We will see. Yet I cannot deny it is good to be back among those of my father's household." Looking at the pair nearer the door, the half-elven asks Amarelei, "Galthor... Is there fresh fare to be had from the gardens? I admit, our road has been long, and a decent meal will not go awry. Fresh grown things are not easily come by, in the wilds, even in midsummer."
Elladan nods as his brother speaks. "Indeed. A stew of roots and brambles may sustain, but 'tis hardly appetizing."
A laugh merry and bright rises in Amarelei's throat, and fair shoulders shrug almost involuntarily ere she speaks anew. "Should you decide to visit the kitchen at the moment, I fear you will find it a bit of a mess." With a conspiratory smile to Celebaelin, a subtle nod of her head punctuates the sentiment that follows. "Though the cooks have agreed to leave us the kitchen for awhile, I am sure there are refreshments of some sort to be found. Do you care to look now, or have you more matters to attend to first? And what of you, Eledurima? Will you come as well?"
Celebaelin smiles and chuckles, making a small show of brushing the flour from her hands. "Something more appetizing than roots and brambles should be available, I would guess," she says, nodding to Amarelei and to Elladan. She looks to Eledurima for her reply.
Eledurima almost giggles at Elrohir's words to Amarelei, "Now you prince of the Valley, can you not see that both of these ladies have been baking? And yet what have you asked for? Roots and berries? Ask them for sweet cakes and honey and white bread, for it looks as if there is something truly delicious to be eaten, and not only vegetables from the garden either." The rebuke in her voice is unscored with merriment. To Amarelei's invitation she turns a thoughtful look. Then she grins. "For a few moments perhaps, to make sure these " she gestures to the boys "these princes who would butter their bread on the wrong side are well set to rights." She winks.
Truly caught now between his wish to speak to his father, and his own hunger, Elrohir hesitates. "I do not suppose an extra hour would make much difference; and Father may, in truth, already be occupied. He may seek us out when he can; he will already know of our arrival, no doubt." Listening to Eledurima, the Herion simply says to Celebaelin and Amarelei, "If you indeed have such delicacies awaiting us, then no doubt even the most dour of moods may be assuaged, and I will consider myself in the debt of two such talented bakers. And if the Lady of the Laiquendi will join us, than we are doubly blessed," he adds with a smile. "For we can feast upon her words of wisdom, perhaps, too."
"Indeed," Elladan chimes in, emphasizing and agreeing with rather than repeating in a different fashion his brother's words.
Eledurima laughs! and that musical sound makes even the horses raise their heads to look. "Words of wisdom, are they? Well then, methinks he is coming around to the more gentle ways of his valley. Do let us repair to the cakes and honey so that Elrohir will find again his sweet heart, for I think that Elladan has already found his."
Eledurima says, "There might even be a song here somewhere for the sons of Elrond."
"Let us away then, mellyn." With a noteable grin and light flush in her cheeks, Amarelei turns toward the entrance to the stable with a pace more resembling a skip. Calling back over her shoulder once more to the others. "There is a bit more work to be done on this...cake....Celebaelin and I are crafting. But surely it shant be long."
Eledurima winks at Elladan as Amarelei skips out the door and says softly, "See how your people love you? And always you, the both of you" she glances too at Elrohir "do make your rest apart from them. How joyfully are you welcomed."
Nodding, Elrohir merely says, "It is, perhaps, one of the reasons we spend so much time without these valley walls... For its benefit, and that we may appreciate it. Yet the gardener is already gone... Then I will hasten, that I might sooner have both food and a song... And may we then be off to our father."
Celebaelin listens to the continued exchange and nods with a small smile. Then she, in turn, leaves to follow the Galthor.
Nodding Elladan repeats, "And in that order. Food, song, father. As you said, another hour makes little difference. Let us reap the rewards of our vigilance, if but for a while."
Eledurima nods. "So you be sure to pay them mind and make their hearts sing." She winks again and starts out the door.
Kitchen
The room is warm, courtesy of a huge, roaring fire, over which a large turkey roasts slowly, its aroma filling the room and mingling with other smells of cooking food, as the Imladris kitchen staff prepare yet another meal. Great ovens cook fresh pastries and delicious smelling bread, and still other enticing treats are being prepared as you watch. A small round table and a few chairs occupy a place at the far end of the kitchen, away from the bustle, a fine place to devour a quick snack, or indeed a whole meal. Occasionally the small head of an elf-child pops in, and a tiny hand snatches away a treat, the staff kindly looking the other way. Even during the darkest hours of the night a cook or two can be found at work here, busily preparing for another day.
Stepping into the kitchen, and pausing just inside the door to take a deep breath of the rich smells of baking, roast meats, and other delights, Elrohir says, "Now I am glad we came here first; for my hunger threatens to devour me. What indeed has been prepared here today?"
As they enter the kitchen, the staff begins to titter at the sight of the sons of Elrond. Ele smiles, "Your pardon, sirs. I will return anon." She slips out the door into the hall.
Though she has been gone from the kitchen little more a few short minute, Amarelei resumes her task of loosening the layers of cake from the cast iron pans in which they lay cooling. Blunt knife in hand and a smile blossoming upon rosy lips, the elleth looks up from her task to regard Elrohir. "There are fruits and cheeses atop the cabinet just there...I do not think they are intended for any other purposes. Perhaps they will diminish your appetites until there is cake to be had. Though I do believe we must cut the extra pieces from the center." These last spoken words trail off into nothingness, spoken more to herself than the audience of others. Eyes of a forest green drift over to a parchement scroll laid flat upon the table, Amarelei's former focus returning momentarily to her countenance.
Celebaelin takes up another blunt knife and sets about freeing another layer of cake from its pan. "Indeed," she says, carefully moving the blade around the metal casing, "much of this cake will be cut away to complete the final design." She carefully flips the pan onto a waiting holding rack nearby and lifts it to reveal the cake inside.
Not needing much more goading in that direction, for indeed the aromas wafting from the kitchen had locked a stranglehold on Elladan's stomach before he entered, he makes straight for the fruits and cheeses mentioned. Taking them gingerly from their perch he sets them on a nearby table as if they are a prize beyond gold. "Now some wine," he says, more to himself than anyone else as he looks around for a decanter.
"Do I smell cake?" comes a voice from the hall as Linnuial enters, nose first. Scroll in hand, it seems whatever task he was busy with has become less important now. After all, there are always tasks to do, but how often is there cake? "And what is to be done with the excess that is cut away? It is a daunting task, but I volunteer my services in its ... disposal."
Taking it upon himself, Elrohir finds wine chilling in one of the buckets of cold water on the far side of the hall, and chooses a bottle. "Now, if you can find glasses, brother," he says, before noting the arrival of Linnuial. "Hear Hear!" the Son of Elrond says loudly. "What indeed is to be done with the remnants of the cake. A forward thinking fellow you are indeed. Perhaps Celebaelin can be persuaded to indulge us."
Eledurima returns wearing a dress and freshened some. She carries a harp which she sets down upon the floor carefully out of the way. Then she looks around. The smile upon her face never fades.
Eledurima , the lindis, unshoulders a small harp of the most exquisite make of cherrywood and silver.
"In truth," the Elisthir says, a slight grin and blush forming over her face, "the left-over cake was to be commandeered by the Elisthir o Imladris, for observing the sky is hungry work." She chuckles. "On the other hand, I am perfectly willing to share, you understand. That is," she says, looking to Amarelei for a reaction, "with the Galthor's permission, of course."
With practiced hands, Amarelei shakes the second layer of cake from her pan, allowing it to settle atop the layer Celebaelin has already displaced. Taking the knife once more in hand, the young Galthor steps back to admire their work before delving deep into the center of the cake with her modest utensil. Curiosly enough, the third layer remains in its pan, resting just to the side.
Though her eyes cannot be wrested from the nature of her work, Amarelei calls a bright greeting to the newly-arrived Silmaethor, whom she seems to recognize by voice alone. "A fair night to you, Linnuial! Indeed all...five of you, is it? There should be enough for all, Celebaelin, for I can think of few causes more noble." This now spoken, Amarelei carefully lifts the core of the cake from its well, laying it to rest on a large square of waxed parchment paper. "All this will go to waste if not for such willing company," is her mirthful assessment, bright eyes now lifting to regard those in the room.
Eledurima makes her way to Elrohir and leans down, speaking very softly to him so as not to interrupt. "I mentioned to your father's secretary that you are here. He will send for you presently."
"A-HA!" comes the sound from a nearby cabinet, just recently opened by Elladan. Emerging with a handful of glasses and a rather triumphant look for a task so trivial, the Herion sets them down upon the table before the bottle. He turns then, now noticing Linnuial's arrival and nods a greeting to him.
Eledurima looks up to see Linnuial, "Ah, the commander of the Elentiri." She looks at the brothers, "Do you know, sirs? This one has been given the safety of the Evenstar to protect." She smiles at the new appointed Linnuial.
Elrohir pops the cork from the wine with all the skill due a vintner, and begins to pour. "Will everyone take some wine?" he asks, turning then to Eledurima. He quietly thanks her, adding, "Will you take some wine? I've known many singers, especially those from Amon Thranduil, who swear it helps their voice..."
Looking over at Linnuial, as Eledurima provides an introduction, Elrohir adds, "Indeed, I did not know; I will rest easier knowing my sister is well looked after. I have had less faith in the Elentiri these last few years or so, since Aldarion... I look forward to the return of their potence."
Elladan's simple nod of greeting turns into a stern look of appraisal at the one who is to be protector of his sister. Standing still and silent for a moment, he takes a long look at the edhel before him, his raven eyes peering deep, perhaps deeper than the watched one notices for a moment......But then the moment is gone and, as if satisfied, he nods again, this time a bit deeper and, turning and taking a glass of wine offers it to the Silmaethor. "Wine?" he asks.
Eledurima giggles at Elrohir's offer of wine and his comment on the singers in the place of her birth. "I know not of that. But I will not refuse the hospitality. Yes, please."
Wandering over along the wall, Amarelei brushes yellow crumbs from her hands before turning the handle to a broad ice chest. Her upper half disappearing inside for little more than a moment, the elleth then re-emerges with a crock of freshly made buttercream frosting in one hand, and two much broader knives in the other. Handing one to Celebaelin, she settles the container carefully amidst the various clutter atop the table, removing the lid and proceeding to spread the creamy confection over the soft, yellow cake. To the twin edhel, her reply is meek, yet grateful no less. "Just a little wine for me...and I thank you both."
Linnuial freezes in mid-step as he notices the brothers of his charge, and his eyes widen as Eledurima makes such a grand proclamation of his position. Putting on a hesitant smile and trying vainly to keep his cheeks from flushing, he bows his head before Elrond's sons, attempting to meet their gaze as they appraise him. "We are few in number now, but I am working hard to rebuild them. In fact, the Tirith as a whole needs replenishment. The last year has been trying," he says, smile starting to fade, but then suddenly lit once more by the prospect of wine. "Please." His gaze floats past Elladan as his glass is filled, toward Amarelei as she tends to the cake.
Pouring enough wine for everyone, Elrohir hands a glass to Eledurima, and then sinks into a chair. Seizing a fist full of fruit, the half-elf pops a few grapes into his mouth and says, "I trust that the Tirith can muster its strength given time. It may have need of such strength in future, and Eriador is awfully empty of assistance should we be found wanting."
Celebaelin smiles broadly. "Buttercream," she says as she sinks the knife into the crock. "Some may be tempted by cake, but I revise my position. The temptation is in the icing, not in the cake!" with that, she pulls the knife from the container and begins spreading the delightful mix onto the cake. She begins to sneak a finger into the vessel for a taste, but stops as she realizes that she is being observed on all sides. Smiling ruefully, she scoops out another helping of icing to coat the cake before her.
Turning from Linnuial back to the table, Elladan sits down and promptly begins to carve the cheese in bite-size pieces, which promptly end up being eaten by him. Washing them down with a draught of wine, for the first time in many months he smiles warmly and seems satisfied. He remains silent, listening as his brother and the others carry on their conversations, now taking an apple and peeling it with his knife.
Eledurima takes the wine and goes lightly for her harp, past Celebaelin, stopping for a quick dip of her finger into the icing, not caring if she is observed. She winks and mouths at the cook, "It's clean" and then proceeds to the harp, licking the sweetness mischieviously off of her finger as she goes.
"Like you, I too find temptation in the face of such fineries," Amarelei mutters quietly to the Elisthir, a light chuckle chasing her words. "Yet if we cut these makeshift pieces carefully, perhaps there will be enough for we bakers as well!" No sooner than her words fade upon the air, the Galthor finds her half of the cake fully iced. Running a slender finger across the blade, she samples the excess frosting with a lopsided smile given to Eledurima as she passes.
"We will be strong once more," Linnuial replies with confidence. "...although I hope more compact. Save for desperate times, any battle which requires a large force on our part should probably be reconsidered in the first place. We have not the numbers to lose, as the orcs do." Sipping from his wine, he moves to peek over Amarelei's shoulder at the cake. "Smells wonderful, and fear not. We will not rob you bakers of the chance to enjoy your craft."
Grown quiet, in no small part because he makes no pause in his eating to speak, Elrohir at last takes a long sip of wine, before saying, "Ah... I see Eledurima going for her harp... I think now we are to be treated with a song. There is no doubt of your talents or renown, Lady of the Laiquendi... But you will forgive me if I hope you are not borrowing from Rhunedhel's songbook. Redemption of Daeron is long, and I have not yet managed to hold my attention for the duration of it. My appreciation of song is best if kept to a single hour, rather than a single day."
Eledurima takes a sip of the wine and cocks her head, assessing the mixed tastes of sweet and dry, then smiles and sets the glass down near the harp, looking for a place to sit. When she plays she usually sits upon the floor or grass, but there are so many folk in the kitchen, doing one thing and another, that she finds a small block table that is not in use and perches upon it with her harp. She bows her head over it for a moment and checks to see if it is tuned, carefully and expertly adjusting the levers and tightening a string here and there, listening, her head near the box.
Taking up a broader utensil in her grasp, Amarelei sinks it into the fully-iced insides of the grand cake that now sits pushed aside upon the table. With careful, slow movements, she cleaves the dessert into six equal shares, turning the knife sideways to carry each piece onto the top plate of a waiting stack. "I thank you kindly, Linnuial," she chuckles, extending two plates to the Silmaethor. "But you do not think Celebaelin and I will let you indulge without working for your share, do you? Kindly pass these around, would you?" Her request made clear, Amarelei then takes two plates into her own hands, stepping carefully over to the table.
An odd sound, rather akin to a laugh bordering on choking escapes from Elladans lips at his twin's words before he quickly composes himself. The grin is still upon his face however as he catches his breath and merely contents himself to wash away any embarassment with another draught of wine.
Celebaelin chuckles to herself at her workmanship (not bad for an Elisthir put to work in the kitchen at all), and pulls a little bit more buttercream from the crock on her knife and transfers it to her mouth by drawing her finger along the dull edge of the blade. She smiles happily at the taste of the icing and goes for another serving. Icing is a rare treat, indeed!
Eledurima looks up at Elrohir and laughs outright. "Ah no! Rhunedhel's song that is and his alone. How in the world would it be if that were not so? Then all the singers in the Valley would sing it end on end, think you? No. Not that one." She thinks for a moment, warming up.
The quick fingers of the dark-haired harper create a pleasant background for the conversation.
Irreverence silenced momentarily by another draught of wine, Elrohir answers, "I do my father's herald wrong; but I hope he will forgive me. My patience is not that of my father." Growing quiet, the Herion does not forget to add to the cooks, "The smell is maddening, ladies... I have not had such sweet things in months, and admit my weakness."
"Merciless taskmaster," Linnuial hisses with a grin, before taking the plates to the sons of Elrond, first. "Enjoy. I hope your stomachs can handle such sweetness after weeks of rations in the field."
Recovered now, Elladan turns his attention from the remnants of his snacking to the harpist. Taking a last finishing sip of wine, he is pleasantly surprised as the plate is set down before him. His mouth all but watering, he nods and says, "my thanks," the whole time his eyes staying on the sweets.
Eledurima strokes the strings withthe fingers of one hand and reaches for the glass with the other, concentrating really on something other than either. She takes a sip, watching her harpstrings as her small fingers play upon them lightly.
Celebaelin chuckles softly. "You are quite welcome," she says, examining the inside of the crock to ensure that her snack source is still ample enough for her sugary needs. "Anything to be of service, of course," she adds.
Falling upon the cake without delay, Elrohir manages a quick, "My thanks," to Linnuial, and then speaks not again for quite some time; indeed, not while the only break he takes in his cake eating is for the occasional sip of wine to wash it down with. With the music from Eledurima in the background, surely there has rarely been so enjoyable an afternoon in the Kitchens of Imladris.
With a smile kept modest in present company, Amarelei sets a plate of cake to the side of where Eledurima sits, keeping the second for her own enjoyment. "For after your song, Lady," she intones softly before stepping back to Celebaelin's side. "Please, mellyn, share your thoughts on the cake once it has fully settled. If it is terrible, we must know -before- the festivities of the coming week!" Her jest is bright in tone and mirthful in intent, yet still remains soft beneath the strands of Eledurima's harp song.
Finishing his cake, and a tad quicker than a Prince of the Eldar should, Elladan turns with a warm smile back to the two elleths who have been slaving over hot stoves all day. "The most marvelous dessert I've partaken in in months. And i say that not only because it's the only one in the same amount of time." Grinning he turns back to his brother, "I believe we have two new bakers ready to move past apprenticeship."
Eledurima sets down the glass again and plays a few bars softly in minor and then shakes her head to herself, changing the levers to a major key.
Eledurima strokes the strings of the cherry and mithril-runed harp with slender, sure, and graceful fingers, swift as sudden joy, and music begins to shiver the air.
Ele uplifts her fragile pearlescent face and, as stars seem to gather in her eyes, begins to sing in a voice as clear as the call of a singular bird from its high and distant mountain home.
The songs of the Dadhrin are the songs of the leaves
And roses and starfall and silver-green trees
And light on the hillside and towers above
And sorrow, yes, sorrow, but also of love.
The snow I left out, Dear,
The cold and bright light.
Enchanted by singing,
It falls in the night...
Like bright stars to earth then.
They say we are cold.
They don't see how snow melts
When flow'rs it enfolds.
For songs burn like changing of leaves on the trees
And they shimmer in opals like moonlight retrieved.
And the Quendi are masters of song and of art!
Ai! Who says we know not the songs of the heart?!
Eledurima plays a bridge...
For songs burn like changing of leaves on the trees
And they shimmer in opals like moonlight retrieved.
And the Quendi are masters of song and of art!
Ai! Who says we know not the songs of the heart?!
Eledurima stops the harp strings and then takes up right off on another tune, and the music sworls about the room mingling with the sweet scents of home and food.
Oh once I heard so far away
That in my ears it still does ring
This mannish song to you I say
That sad and seeming-wise did sing:
"Love is like a wild rose briar
Friendship like the holly tree.
The holly is dark when the rose briar blooms
But which blooms most constantly?
"The wild rose briar is sweet in spring.
Its summer blossoms scent the air
Yet wait til winter comes again
And who will call the wild briar fair?
"Then scorn the silly rose wreath now
And deck thee with holly's sheen
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave the garland green."
But men know not the wisest way
For they but shortly fare the land
They pass like breath and slip away
And love like rainfall into sand.
But let the rose briar sweetly grow
About the holly tree entwine
That when the briar rose is no more
The holly leaves, still greening, shine.
Elrohir actually ceases eating, for several long moments; he seems particularly rapt at the music and song, having not heard such sweet sounds in a great many months. Yet the talents of the bakers are not to be disdained, and he resumes snacking upon their creation without too much delay.
Choose not the holly or the rose
But let the holly roses bear,
So when the doors to summer close
The sleeping rose is cradled there.
Linnuial returns to retrieve his own portion of cake, after seeing everyone already with theirs. Leaning up against a counter, the edhel charged with Arwen's protection takes little time to get icing on his nose. And there it stays as he regards Eledurima's singing intently, oblivious.
Eledurima ceases to sing, stopping the harpstrings gently with delicate harpers' hands, and the Ainulindale fades softly like a lover's whisper of farewell.
Eledurima's eyes gradually clear and she smiles as she looks up after the song slips up and out and away, softly away.
As the singing stops yet another elf enters the kitchen. This time it is the secretary for Hir Elrond and, as he enters he nods to those present and instantly catches the eyes of the twins. His nod tells them they are summoned to their father's presence and he makes ready by the door for them to come with him.
Setting down her fork to lift her hands in quiet applause, Amarelei's smile is ample testament to her appreciation of Eledurima's song. When she has properly expressed her gratitude for such lovely music, the elleth turns to regard the lady in her quiet retreat.
A quiet "namarie" whispered to the departing harpist, the Galthor then turns back to present company. "Bathril I am not, and yet I will take so prestigious a compliment to heart no less," Amarelei murmurs in quiet appreciation to Elladan. "Perhaps you will see this as motivation to attend the festivities after all, for the same cake will be served in a much more appropriate presentation."
Eledurima sets the harp aside to slip down off the table she has used readying her departure as well. "Alas, I must go as well, as I see the twins are sent for.... And I must bathe and rest me as well." She takes one more sip of wine, smiling, "And I thank you all for your hospitality."
Eledurima sets the wine down, still partly full, and takes up her instrument.
Eledurima lifts the harp and, slipping her arm through the tooled carrying strap, shoulders it.
Seeing the retainer of his father, Elladan catches his eye and nod and stands. "My thanks to the harpist, as well as to the chefs," he says, nodding in turn to each of them. "As well good to meet you, Silmaethor. For certain we will be seeing you upon the Tirith Grounds soon enough. I believe we must take our leave of you. Namarie." Heading towards the door, the Herion makes for the door.
"Masterful indeed," says Elrohir, after the last of his cake is finished, and his goblet of wine is drained. He rises, at the summons implied by the arrival of the secretary, and says, "I am gifted today, and our return to the valley made even more joyous because of your generosity. My thanks to you all; the cake was delicious, and the song was beautiful... without being tediously long. I salute your tact, Eledurima. Now, excuse us, please." A curt nod, and the Son of Elrond, duty once again foremost in his mind, heads toward the door.
Though as another quendi enters, Amarelei's eyes are drawn once more to the door. This next visitor's intent is clearly discerned. "And until then, may rest be refreshment to your tired feet."