Unfortunate Times

Elrond's Hall

This is a large hall, filled with many broad tables and plenty of seats for each. The fine woodwork of the tables, chairs, and beams of the ceiling is elegantly carven with scrollwork and flourishes. Against a wall, at the end of one of the larger tables, is a dais with three especially large chairs slightly raised above the others. The central one is presumably for Elrond, and the other two for other dignitaries. Several other smaller dais are placed around the hall. Intricate tapestries woven with elven calligraphy hang on the walls and dais platforms. In the south wall is a large window overlooking the gardens and the Bruinen river beyond.

Tones of the bell ringing in echoes through the Valley accompany the Manbedir Galindrion as, with solemnity, he emerges in Elrond's hall and strides to the large table leading towards the dais. Halfway along its deep mahogany finish, he sits and brings his satchel from his side to sit before him on the wood.

Having heard the bells ringing and being accustomed to its meaning by his visits to the House in the past, Annagil of the Aderthads walks slowly in teh Council Chamber.. not sure of being either suposed to be there or interested in the specific meeting, but wanting to check out nonetheless... he turns towards one of the hall's corners as he enters, taking a seat, his arms crossed and resting on his chest.

As Mithryn enters, her first glance around shows her cousin Annagil. She smiles and nods to him, before continuing onwards only to hesitate. Where to sit? She turns and awaits Galindrion's direction, or whoever is organizing this meeting.

Fresh from the road, still yet covered in the dust and mud of his crossing of the middle pass, Aragorn enters Elrond's hall. Though worn, he takes his place at the table quietly.

From his place along the right-side (as you enter) of Elrond's table, midway along its wood, Galindrion motions to his fellow Galadhrim - indicating spare seats aplenty nearby.

Seated already at the peripheral of the table is Silmaethor Linnuial, though he appears weary of such councils, for he has met often with the Galadhrim since their arrival. Yet his stare remains attentive as he watches the others enter, his slender eyebrows arching at the arrival of several Dunedain. His gaze lingers not with them, however, for soon he greets Galindrion across the table with a respectful nod.

As the odd numbered groups of eldar and edain alike fill the room, no one stands at the table of Elrond. A soft murmuring grows in the room, many wonderinging what exactally is to be done, how will the Galadhrim's plea be answered, and yet some, seeing the ill kemp travelers who have just arrived, mention in light fashion about things such as a comb, and perhaps new cloak.

Entering closely after Galindrion, Lothlhant walks slowly into the council chambers, watching and noting those in attendance. In her hands are scrolls and stylus, ready to mark what needs to be. She sits quietly at the table, to the left of Galindrion, scrolls placed on the table.

Entering Elrond's Hall for the first time since the recent Embassy meeting, Fairenel moves quietly in to take a seat to the right of Galindrion. Palanhenelidh comes in behind her, also taking a seat by the other Galadhrim. Faye nods to Galindrion, smiling and laying a few notes on the table in front of her, shuffling through them and muttering to herself every so often.

Galindrion nods from across the table to Linnuial; he says, "I am not quite sure what matters may remain, mellon. I had grown quite weary of discussion alone myself." He coughs. "Though there may ever be more to find amongst new voices." His gaze again falls to his papers.

Seated near the head of the table, though leaving place for the great elf-lords who may attend, Aragorn rests on one of the smaller dais. He invites his kinswoman, Tiriel, to join him.

Annagil moves in his seat slightly, noticing all the rest of the galadhrim seated around the table. he ponders wheter joining them or not for a moment, then turns it down, keeping his place in the far corner of the hall.

"Perhaps now the discussion will fall upon the ears of the capable," Linnuial replies softly to Galindrion. "The chime of council bodes well for your purpose, I feel. I predict Herdir Elrond shall finally grant you an audience." He smiles softly to the Galadhrim and adds, "Though I fear our master has been busy as of late. Since the incident at the Gladden..." Linnuial's eyes darken substantially as he glances down to the pin marking him as a number of the Elentiri, and he swallows. "...he has been distracted."

Palan takes his seat to the right of Faye and takes a look at the many who had already agthered thus far. His eyes look questioningly around the room, as he wonders whether the decision will be good or bad news. He turns to Faye and asks, "Do..do you think they've reached an answer?"

Looking upon those assembled in the room, Tiriel stops for a pause as she determines where it would be appropriate for her to sit, though Aragorn's invitation draws her steps to the smaller dais, where the young ranger takes a seat as well.

Last of the arriving Galadhrim, the Herald of Galadriel bears a mien as somber as his raiment. Silent in his passing, he offers yet no voice to his greetings, but only a fractional nod to those he passes. A casual grace guides his step, a languid flow to his determined stride as it guides him past his seated kin to the end of the table. Glancing down the line momentarily, he finally nods to himself in approval, before then sitting as well.

Shuffling with busy hands through his papers, Galindrion quietly responds, "If they have heard our questions, I would imagine so. Though before an answer be returned, the wise of Imladris may have many inquiries for us. We shall see." Hands then fold before him as he looks back down the line, a nod given to the Herald.

Linnuial's brow raises as he listens to the Galadhrim. "An answer?" he mouthes softly to Galindrion. "You have made a specific request then?"

Veiled, an elleth of substantial beauty and regal bearing makes a dignified approach toward a table near that at which Elrond shall be sitting. Her dark, plaited hair sways gently from side to side with each step, and her grey irises sweep across the chamber, landing on each person as if to ensure all receive ocular salutation. At the side of this elleth walks a flaxen-haired woman of a more self-effacing demeanor; Nimmeril and this noble figure beside her make their way to a proper place for the Council, the Silivriel waiting until her companion is seated before she herself settles.

From the hallway steps a maiden slender of stature and face of face, her footfalls whisper quietly behind those of Arwen and her Silivriel. Lavender silk flutters at the feet and fingertips of the Lhimbadhril Amarelei as steps slow and calculated bring her within the great cavern of the Hall of Elrond. Torchlight flickers over her fine features, illuminating rosy lips that wear not their usual smile, but rather a canvas painted as a picture of solemnity, all that can be mustered by an elleth of her years. The closer she draws to the assembly of quendi, the more clear becomes the pointed focus within her forest eyes. She descends into a seat beside Nimmeril before allowing her gaze to drift over the hall.

A simple shake of the head answers Linnuial, "Our questions are but a web with an answer tied at the center. Many strands therein belong to your folk. And the vision? It all aims to the future." Galindrion then looks down once more to his papers.

And after a short pause, the door opens, and a small group crosses the hall, going up to the dais. Gilgurth, commander of Elrond's bodyguard and one of his most trusted commanders, takes his place on the dais, settling into a chair, and looking at those in the room, his gaze pausing for a moment at the sight of Aragorn. Next comes Elrond's herald, Rhunedhel, the enigmatic Avarin elf from the Uttermost East, but he remains standing, his grey eyes intent on the Galadhrim leaders, but not speaking yet, as Elrond Half-Elven steps with quiet pace onto the dais, bows to those below as any Master would welcoming guests to his home, and seats himself. His voice comes half-audible as he speaks something quietly to Rhunedhel.

Linnuial's eyes fall to the floor as he stands to bow his head to Arwen. "Heryn," he says quietly. Remaining standing until her eyes sweep onto another, he finally takes a seat once more--though he seems suddenly far more alert, his hands braced against the surface of the table in front of him. A brief glance is afforded to Nimmeril and Amarelei, but Galindrion's words recapture his attention, followed shortly thereafter by the arrival of Elrond and his entourage.

Rhunedhel turns then, and speaks formal words to the hall, his voice, as a herald's should be, mellifluous and clear. "Elrond Half-Elven, by the gift of Ereinion Gil-Galad viceregent for elven affairs in Eriador when his kingdom stood, now Master of the Valley of Imladris welcomes you, those of his folk and visitors from afar. Welcome, Estel, fostered in this house. And welcome, all you folk of Lorien, who have guested here, and come with matters of import to discuss. Who among you wishes to come before the Master of this valley and seek counsel, or has a matter that needs to be addressed? For he sits in his hall and by the grace of the Valar will offer what wisdom they grant him to those who have come from afar."

Estel bows his head in receipt of the formal greeting Rhunedel offers. He does not, however, come forth to speak before the Master.

Nimmeril, once she is seated, looks about the room inquisitively, fingers turning about the silver band that rests on her left hand. Aragorn gets the last and most lingering of her studious glances before a small, humorless smile curves her lips. Her eyes then focus on the table before her, her thoughts her own.

Rhunedhel stands now, waiting silently for the Galadhrim's foremost to stand forward and speak. Behind him, Elrond sits unmoving.

A ripple of emerald glistens in a sweep as Galindrion, Manbedir o Lothlorien stands in dignified & graceful reception. A short, tilted bow from the shoulders is proffered to each of the noble Eldar & the Master. "For the Lord Celeborn o Doriath, the Lady Galadriel kin to some here gathered, the way of the Galadhrim and the future turns of Anor remaining for the Eldar to claim in continued stewardship : on behalf of all these, we come for matters of Embassy that have been spoken elsewhere. And with concerns of growing war and troubles abroad. The Galadhrim will hold their fortress of Mallyrn until the last - but we are not of the mind to do so - alone and without connection to our remaining kin."

A faint line furrows across Amarelei's fair brow, a silent testament to her demeanor. Solemn stateliness veils the maiden's countenance as her hands clasp atop the great table, though the light within her eyes betrays the inherent curiosity of her youth. A slender finger traces lightly with the grain of the ancient wood, this her only movement save the flickering of her gilded green eyes from face to face before settling upon the speaker.

Rhunedhel turns, and Elrond speaks softly to him. Rhunedhel turns back then, and says softly, yet the words come clear through all the hall. "Then, on the matter of embassy, know that we here do not have a kingdom, with such matters of state as to require a formal presentation of credentials. You are our kin and our friends, and are always welcome, and if you choose, as you have in the past, to deputize someone of your kin to remain among us for a time, and to speak of matters of mutual concern, such a person will be welcome, as Laurarien was some fifteen years back. We are eager to maintain close ties, despite the dangerous lands between."

Linnuial's face betray his surprise at mention of the word "Embassy," though he rises not to speak out of turn as he has so often done in the past. Instead, his eyes drift to Rhunedhel, eyebrow raised. Clearly he has an opinion on this matter, but there is no insistence in his gaze.

Ist-Amra slips into the Hall, silently gliding along a wall to stand near Rhunedhel. Her eyes take in the room around her; she gives the briefest of nods to all present.

"As are we," responds Galindrion. "This answer shall it be mine honor to return to Lord and Lady. Our counsel shall then be granted freely in the person of our appointee - and it shall, with great indebtedness, come to you and yours with all aid we may offer therein." He bows now deeply, dipping at the waste, and sits once more.

From her position below the dais, Ist-Amra smiles upwards at Rhunedhel, then finds a seat at the larger table.

On the dais, Elrond glances toward where Nimmeril sits with her companion, his gaze distracted, then back toward Rhunedhel. Rhunedhel seems not to need a cue, though, for he says softly, "I know you have concerns of the land about. Galindrion, which of your folk wishes to explain these concerns for all here to know?"

Nimmeril's shy smile shows adoration, admiration, affection for the Herdir, though she meets his glance but fleetingly. Attention of a more diffident manner is her purpose here...but when has the former Telenistril been vocal?

From his seat on the dais, Gilgurth watches the speeches impassively, intently listening. He reaches for some wine and a few glasses, and pours himself, and the then standing speaker, Rhunedhel, a glass each. Sipping lightly until Hir Elrond speaks, he then places the glass down, as if the debate has truly begun.

Linnuial's lips curve downward at the tips as Rhunedhel neglects to call upon him, though he expresses no great disappointment in his manner. Instead, his gaze floats to Elrond just as the Master regards Nimmeril and his daughter. Again, the Silmaethor sighs silently, eyes seeking his hands--white-knuckles gripped tightly around the table's edge. Silence does not suit this young Quendi. Energy usually spent in speech and debate finds no outlet save to grip the table more tightly.

Rhunedhel waits for the Galadhrim to speak. His eyes flicker toward Nimmeril, and he smiles.

Looking down the line of gathered Galadhrim, Galindrion nods towards the Galadriel's Herald and speaks, "Erinstar is best equipped to speak of our military concerns. If he will forgive my impertinence in requesting him to represent our woods upon these matters by single hand." He swallows in his throat and cocks a brow.

Rhunedhel leans toward Gilgurth, and says something softly to him.

Rhunedhel +whispers to Gilgurth, "Have you ... ... military ... ... ... ... ...? ... ... ... ... ... ... ...?"

Clouded eyes shift between speakers with detached interest, for the Herald of Galadriel seems content to allow the Prefect freedom in speaking for the Wood as introduction. Still neutral, he offers no reply to the Imladhrim's gracious offer of cooperation regarding communication, nor of Galindrion's thanks. As matters more militant are brought to light however, he stirs slightly in his chair, and turns his piercing gaze once more to his cousin. At the plea, he finally stands and breaks his silence, first addressing his kinsman. "You are forgiven, Galindrion. I would that you learn from experience first, and by lecture second." Then, to the Imladhrim, he bows his head respectfully before continuing, "I offer my voice to the council now upon these matters."

Gilgurth's eyes widen and he gives Rhunedhel a lopsided grin and a nod, "..., ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... to ... ..., ... ... ... prepared ... ... ... ... ... on these ...."

Rhunedhel nods, turning toward Erinstar, his voice the picture of intent concentration. Behind him, Elrond stirs, watching in silence.

Ist-Amra's eyes note the Silmaethor's agitation and a kind smile crosses her lips briefly. She leans in close to whisper, though her eyes rest on the Galadhrim speaker.

Ist-Amra +whispers to you, "It is trying to remain silent, is it not?"

Linnuial's starts as Ist-Amra's voice echoes in his ear, and he turns abruptly toward her. Hesitantly he smiles and responds, though his eyes remain on Erinstar--he is intent upon giving the other full attention, and thus his reply is brief.

Behind Rhunedhel, Elrond leans forward and murmurs something inaudibly to Gilgurth as Erinstar pauses for a moment.

Linnuial +whispers to Ist-Amra, "In part, yet also the presence of the Herdir, and his concern for his daughter. I fear her wounding at the Gladden has left the Herdir distracted. It pains me to see him troubled so, and I hope I shall never fail in my duty such that he is disturbed so again."

Estel's face darkens as some of Linnuial's words drift to his corner of the proceedings. Yet the whispers are unclear, and he makes no visible trouble.

Her face growing grave, Ist-Amra's eyes flicker to the Heryn and her Silivriel as Linnuial replies. Nodding to the Silmaethor, she then turns and leans towards Nimmeril, whispering to her, her eyes ever-watchful of the proceedings.

Gilgurth's silent nod to Elrond is the only reply given. He politely turns towards the Galadhrim and gives him his full attention.

Rhunedhel's presence is regal. At this moment, with Elrond seeming distracted, and he standing in full view as Erinstar speaks, he seems regal enough to be a king in his own right, had he a kingdom to rule. But his is a herald's posture, speaking for his Lord, whatever his past may have been.

Ist-Amra +whispers to Nimmeril, "I ... not ... ... ... ... since ... ... ... ... Valley. ... ... she fare?"

Gloved hands fold before the Herald and his stormy gaze moves to sweep the room slowly as he speaks. "We, as much as any of our race, would wish to live in peace. Indeed, many ages have passed without our heed, so content are we within our wood. Yet fate has decreed our desires to remain as dreams, for the world has impressed itself upon us. The threat which lies between us stirs, growing more aggressive with every passing season..."

Rhunedhel nods, but says nothing. This is Erinstar's chance to explain the full situation as the folk of Lorien see it.

As the speech of his noble cousin, wisdom and knowledge far beyond the slight years of the young herald, Galindrion watches with approval bright in his eyes. Nodding head bounces in its cover of flaxen strands, hands folded and lips opening only to close and save their words.

Some of the Imladhrim in the hall pass silently while Erinstar speaks, and begin distributing wine to those in attendance, and from the cups rises the delicate scent of Dorwinion grape. Elrond must have emptied the last cask for the purpose, for surely little such wine can come so far west across such dangerous lands.

Gratefully, with dry mouth eager for drink, Galindrion accepts a glass from the attendant. He nods, then, smelling the fragrant bouquet of the vintage, and smiles as its taste crosses his lips.

Erinstar's hazy eyes fall then to the table before him, and he continues in the deep and subtle tone that is his wont, "It is these advances of our enemies that bring us hither, for they cause us great concern. In past months, we have fought battles both numerous and dire, many closer to our home than gives us ease. As well, we suspect some foul conspiracy is being wrought by our foes, for their intents have become more direct and pointed than in previous years. Of what these entail we are unsure, but we know they bode not well for us, nor any of Eru's rightful children."

Rhunedhel inclines his head. And Elrond behind nods silently. It is not as if anyone in the room needs to be reminded that Celebrian his wife was captured and tortured by the very vile spawn of whom Erinstar speaks, nor that Arwen his daughter was wounded in the crossing of the Mountains only some few months back.

Sipping upon his wine, Galindrion's ears remain tilted to his right and the direction of the Herald's baritone and round-noted speech. His eyebrows raise, sensing a conclusion - but lower again as Erinstar's purpose pauses, awaiting the end.

Eyes glancing briefly toward Aragorn and Tiriel, Linnuial speaks suddenly, though his initial volume is lowered immediately as he hears his own voice pierce the hall, out of turn. "After hearing some of the comments of your kin, I wonder whom it is that you speak of: the Firstborn alone, or all of Eru's children?" The comment is by no means productive--it seems instead that the Silmaethor desires to hear Erinstar's own views.

Rhunedhel glances askance at Linnuial, who, it would seem, has once again indulged his tendency to speak out of turn ... or at least, the swiftness with which his gaze turns toward him suggests that Rhunedhel had little need to guess who it was might speak out of turn.

Focus keen and unwavering lifts from the proceedings as a server passes with a tray of crystal goblets. Amarelei accepts the proffered refreshment, lifting it to her slighly parted lips for a sip. Yet as now the Herald speaks of matters momentous in nature, the gold-flecked green of her eyes settles in upon the speaker once more. A gentle tapping of crystal remains soft below the words of counsel as the Lhimbadhril places her goblet atop the table.

Her placid silver gaze lent to those in Council--and occasionally to those who whisper to their companions about the dais--Tiriel has naught to say thus far, though her demeanor suggests she surely listens attentively. Linnuial's glance gains her own briefly, though the ranger heeds next Erinstar's reply.

Turning back to Elrond and his advisors once more, the dark Herald finishes as quietly as begun, "It is these vile machinations which bring us hither now, in the dead of winter, to seek your counsel. For truly, though we of Lothlorien are valiant, we are not of numbers. This field of battle does not suit us well, and we would - " Halted as interrupted, the Herald of Galadriel brings his dark countenance to bear upon Linnuial. Pausing to allow attention to shift, he quirks a slender brow while regarding the edhel. His answer is languid when finally offered, nearly a drawl as it lingers in the air, "My words do not betray my thoughts, if that is your query. I refer to every race untainted by the will of evil. Be it those valiant among men, dwarves, of bird or beast."

Rhunedhel says softly, "Patience, Linnuial." And he turns to Gilgurth. "The Hir asked that you should speak for the Valley on these issues, such as have been discussed since the folk of Lorien came. It is yours to tell now, Kano." And he pronounces the Quenya word for commander very distinctly.

Rhunedhel seats himself then, on the dais, a silent figure beside Elrond.

Contented, Linnuial nods to Erinstar, as if giving him permission to continue unhindered. Sliding somewhat lower in his seat, Linnuial's eyes flash to Rhunedhel and Elrond before settling on his hands in front of him. Thus does he sit, doing his best to resist the blush creeping at his cheeks.

Tiriel +whispers to Aragorn, "... ... ..., ... ... ... the ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... hushed ..., ... ... given to somberness, "There had been a party of orcs which attacked the Rohirrim only days before I arrived. It was one of the reasons they so mistrusted me. Yet would those here pay heed to that which plunders the lands of Men southward? I would speak of it if it had place here."

As the proceedings shift Galindrion looks to his left and the much-busied hand of Lothlhant. "... you ... ... ... we have missed ... ... ..., ... yet, ...?" he inquires quietly.

Gilgurth, in turn, rises and addresses the gathered. In what, for an elf, or the trained human ear, would be considered a firm and rich voice, he begins. "My esteemed Galadhrim kin. I find we are in agreement here. The shadow that grows longer each season disturbs us all. Our very borders are fraught with peril. From fearsome trolls that leave few unmolested to the norht and west to goblins that attempt to close every pass between fair Lorien and ourselves. Uluari on the move, openly, and even worse evils, older and far more powerful menacing us at every turn. Few of those who have agreed to stand with us have not. We are hard pressed to protect people scant few leagues from our borders. The situation is getting more dire even as we stand and discuss it."

Gilgurth finishes his statement and smiles down at the assembled.

Through the doorway came Telchilion, with his same emotionless look on his face, and same slow and graceful walk. Seeing that there were already people gathered in the hall, he at first thought of leaving, but then after hearing some on the interesting conversation taking place, he instead decided to take a seat in the back of the room and merely listen.

Ist-Amra nods as the Kano speaks, her arms crossed before her resting on the table. Her eyes search the room for those of the Tirith, her comrades-in-arms. Her body is tense as the meeting wears on, clearly she would rather be somewhere else, especially at Gilgurth's mention of danger as they sit discussing.

Estel nods to Tiriel. "... ... ... to ...," he says. "... ... .... ... you ... ... ... ... .... ... Rhunedel ... ... ... ... ... ...."

Heavy speech lingers bitter and restrained in Galindrions mouth; he lifts the glass of wine again to wet his lips. Swallowing he looks down the line to his right, inquisition on his brow as he measures the Heralds face. His free left hand gestures inward, index finger pointing at the Manbedir's chest, "... ... ..., ...?"

Flickers of memories past now light Amarelei's eyes as the Kano's sentiments paint a picture of experiences unknown upon her thoughts. Quiet and still she remains, for this is a setting not familiar to one more accustomed to open-aired halls of the forests and fields. Once more her eyes wander over the faces seated along the opposite side of the great table before resettling upon the dais.

His brow rising further at the 'permissive' nod afforded him, Erinstar's gaze lingers on the rosy-cheeked Silmaethor in hard silence for several moments before he returns to his seat once more as Gilgurth begins to speak. A final, disparaging quirk of the lips is cast towards the outspoken Linnuial, and the Herald offers a wordless nod of affirmation to Galindrion's query.

Into the Hall of Elrond come yet more footsteps, though the elleth that creates them only marginally resembles the elleth she was not half a day ago. Cleaned and bathed, her hands no longer dyed the colour of her latest thread, hair combed and free, and dress clean. Here, golden eyes settle calmly upon those gathered, from beneath the twisted band of leather that keeps such fine hair back. Her expression is one of serious nature, as such meetings warrant, and her mien that of a quiet observer. Elinuial steps quickly to where Amarelei is, and takes up position nearby, briefly reaching across to lay a gentle hand upon the elleth's shoulder, her intent merely to inform the Galthor of her presence.

Ist-Amra notes the newcomer to the room, smiles, and then returns her attention to the Galadhrim herald.

In a ripple of emerald cloth falling behind as he arises, the Manbedir Galindrion stands and brings right hand to his chest. He nods, deeply with slow rhythm to the former speaker and answers, "Thus do your words bring great sadness to the Galadhrim. Our hopes had lingered that to the north and west, in lands better known to the free and true peoples, the seasons passed with lesser tribulation than what we now know in Dwimordene among the Mallyrn." He sighs as a heavy pause lowers his eyes.

"Scant news arrives that to the north and east, the renewed strength of the Naugrim and the vigilance of King Thranduil and his folk has brought fair fruit : and much new peace against the unnamed tides of the east. Then does it seem to the Galadhrim that the lands between Imladris and our homelands now lie as a crucial pass for our future that as yet, we cannot claim. How, otherwise, shall we stand as kindred to each other - well versed in each others counsel for stemming the tides?" A deep heaviness lingers as his mouth remains opened - then closes as the mouth of a cave, silent now and gray. Again he sits.

Along with a handful of folk from the valley enters another of the visitors, though he is no stranger to this House or its people. He pauses a moment as the others pass my, eager to take in the many faces who parley in the name of those who would oppose the Enemy. Gilgurth he sees, of his own kin, and the Lady's Herald among those of Lothlorien, and Dunadain if he is not mistaken. He nods to himself, silent affirmation of some internal curiousity, and elects to remain along the edges of the conversation for a time. With a pleasant nod to those who might catch his eye, Aegraum of Lothlorien (or perhaps Aegraum of Dorthonion to a few) makes his way to the always impressive wine table, and busies his hands while his ears and eyes toil.

Though silent in nature and polite in intent, the Nathril's gesture brings a smile noteable despite its subtlety to Amarelei's lips. Eyes of green laced with radiant gold lift to Elinuial before darting to the empty chair beside her. Her offer now communicated in silence, Amarelei returns to her former attentiveness, following the approach of Aegraum with eyes solemn above the curiosity hidden within them.

Equally as silent, hopefully just as uninterrupting, Elinuial smiles her acceptance and sits by Amarelei's side, sweeping aside the length of her hair so she does not sit upon it. Her subtly curious, calm amber gaze move from one face to the next in study, her chin raised as she does so. Her skirts faintly rustle, the sound of cloth on wood and floor, before once more becoming silent, draped in graceful folds.

Rhunedhel sits on the dais next to Elrond, listening with focused concentration, his scarred face showing no signs of emotion.

At the words of Galindrion, the room falls silent. The looming darkness causes even the most frivlious of those present to turn introspective, for a few moments. A few moments pass. After exchanging looks with the Hir, Lord Elrond, Gilgurth claps his hands together loudly.

Gilgurth's reply can be called a few things, but among these are not lacking passion or clarity. He says, "Each time we have been pressed, we have mustered what we have and fought and drove off the enemy. The paths lay open as we speak, even if not though the hard work of the children of Beor, as we had hoped once. If the road west becomes blocked, it soon after becomes unblocked. We have even dealt with remnants of the Great Enemy, long his touch is to still cause us to come to harm, but, it seems that fate has conspired to lead that danger to the hand of our friend, Saruman, whom was most apt to deal with it. What concerns me is the passes and east of them. Most of our hurts have occured there, and that is what concerns us most. The goblins seem to be unchecked by war, war with the Khazad, the humans, or us. Such events should also be discussed here, to discern if there is a pattern that we can find and counter." *motions to Linnuial to speak*

From where she sits at the smaller dais, Tiriel's gaze returns from the Dunadan Chieftain to Rhunedhel. In her gaze is the desire to add her own words to the proceedings, and she sits forward upon her seat, though stays any comment until called upon, looking to Linnuial as the Elf is motioned for to speak.

"Most trecherous of the passes has been crossing the Gladden," Linnuial says, clearing his throat as he stands. "Three battles did we have with the yrch near the Gladden, and thrice did we nearly escape, always with great loss. During our journey to your wood, we were beset by a large force as we crossed the river. I myself barely survived, and a significant portion of our guard was slain.

"Of the second battle, many already know--our own Galthor Amarelei," At this, Linnuial offers the Lhimbadhril a soft smile, "witnessed the wounding of one of the Great Eagles, and a small party of Galadhrim and Imladhrim set out to rescue the windlord. We were successful, but again were attacked by yrch scouting parties by the Gladden." The Silmaethor's eyes now drift down to the table, and there they linger until finally risking a second's glance at Arwen.

"After so many encounters, we should have chosen a different path for our road home. Yet who can say that greater misfortune would not have found us in another pass..? Your party was itself assailed in the mountains." Gathering himself as best he can, he forces his lips to continue relaying the tale, his tone hesitant and shameful: "We were ambushed once more at the Gladden, and an arrow found the Heryn's shoulder in the dark. We destroyed our assailants utterly, but..." Linnuial sits then, face strained against emotion. "No amount of vengeance can rid us of the suffering the fiends inflicted upon us that day." His eyes do not rise now, fearful they might catch the gaze of the Herdir or his daughter. "They grow too bold," he says finally.

Estel's shoulders stiffen at the news, apparently unknown to him, of Arwen's wound. Yet it is a mark of his mastery that he offers no exclamation, but only a straightening of the spine.

Rhunedhel frowns slightly, as if something does not quite sound right. Speaking up, he says softly, "Were not the ambushes actually at the fords of Gladden, not up in the pass?"

Linnuial's eyes rise, albeit with a distracted gaze, to Rhunedhel, and it takes the Silmaethor a moment to answer. "Yes... yes of course. Perhaps I misspoke. All attacks occurred near the ford--thus the road west from Lorien to the mountain passes is frought with danger."

Though the news is not unheard of, still concern dims the eyes of the Nathril as she looks first from the Lady Arwen, to the Master Elrond. Thoughtful, she then looks to Estel, and again shares a vaguely worried glance with Amarelei. Leaning forward just slightly, posture naturally straight, Elinuial listens intently, forehead creased with more worry than she would care to give name to.

Rhunedhel nods then and says. "Aye. But we have guests here who know much of these dangers, and they have not spoken. Would you men of the North have aught to tell us?"

"I have come over that pass even these last weeks," answers Estel, gathering himself to himself. "But I would yield place, good Rhunedhel, to Tiriel: she may have more to say than I. I saw no sign of the orcs in my passage, aside from the scat we expect of such creatures."

At last Tiriel rises to her feet, the placid grey gaze holding an urgency which words seek to relay, and offering a nod to Aragorn. "It is a growing shadow, for the Enemy has sought also the lands southward," the ranger begins, sending her glance upon all at this meeting. "Passage through the Gap of Rohan is no small thing, and not only to Men. Upon my journey back to Imladris, I found way to a camp of the Rohirrim near this passage, only three days after they had battled orcs there upon the plains."

"Though the Rohirrim were loathe to tell me much of what happened, for they trusted me not, I know the orcs were driven northwards and east," Tiriel adds.

Rhunedhel turns and speaks softly to Elrond, then speaks up. "Yet our messengers to Isengard were able to make the passage safely, with no sign of yrch," he says in his softly accented voice. "Such dangers are the eye of the storm. What worries us, are the empty lands east of the mountains, from the country of the Beorning to the borders of Lorien. Those lands, if held by hostile forces, would cut leave only the pass of Caradhras for travel between Imladris and the Wood, and that pass is perilous."

Amarelei meets the Silmaethor Linnuial's glance with eyes softened by a faraway sadness at recollection of the battle. A faint blush blooms upon the elleth's fair cheeks as the eyes of many flicker over her momentarily, but her poise remains close about her, even as she finds silent discourse with Elinuial's meaningful gaze. Shoulders fair straighten a bit, and a sidelong glance is afforded to the Heryn before alighting upon Tiriel.

"As I said," Estel continues, "the middle pass was clear, at least these last weeks. But no pass is consistently clear. I do not know how they may be made so. The Beornings hold their own lands clear, but their costs are high. Gandalf--would we had ten of him!--may not be everywhere at once. And there are other encroachments. Truthfully, both Tiriel and I come from an Easterling invasion all the way to the borders of the Northman country of Rohan. All is darkening, Master Elrond, and there is naught to do but struggle as we may. But I think, if I may speak here, that the middle pass is our best hope."

After a glance to her Chieftain, Tiriel gives a respectful nod to Rhunedhel and takes her seat again. She clears her throat softly, setting her hands in a loose clasp before her. though her eyes remain watchful, set in turn upon each of the Elves gathered and especially upon Aragorn as he speaks that which none have known of their journey eastward.

Elrond steeples his fingers, then speaks, this being the first time he has spoken to the entire gathering. His words come clear. "Aye, times darken, as they have before, and the storm may soon come, when we shall have to hold or break before the gale. But hear this. Some years back, there was an assault upon Amon Thranduil, and we sent two full squads of our best warriors to aid them, and only half a dozen of them returned when mischance brought disaster. And even recently, all our force of arms, and the flower of our strength, could not keep a talisman of ancient evil from evil hands. We failed then. We have not the strength, here in the Vale, to hope in war, strength only to hold our own land safe and to help those who can come here as we may. It is from men that strength is to be found to fight these evils, if such strength can be found. And even that is uncertain." And as he says that his eyes rest for a moment on Aragorn. Then he continues. "We cannot send aid to you of Lorien, save perhaps Elladan and Elrohir and a few others if the need seems greatest, but perhaps we could do something to let the folk of Beorn know of the peril to their south as well as to their west. Their forces might do something to reduce the danger to your north if they were more alert to the perils near the Gladden fields."

"I would see to that errand," Tiriel says next, the silver gaze determined as she look to the Hir, and thence to Aragorn. "...If such should be given me. Already I have asked to accompany those to Lothlorien, for another of our kin still remains in Esgaroth. I may speak to the Beornings of this pressing evil, and see what might be brought of their strength against it."

Rhunedhel nods slowly, but does not speak. He looks from the Galadhrim to the men of the North and back.

Linnuial stirs from his own thoughts at Elrond's words, and though he nods in agreement, the gesture is accompanied with a disappointed frown. Apologetic eyes roam over the gathered Galadhrim, but no more fortunate alternative can Linnuial offer. Yet quietly he adds, once Elrond's words have settled, "If we are to continue contact between our two lands, I suggest that we arrange a schedule to do so. To send delegations blindly over the mountains, without advance word of their arrival to their hosts, invites disaster. We should agree upon a cycle, such that both lands, ours and yours, may send escorts to receive diplomatic envoys from the other, as they cross the mountains."

Stormy blue eyes drift first to Arwen as her wounds are mentioned, and Erinstar's brow furrows minutely in concern. His attention is shortly arrested by the words of the Dunedain however, and he listens to their input in mute acknowledgement. Finally, his ears are turned to Elrond's own discourse, of which he considers in silence for some time. Finally raising his head once more, his reply is fluid and gracious, "Your generousity eases my heart, sir. That your own sons would be offered is as strong a testament as one could only dream to receive." Then, to the edain once more, he also demures, "And to the sons and daughters of Numenor, our thanks are just as great. Your nobility is an example to us all."

Rhunedhel says softly, "Linnuial, it is hard to determine schedules when so much depends on the passes being open, and when each crossing of the pass brings great danger. But if you think that the Hir knew nothing of the folk of the Wood coming, you speak awry. There are many ways of knowing things when there is need to know them."

Though she listens intently, there is no word of that which the elleth seeks. She sits in quiet contemplation for some time by Amarelei, many questions passing behind her eyes, but it is not until Rhunedhel speaks again that the elfmaid scrapes her pride into her hands, and searches the gaze of those around her. Elinuial speaks up, at first quietly, but with growing strength as her concern is voiced. "My apologies, fair friends, but I fear in my toil for Imladris, I have not been able to recieve word of my homeland." Then she raises her eyes to first Master Elrond, then to Tiriel and Aragorn alike. "Amon Thranduil, that which is called Mirkwood by Man. King Thranduil and his people, they are safe? They are still strong?"

Linnuial's eyes shift to regard Rhunedhel, brows angling with frustration. "Yet I knew of it not, nor did many of the Tirith. Though I know not precisely where the Galadhrim were attacked in the pass, I would hope that their future envoys could benefit from their own escort doubling in force with the Tirith as they crossed." His defense made and his position stated, he falls silent again, his posture indicating that he defers to discussion of more key matters.

Gilgurth speaks up then. "We have scouts who will help guide you to the Gladdens pass, which can be hard to find on this time, when you are ready to leave. He indicates Tuilindo, Linnuial, Naurelin and others sitting in the audience. "We will do all we can to ensure your safe return home." And turning to Linnuial, he says softly, "There are many dangers that speed overcomes more effectively than an army, Linnuial. Our forces are first and foremost necessary to keep our home safe. We cannot afford casualties that we will assuredly suffer if we give the yrch of the northern passes a large force, and hence necessarily a slower force, to attack. Speed and secrecy was the hope of those who crossed the pass, and without it they would not have won across with no deaths among their number."

From beneath silk of a shimmering lavender peeks a slender hand, leaving its position clasped with the other to rest gently and briefly upon the Nathril's forearm. Amarelei whispers a quiet aside to the troubled elleth, though the melody of her gentle alto reaches no ears beyond those for which the sentiments are intended.

When her words are disregarded, Elinuial sits back, a faint slump to her shoulders as she reaches over to lightly touch Amarelei's hand upon her own arm. It is a brief gesture, one not easily sought by the fair-haired elleth, of comfort needed and accepted. Shadows darken those expressive eyes, from clearest amber to misted, as she smiles in gentle reassurance to Amarelei's quiet aside. Though less reassuring it is, not for lack of trying, instead curved up in a determined effort not to curve down.

Having heard all the words that needed to be listened to, Palan rises from his seat, nods to those gathered around him, and begins to walk off, the bottles in his pack tinkling as he heads out into the main hallways.

Rhunedhel looks around. "I believe that that concludes our business," he says, somewhat informally. "There are, I believe, a number of bonfires and celebrations around the valley tonight, so enjoy yourselves. No need to rush home," he adds, when Elrond speaks in his ear. "The passes will be easier a bit later in the season."

Linnuial finally relents beneath Gilgurth's sound reasoning, and now he falls silent, keeping his eyes to his own fingers as they wind together. As others begin to stand, he does also, however he remains in place, gaze locked upon Arwen, his sworn charge. He makes no move before her departure, nor do his eyes wander to the Master nor the Silmaethor's own superiors. Uneasiness resides in his expression as others step past him to leave. For one of only three hundred years, confidence is elusive when surrounded by those who've lived ages.

While Tiriel does not answer Elinuial before the gathering, her glance is set more than once to the elleth that eagerly asked news of Thranduil's realm. And as Rhunedhel adjourns the meeting, and Aragorn and Tiriel rise from their seats to take their leave, the latter's steps lead not away yet as the former's, for they cross the way to meet up with Elinuial. "Pardon me, lady, I would speak to you a moment," Tiriel says quietly to the elleth, awaiting with patience her reply.

Torchlight flickers on in the Hall of Elrond, though the shadows cast by its mingling with the fading sunlight now grow long. The assembled council now begins to dissolve, and as others rise from their seats, so does Amarelei follow suit. Slowly she straightens, smoothing pale hands over the skirts of her gown as she steps behind the Heryn and her Silivriel. To both a gentle nod is directed, followed by a few short words of whispered discourse. Her eyes find Linnuial's in their stern study of Arwen, and it would seem her own capture some of his concern before she turns to leave the hall.

The master of the valley rises, and his voice calls out softly, "Estel, when you are refreshed, attend me and my family in our quarters." And he steps from the dais, heading resolutely for the door, with Rhunedhel, Gilgurth, and the figure who must be Arwen with her companions sweeping in his wake.

Though she has not yet risen, possibly mulling over her own less than fortuitous thoughts, the Nathril raises her gaze to that of Tiriel's, for the Ranger's sake summoning a gentle smile. "Yes, brennil, what may I do for you?" Elinuial queries as she rises to her feet.

Chestnut locks dance with the motion of a nod, and Galadriel's Herald rises once more. A wan smile of thanks is cast once more towards the Peredhel, and the melodic voice stirs from dusky lips once more, "Of Thranduil's realm we bear little tiding, but what we posess is well. Your concern need not linger any longer." His silvered gaze flickers about the room once more, and he quietly turns then to depart, murmuring, "Good eve to you all." No more does if offer, but only slips from the Hall then as silently as he had come.

Linnuial's gaze finally does break from Arwen, to regard Amarelei softly just as she passes from the hall. He sighs, stepping to follow the Master out himself.

The main points of the discussion having been addressed, Aegraum slowly makes his way toward the doors. He lingers as others pass by though, waiting for the Lady's Herald and those others of the Galadhrim who have come this evening to treat once more with the wise of the valley.

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