A golden warmth fills the hall, cast by radiant sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains that billow lazily with the mild summer breeze from open windows. This breath of summer draws the tempting scents of a sumptuous meal throughout the hall and beyond into the gardens.

And surely what noses seek, eyes shall also find, for even the usual splendor of the hall is exceeded. Long tables lined with chairs and draped in the finest linens stand around the hall, bedecked in fresh fruits, stewed meats and vegetables, sweet-smelling breads and pastries, and certainly not least, copious amounts of the vintners' finest vintages, displayed grandly in colorful casks.

What eyes may drift past the generous feast will fall upon a table more grandly adorned, situated in front of the stage. Flower garlands drape across the side that faces the grand hall, much like those that lend their fragrant blossoms to line the windows and stage. At each place, carefully set by those of the House guild, rests a boquet of wildflowers and finely engraved card. Just behind this table, aloft in granduer upon the stage, is one similarly adorned for those of the House of Earendil and attendants.

Anorril walks in with Olathlinn at his side, amazed at the number of quendi in the room. "Mae Govannen mellyn!" he says. " Everything looks so incredible!"

Magnificence is the word that describe the best the Elisthir garnment. Her ochre/silver robe of heavy damas she is now wearing is yet of a simple design that falls straight. Rubbons, bead and delicated braids are weaving an intriganted pattern mixed up with loose hair. A thin crest jewellery, surely made by her sister Silivren, is preventing all hair to fall over her glance. Silk burgondy gloves are covering her arm from fingers to elbows. She makes a soft sound when moving around. Little fancy burgondy slippers achieved to make her look like a fragile elleth. All contraste with the jousting custume! Furthermore as Olathlinn is at the arm of Anorril. She is quietly smiling.

Softly entering the hall, and chuckling about their dancing session in the Hall of Fire enter Eleryando and Faerlin. Eleryando has his hand nestled gently at his waist, while Faerlin has her hand placed softly around his arm. Together they greet their fellow Imladrians and they continue laughing about what a wonderful day it's planning to be.
They both glance over the food, wine and general delights that now overcome them at the hall. They both move around the table touching, tasting and smelling the food that's on offer.

Into the hall walk two ellith, their eyes wide with delight at the sights, noses eagerly sampling the aromas. ". . .I told you the food was ready, mellon. This nose never lies!" Glasiel and Ailiell laugh together and look for suitable seats.

In the midst of such finery drifts a lady cloaked in moonlight where aught else bathes in sun. The Miruvorthaer Eryndae, once standing just to the side of the grand stage, offers the warmest of smiles to Glasiel and Ailiell before noting Anorril's and Olathlinn's entry with a silvered smile. Thus she strides fluidly toward the Elisthir, white silk whispering elegantly about her lissome frame with measured footsteps. A delicate hand rests fleetingly on Olathlinn's shoulder before words follow in honored welcome.

"Mellon Olathlinn, it does me well to see you here. Honor awaits you for your demonstrated skill, and the enjoyment I hope the week's festivities have brought you as well. Honor would also be mine to see you to the foremost table, should your escort allow it so." Thus with a subtle flourish of a slender wrist beneath fluttering sleeves, and a wink to Anorril, Eryndae gestures towards the table nearest to the stage.

It is at that table, there upon the stage; under the banner of his house: a white dove flying freely over a green field trimmed with gold, that Elrond's son has drawn his seat, beside his father's which stands empty. Very fair is he, and tall; grey is his rainment, his hair is long and raven black, a silver circlet is bound about his brow, and as he sits, alone, his sea-grey eyes have their piercing gaze lended toward all such others as enter the hall, and talk, and laugh; Elladan is silent.

Into the Hall of Song comes a cheerful Theagraelin, peridot gem-like eyes gazing over the amount of Imladhrim gathered within - with a swift turn to shut the door behind her, her red auburn hair sways which causes her to replace her hair back behind her ears. A hearty "Mae govennen!" springs forth from her soprano voice, sounding cheerful and enlightened by the Imladrhim gathered.

It seems that Tatharwen's duties as vintner have run their course during the tournament, yet neither does she join in conversation or merrymaking, yet. Rather standing near the window, a glass of wine in hand, she watches the Hall fill with splendidly clad Quendi. Occasionally her glance falls to the wine in her glass as if inspecting it. Despite her solitude, a small smile plays at the corners of her mouth as the air of the Hall fills with merry voices.

Olathlinn looks anxiously to the table, then smiles to Anorril!"I shall accord you a dance later one Sir, but for now, I think I have a designated place!Will you?" She free her hand to follow Eryndae instruction and walks toward the table.

As quiet as her brother's is the Lady Arwen's stance upon entering on her father's arm, but she has always been less solemn, less grim, than her brothers. While she says nothing as Elrond exchanges a few words here and there, there is a quiet smile on her lips, and her overall posture seems relaxed and ready for feasting. She is dressed in softly falling cream-coloured cloth, as magnificent as is befitting for an occasion like this and suiting the Master's raiment very well. Upon arriving on their table, however, and after a few quickly exchanged words, Elrond smiles and takes his daughter's seat, while Arwen pulls out the chair at Elladan's side. "If you would allow for my company, gwanur." she smiles, "I have seen so little of you of late that I would quite like to spend the evening at your side."

Thegraelin's pale eyes search for an empty seat that isn't quite reserved. Her crescent smile, red as roses, fades and shines to a form of question and wonder. Hher hands fold behind her as she slowly walks into the hall, near the table - over looking the delights of the banquet there are on display,
"Is there a spot I may take for my own seat? I wouldn't want to be rude as to sit where it might be reserved."

Arrayed in fine fabrics of white, pale blue, and gold, Thileithel enters the Hall of Song with his usual confidence and serenity. He glances around, smiling and nodding to those who look his way. The Hirvaethor makes his way across the room toward where the wine has been set out.

Anorril walks quicly over to Olathlinn before she sits down. He says to the elleth, "Are you sure that I could not treat you to a drink of wine first?"

Faerlin smiles and whispers something to Eleryando, who remains at her side, possibly concerning the music--as it is to the musicans at the end of the hall that her warm-hazel gaze drifts. She deftly pulls a piece of sliced peach from a platter and pops into her mouth before gently tugging on the Lalaithdir's sleeve for him to follow her to a couple of seats, fairly close to the musicians, that are empty.

Olathlinn looks back at the edhel and whisper:"Although knowing more about you and be in you presence will rejoy me, I am a little to tense for a drink, mellon!" she smiles over that said:"But I will find a way to be with you as soon as I can, it is a promess that I always keep when it is up to me!" She pat Anorril and continue toward her goal with hesitation.

Anorril smiles quietly at the elleth's words and proceeds to sit down by himself near the far end of the tables.

Seeing an auburn elleth looking uncertainly about for a seat, Tatharwen stirs from her place at the window and crosses to her side. "I think these seats are not taken or reserved," she gestures to two nearby chairs with her other hand resting lightly on the elleth's arm. "Shall we sit? I am Tatharwen."

A respectful pause is Eryndae's wont as the Herdir and Heryn sweep into the hall, and thus does the lady wait until they pass to follow in their wake with Olathlinn at her side. Once satisfied that Arwen and Elrond are properly seated with Elladan, she pauses to whisper to a nearby Seinthaer. "Will you see that both Lords and Lady are properly served?" Once the young elleth hurries off anew, the Miruvorthaer returns her focus to the Elisthir, catching Thileithel in her gaze as well. "Does this seat suit you, mellon?" she inquires of the elleth, pulling back a chair at the foremost table. "I shall see that the other victors join you soon. On such an occasion for merriment, surely fine company is most enjoyed."

A smile steals over Elladan's fair face as he is joined by his sister, though he bows his head to his father in an aside before, in a clear voice; "Vanimelda," he answers; "If anyone should ever deny themselves your company, I should consider them a fool." He shakes his head ruefully, "Alas that of late I have been foolish; but there has been need of me; come now, though" his mien brightens somewhat, "I should delight of an evening with you."

Step by step Maegiaracha enters into the hall, her hands angled back and resting at her side. Solemn and hesitant eyes don't even seem to explore, fixed rather. A tumult of anxiety would usually accompany such an instant, but one does not, that or it remains well hidden. Slight sidesteps evade blocking any other's coarse, moving out of the way. Her posture straightens, eyes turn downward and moments drift on.

A pretty, red beaming crescent smile appears upon Thegra's lips as she nods to Tatharwen, "Oh, well, I see you have better eyes than me for the moment, I am Thegraelin, Thegra to most."
Thegraelin says, "Well met!"

Thileithel takes up a goblet of the new wine, mandramorn, and takes a sip. Still growing used to its unique flavor as a red, the Hirvaethor's face smirks slightly at the still unfamiliar flavors. After a moment, he smiles and takes another drink, this one a bit longer.

The elisthir smiles at Eryndae, feelling not quite at her place to be serve like that, anyway, with all those Seinthaer, moving around her like ant around a queen, and the Miruvorthaer taking such care of her. She sat blushing and suttering thankfull word.

"Well met indeed, Thegraelin," Tatharwen answers quietly as she takes a seat. Her eyes search briefly for the Miruvorthaer Eryndae as if to see whether assistance might be needed, then, seemingly satisfied for the moment, she turns back to her companion. "Have you enjoyed the festivities during these games?"

As both Faerlin and Eleryando continue their laughing, and merry discussion, the music in the room becomes a little more lively, and both of the elves look at each other in a moment of mutual understanding. They both stand, and move quickly towards a vacant spot on the floor and hold each other in a jolly embrace. Their feet, now practiced, glide silently and steadily across the floor, winning the gaze of various members of the banquet around the room.
They continue dancing as long as the music holds it pace.

Once Olathlinn is seated, a light pat on the shoulder remains Eryndae's response to the elleth's humility. Then whisking away toward the door once more, the Miruvorthaer slips through the crowd to find another; at Maegiaracha's side the lady bows subtly, a bright smile curving upon pale lips when she rises anew. "Another whom I am honored to see on such an occasion for festivity and fine music. Will you join those also regaled this day?" Indicating the table at which Olathlinn sits with a graceful sweep of her hand, the Miruvorthaer extends to Maegiaracha the invitation of honor.

Dark, watchful eyes coolly scan the gathering and gathered finery, as Ailiell bends one ear towards Glasiel's warm, friendly chatter. She would seem almost disinterested, if not for the merry twist of her lips, and the deep light of amusement in her gaze. Her attention flickers over the dancers to the blushing elisthir, and beyond to those happily sampling the newest wine. She is, for the moment, silent, content to listen and watch.
Martion is standing just outside the doorway, as if waiting for an opportunity to slip inside unnoticed.

Faerlin laughs as she dances and comments to Eleryando "For one who claimed, only a little while since, that he could not dance you do a remarkably fine job." Her neatly brushed hair soon looks as though she hadn't bothered but it doesn't seem to trouble her. Hoever as she feels the attention of several pairs of eyes and her ans the Celdir she grins and says to him "I think maybe we better sit down again, see how everyone's looking." Having made that statement they half dance back across to the seats they had just left. The Tellenistril smiles as she sees her Uncle, Thileithel, amongst the crowd and Olathlinn, a cousin of sorts, too.

Arwen laughs as she seats herself at last, a bright, silvery sound. "I hope you will find no reason to regret your decision, brother." she answers. "Was the tournament itself where you were needed? It seems to me that there was joy in it even among the most peaceful poets."

Olathlinn looks slowly around, amusing to see her cousin Faerlin having such fun. She also saw Maegiaracha, trying to blend and not to be remarks as herself would have do. Remembering the soot event, she up her head to looks if the Lalaith is around. She wants to be sure that he will kept is soot for him this time. At least out of Maegi eyes. She smiles tenderly when Eryndae pats her. Intriged she is hearing that Maegiaracha as win in something either. She is happy and wait to know more about this secret she kept from her.(repose)

A quick flinch shatters the calm of Maegiaracha's eyes. A bow to the Miruvorthaer quickly is returned, "It would be my pleasure," radiates her voice. A flutter of steps soon follows, her garment meandering forward in delayed chase. Slight moccasins appear, her hands clinging to her drapery, slightly drawing it upward. Derelict strands of hair resist now and then, a delayed copy of her motions. To the table noted she moves.

Thileithel looks up from his wine and smiles as Anorril speaks. "Ah, edhel, you've been reading old Bilbo's book of translation!"

Thegra takes her seat, looking at the gathered quendi. Turning to Tatharwen, Theagrga's bright smile fades to a calm smile, "Oh yes mellon - I do not remember the last time I have come to a banquet."

Martion slips into the hall, and with uncharacteristically subdued motions, sits down not far from Anorril.

A smile, "I doubt that it ever might be so;" says Arwen's brother, then, "Alas, no;" Elladan replies, "Nothing quite so pleasant as that; although," he hastens to add, "Nor anything dire." The he continues, by way of eplanation: "Our kinsmen from Lorien have occupied much of my time of late, for one reason or another; but here, now they are gone, and so I find myself at leisure."

Both still in high-spirited, joyful moods, Faerlin and Eleryando continue their laughing about the days events, hoping that the day would continue.

"It's been fun, my dear Mellon, it's been fun." Eleryando begins. "I might just go and have a talk to my dear sister over there." He motions towards his sibling, Ivoril standing in the crowd. He stands and moves off towards her, not before giving Faerlin a polite, yet curtious kiss on the cheek.

Glasiel links arms with Ailiell, and the two ellith wander the room slowly, taking everything in.

Arwen nods, extending her hand towards a goblet on the table. "I had heard of it. It seems it is getting increasingly difficult to travel over the mountains." she holds the glass in her hand for a moment, raised to her face already, without drinking. Her eyes have gone distant. "And part of me so would like to fly with them and back to the Golden Wood." she then adds, in a softer tone.

Anorril nods at Martion as he sits down. He turns to Thileithel and says, "I have been reading some of the perianath's work, I had nothing to do so I proofread it."

The elisthir waiting for Maegiaracha gets up to greet her, near making a tray falls all over. She slowly facepalm and sit again.

The Seinthaer smiles and put a looks of compasion upon Olathlinn:"We all knew it will happen, mellon, the word as been spread. Now relax and enjoy the show, would you?"

Martion seems content to watch the people drinking, moving around, talking ... he says nothing himself, simply nodding to Anorril and then looking around, taking in the scene.

The Hirvaethor nods as he walks over to where Anorril and the Gweithir sit. Finding a seat of his own close by, Thileithel nods to Martion and then smiles as he responds to Anorril. "Several times, I myself have helped Bilbo in the library, but these last few years, he has become quite confident in his Sindarin and Quenya. Perhaps a little too proud." Looking around, he adds, "I wonder where the old fellow is."

Tatharwen leans in as she and Thegraelin continue their conversation quietly. The Idherveld's gaze has taken in, with some amusement and pleasure, the dancing of Faerlin with the musician, and the flustered humility of the victorious ellith, the entry of the Gweithir Martion into the hall, along with other of the sights and sounds of the gathering. Smiling apologetically to Thegraelin, she says, "I should go see if I am needed. I hope we can speak more later and become better acquainted." With that the burgundy-clad elleth rises and winds her way through the crowd towards Eryndae.

Faerlin nods and watches as Eleryando slips into the crowd in search of his sister, she then threads her way across the room towards Thegraelin, passing Thileithe, Martion and Anorril in so doing and she murmers to the Randir "It's good to see you looking so joyful Uncle." before she moves on and settles behind Thegra's chair and stands there with one hand on its back.

Thegraelin leans slightly in her chair, listening to any ongoing conversation as well as the one she keeps with Tatharwen whilst taking in the scenery, detail for detail, edhel for elleth, smiling the whole while. Sipping from her glass of wine, closely studying the colour, she notices that the wine is of great taste and something she hasn't drank before. A pleased smile envelops her lips as she raises her peridot eyes to the gathered quendi. Waving slightly to her close friend Faerlin, Thegra hums a small tune to herself, her soprano voice seeming to settle to nothing more than a whisper.

Passing quietly through the door into the Hall of Song, the cloaked edhel known to some as Naurind gazes up at the fine wreath above. As he lowers his icy eyes to the bustling Hall, he seems a bit overwhelmed. Still, the rochdur moves into the banquet silently, flashing his gaze over everyone. Shifting his path, Naurind moves to stand to the side of the door, by himself, folding his arms and glancing around quietly.

Thus with a hand at Maegiaracha's elbow to guide her through the animated crowd, Eryndae reaches the table designated for the honorees once more, pulling back a chair for the Bathril much as she did for Olathlinn, and just next to her. "Enjoy the fine food and spirits, mellyn," she murmurs to the two ellith. "And the music as well. Olathlinn, I hear you are to recite for us once all have calmed? I look forward to it, and moreso since your performance at the Masquerade."

A smile is cast to both ere the lady disappears into the crowd anew, resurfacing at length at Thileithel's side. "Undoubtedly Master Bilbo will be most regretful if he misses the meal," she chuckles, before turning words to a more formal matter. "Cousin, you too are invited to dine amongst those honored, as both overseer of swordsmen and victor yourself. When it suits you," she states plainly, yet respectfully. "I heard you were quite the solver of riddles in the race event."

Meanwhile, upon the stage a young Seinthaer approaches the Herdir and his family at the Miruvorthaer's prior bidding, bearing a freshly opened cask of wine in hand. With a shy smile and low, respectful bow to the family, she stands then to the side, the offer implied by the wine ever ready in her hands.

Smoothing one hand over the soft linen of her skirts as they stroll about the room, Ailiell's sharp eyes take in the discomfiture of Maegiarcha and, seeking out the other's eye, she smiles a slow, warm smile of encouragement and gladness. The summer warmth of the room, the heavy scent of the food and the scented silks, all seem to have a hypnotic effect on the elleth, her face taking on somewhat of a dreamy expression as she takes in the festive blur of faces around her. Until a raven-haired figure catches her attention -- Martion, unaccountably withdrawn and silent. With a quick whisper to the herbmistress she excuses herself, meandering slowly towards him, the hint of a question creasing her brow.
Something like a gaudy peacock struts into the hall ... uh, no. It is Harchdolas in his party clothes, rarely seen, as he gets them out once a decade or so, when it occurs to him he's been spending too much time on his researches and in bullying nethordyr, and not enough time mixing with his peers in social settings. This appears to be one of those occasions, perhaps because of the promise of good wine.

As they pass each other, Tatharwen greets Faerlin and compliments her on her dancing with a merry laugh. It seems the Idherveld is in festive mood, after all. Her progress towards the stage is halted when she notices Thileithel seated amongst other edhil. As she is about to speak in invitation for the Hirvaethor to step forward, Eryndae appears to fill that place and the vintner merely waits to offer her assistance.

"Verily;" Elladan agrees, voice taking on an air of solemnity; "It has been long since I last walked in the lands of our mother's kin, too long, perhaps; "Mayhap, though;" his brightens, ever nebulous, "soon anon we shall journey thence, you and I. It would be well with me to look upon Celeborn and Galdriel once again."

"Now, though;" he corrects himself, looking about at those gathered (and still gathering) in the hall. "It comes to me, I think, to herald the victors of our tournament of late; are all present?"

Maegiaracha quickly finds herself slipping around, in and out, of the many small and large groups. Her step is soft, a bow coming often with a nod or a few words to another. Finally the consistent progression of her steps moves her quite a distance closer to the table, only to stop, to peer upon her adar and naneth. A quick embrace follows repeated with slight kisses for each. A smile illuminates her visage with vibrant colors. Words pass to her parents like river to lake, they remain calm, grasping all she tells with wondrous joy in their eyes. Their conversations surges on, expressional and loving.

Olathlinn glance crosses the shadow of her uncle, just when Faerlin pass before him. She waves to him discretly. All in her attitude reflect the question of "What in a world do I do her?". Seeing Harchdolas enter, she searches for his natural opponent. May be they way stay peacefull and unargumentative today. She nods to Eryndae. "As far as I can Madam, as far as I can!" Then she smiles to Maegiaracha asking the question burning her tongue before the civility:"So in what challenge do you win mellon?Fencing?"

Martion's eyes look up, noting Ailiell's motions, but do not linger. Instead they are drawn listlessly to Harchdolas' entrance.

The musicians, some of Imladris' finest continue to play a bright tune, as is befitting such an occasion and the season that graces the valley with its beauty.

Though he tries to hold it, the edhel to the side of the door bursts out in laughter at the appearance of one Harchdolas. Eyes flashing over him brightly, Naurind lifts a hand to cover his mouth - though it doesn't help and he continues laughing. After a moment, regarding the peacock-elf fully, the edhel begins clapping softly, a broad grin across his thin lips. "Good show!" he shouts to Harchdolas.

Harchdolas turns, drawing himself to his full height. "Did you find something funny?" he inquires acidly.

Still laughing, the edhel stops clapping and folds his arms once more, a hint of humour flashing through his frozen eyes. "Funny? ...Other than your wild appearance, mellon, no, nothing." he replies softly, continuing to laugh. Naurind shakes his head slowly, braids sloshing about messily as he continues to watch Harchdolas.

The Glirieth a Timmeth, Thegra, sits upright in her chair as Harchdolas enters, her eyes appearing to be amazed by the appearancee of the quendi. Listening to any ongoing conversation, sipping from her glass of wine, Thegrga continues to watch the merry dancers contently, a giggle or two escaping her. A pleased smile envelops her lips as she raises her peridot eyes to the gathered quendi while she hums a small tune to herself, her soprano voice seeming to settle to nothing more than a whisper among the many voices, her toes tapping lightly upon the floor.

Maegiaracha's conversation soon ends with her parents, and she moves nigh the table, next to the Elisthir. A smile and eye contact is brought upon this friend, a hand slips upon her shoulder and she moves closer, a slight whisper commences in response to her question, "But you mustn't tell anyone," she finishes, a bit sternly, a flashing smile bringing a slight laugh, "Okay?"

Thileithel nods in reply. "I'd be happy to."

Olathlinn cover suddenly her little ear, apprehending the rest of the action between the impulsive Naurind and Harchdolas. He glance change in one of supplication. She can bear to hear the healer when he is angry. Maegiaracha removing her hand to whisper at what she win aside, calm the elleth. She nods to her.

Glasiel nods at Ailiell, smiling as she takes leave to seek out Martion. The Olvaristdil turns, once again scanning the room, and her eyes fall on. . . a peacock? Nay, it is the Hirnethron Harchdolas. She heads over to his side, smiling a warm greeting. "So you /were/ able to get away for the festivities! How lovely. And you look so. . . festive!" Her smile is genuine, however she soon turns to Naurind with quite another look. She ventures no reply to his comments, however, but simply glares at the Rochdur.

Harchdolas smiles then, but the smile is hardly friendly. "I see you learned your manners in the stables," he observes, "but I will not hold it against you. As it happens, this style was considered the height of good taste in Aman, and Yavanna herself said it was a pleasant sight to behold, once upon a time. But I will not hold your ignorance against you. Care for a bottle of wine?"

And he reaches into a fold of his robe, producing a bottle.

As many merry voices fill the Hall of Song, a maiden dressed in a gown of silky green enters the festive room. Bright orbs of emerald dance around the room, perhaps looking for someone of whom she knows. Long strands of gold fall freely around her face and over the shoulders of the young Lady Ambassador. Seeming to blend in with everyone else a bit, she stands out in her own way, for she, Merilwen if of the Galadhrim.

Though it is the first thing she does hear in entering the room is that of the Lord and Lady's name, which of course, quickly catches her attention. And not within a moment later does she then realize of whom the words have come. Coming up from behind the Lady Merilwen gives a deep curtsy, pinching the folds of either side of her gown as she does so. "Lord Elladan, for I beg your pardon to intrude, but I couldn't help over-hearing the mention of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel." Merilwen's cheeks blush slightly as she returns to full height.

Thegraelin leans forward, her eyes settled upon Harchdolas with a smile, "You look merry and wonderful today mellon, I am pleased you find yourself comfortable enough to encompany yourself with such an attire - I admire your boldness!"

At last, Arwen shakes her head. "Ah... of course." she mutters quietly, casting a quick look at her father before taking a sip from her goblet. Only a slight twitching of the corners of her mouth tell of any amusement or other emotion at all at Harchdolas' entrance, and even that is gone as she sets down her glass and regards Merilwen with a silent, but kind smile.

Ailiell's attention is momentarily -- and thoroughly -- drawn by the unexpected spectacle of the Hirnethron. However, it is Naurind's brazen commentary that freezes her where she stands, staring in amaze. Her eyes float to the bottle that Harchdolas produces, a half-grin spreading steadily over her face, as she recognizes it. Quickly covering her lips with long fingers, she waits, looking on Harchdolas with new respect.

Laughing still, Naurind offers a mocking grin toward Glasiel, but soon returns his attention to the rambling Harchdolas. "We are in Imladris, mellon, and it was but a joke for a bit of fun!" he replies softly, shaking his head once more. Returning the smile to Harchdolas, Naurind's eyes fall upon the wine and he lifts a hand, giving a slight wave. "I will pass, mellon." he replies politely, giving a mock bow due to the 'mannors' remarks earlier.

"Follow me then, cousin," Eryndae half-whispers, quieting as a murmur of announcements spreads through the gathered quendi. As she works her way towards the stage, her sweeping gaze of lighter weight than is normal for the lady eventually alights upon Tatharwen, bringing a new smile to pale lips. "Will you come as well, mellon? We should most likely prepare for the honors as the Herion begins."

Maegiaracha's eyes search, slightly only. Her movements take her to a seat near the Elisthir, grace like water supports her shoulders with her upright back. A timeless gaze sets in upon her eyes, watching.

Thileithel sips his wine quietly and follows after Eryndae up to the stage and waits while she speaks with Tatharwen.

Harchdolas raises his eyebrows. "Well, well," he says to certain of the others who welcome him. "Thank you for your politeness. Naurind, I must insist that you share a bottle with me. After your amazing show of manners, it is the least you can do!"

"Of course," replies Tatharwen, "I was about to come offer my services." With a glance back at the 'merriment' in the back of the Hall, Tatharwen follows the Miruvorthaer towards the stage.

Anorril begins sipping some wine he had found at his place. It was a red wine, sweet yet tart, and it calmed his nerves. He slowly scanned the surrouding quendi and paused for a few seconds to see if he could make out the words of what the Heryn and Herion were saying. Finding that he could barely make anything out he continued to sip his wine.

Faerlin's quick eyes drift to the bottle that the Hirnethron presents to Naurind. She raises a brow but says naught, now her gaze drifts about the room searching for Ailiell, trying to see if the said elleth's expression confirms her suspicions.

Martion is watching Harchdolas like the rest. His expression is sardonic.

Glasiel's face betrays nothing. She nods agreement with Harchdolas, eyeing Naurind with one raised eyebrow. She asks quietly, "Surely you would not be so ill-mannered as to refuse the Hirnethron's kind invitation?"

From her place, when she finally get serve with her glass of wine, Olathlinn up it to Anorril. Her lips move to tell him that she remember her promess.

Examining the features of the seemingly merry peacock, Naurind's eyebrows lift questioningly a moment. A bit more laughter seeps through his thin lips, and untrustingly, he steps forward with a grin. "Very well, I will taste your wine, mellon." he replies smoothly, mumbling something about trickery. The grin the edhel wears so often remains painted upon his lips.

Anorril smiles at Olathlinn. He says in reply, "I did not think that you would forget."
Harchdolas removes the cork from the wine, and takes a long sip from it himself, swallowing, and smiling openly, licking his lips. "It is a most extraordinary vintage, " he assures Naurind. "Care for a glass, or shall you take it from the bottle?"

Her glance flying quickly over the crowd, Ailiell meets Faerlin's eye, a deeply wry grin twitching at the corners of her lips before it is quelled. She turns an impassive face to the sharp-tongued edhel, waiting, the tiniest flicker of puzzlement crossing her eyes as Harchdolas drinks.

"So it seems;" Elladan answers the Lady Counsel, glancing backward from his seat; "The lady Undomiel and I were simply discussing our desire to meet with our mother's parents once again;" With that, though; the son of Elrond glances back out over the stage at the gathering, with a quick double-take, followed by a somewhat puzzled glance at Harchodlas, who for all the world seems to be impersonating a large bird. "You must excuse me," he says to Merilwen with the barest smile, and stands; after a sideward glance to his father (which is met by a nod nod quite so curt as brief) then, in a voice clear, high and lyrical he intones: "Friends, guests, kinsfolk; your attention, if you will!"

The grin upon Naurind's lips grows wider, watching Harchdolas consume some of the wine. As he expected it to be immediately expelled, the grin fades from his lips upon the peacock's smile. "Well..." the edhel replies quietly, pausing, "I, a well-manored fellow, shall use.." he pauses once more, the grin returning to his lips as he draws a 'steals' a fairly empty glass from another edhel, "a glass!" he finishes sharply, eyes bright. He holds out the glass, eyes toward where the person shouts for attention.

Anorril turns his attention to the Herion.

Harchdolas fills the glass with a flourish. "Enjoy," he says softly.

Faerlin picks her way between the quendi so that she might get a closer view of the Harchdolas and Naurind, who seem to be the focus of so much attention at the moment. Finally appearing close by she whispers, to herself mostly, "An extraordinary vintage hmm.." She tucks an whisp of hair behind her ear and tries to hide expression as Harchdolas drinks the wine, she has obviously seen Ailiell's expression too.

Olathlinn hold her breath, she looks Ailiell and Faerlin, move on her seat...quite unease. Is THE bottle!"It can be,don't do such cruel thing,!"she let escape before hiding her mouth with her hand and blushe.

Martion sits very still, not yet turning toward the stage, still watching Naurind and Harchdolas.

Glasiel listens to the voice at the head of the hall, but finds her eyes unable to tear themselves from that which unfolds directly in front of her.

Elladan coughs with somewhat pointed brevity in Harchdolas' general direction; evidently he does not garner enough attention.

Harchdolas turns half an eye toward Elladan, and raises the bottle as if in toast.

Pulling out a chair next to with nary a sighing scrape over the freshly polished floor of the hall, Eryndae indicates Thileithel's seat with a bow perhaps even a bit exaggerated in its grandeur and playful smile, fleeting yet sincere. The Miruvorthaer then turns to Tatharwen and, once a few steps aside of the table, murmurs her thoughts beneath the laughter of the crowd and accompanying music as it calms with the Herion's address. "Here, mellon," she intones softly, placing something unseen into the Gwinthaer's palm before stepping soundlessly, quickly, towards the other end of the table. There she stands, still and silent, argent gaze falling pointedly over the crowd as she awaits their silence as well.

The lady Galadhrim's cheeks turn a bit more pink as her eyes follow the faces to one in which a smile as come. Once again Merilwen bows low to curtsy, her gold crown of hair bowing as well to the Lady Arwen, and Elladan as he is excused. Staying then a bit back from the others, the Lady Counsel seems a bit of place.

Merilwen's attention then goes to the son of Elrond as he asks. So the little figure of the maiden of roses stands alone, her long emeral gown reaching the ground, as the folds of silk illuminate.

Withdrawing the glass of wine from Harchdolas, he returns his eyes to the bright fellow. "Cheers!" he says softly, first lifting the glass to his mouth, sniffing it. "...Smells fine..." he mumbles, taking a rather large mouth-ful just as he catches the cough toward Harchdolas. Holding the wine in his mouth, his expression darkens, and it looks as if he wants to smack Harchdolas, though he turns his attention toward Elladan as well. Turning away, Naurind hands the horrid glass of wine back to the edhel from which he stole it, and runs straight for one of the windows.

From his vantage point, Thileithel watches the healer and Naurind with a look of curiosity, though it is tempered by a slight turning up of the corners of the mouth. Elladan's cough breaks the spell, and the Hirvaethor turns his attention back to Eryndae and her instructions on where to sit.

Olathlinn hands search for Maegiaracha. She whisper:"What ever is sin, it is him whom get me to infirmery when I faint..."

Harchdolas says cheerfully, "ah, now he's taken his medicine. A cure for levity, and a disinfectant of the mouth." And he corks the bottle and returns it to a fold of his robe, turning now to give Elladan his full attention.

Faerlin half turns on the spot to glance at the Herion but the attention doesn't last long. "I suggested it wasn't for internal consumption, really I did..didn't I?" she asks of Harchdolas before standing on tiptoes to watch the behaviour of Naurind. Finally she returns her full attentiveness to Elladan.

Tatharwen nods briefly to Eryndae at her whispered instructions, and stands at the end of the table of winners with her hands folded over something not yet seen. Her glance falls over Maegiaracha and Olathlinn and she smiles, but turns her attention to the stage and the Herion.

Harchdolas says sotto voce to Faerlin, "not for internal consumption, but excellent as a mouthwash."

The slightest pinkish tone emits from Thegra's cheeks whilst a warm smile accompanies thusly.

Glasiel shakes her head, giving Harchdolas a brief look of wonderment. She murmurs softlly, "I look forward to learning all about /that/ medicine, Hirnethron..." and then turns her attention to the front of the hall as well.

Thegraelin sips from her wine, attention drawn the the front of the hall. A small nod of acknowledgement is carried to Martion though a giggle resides from her lips as she looks to Faerlin with a small shake of her head.

With a look of mingled awe and barely-held laughter, Ailiell pulls her focus to the front of the hall, slipping silently into a seat by Martion.

"Very good;" Elladan permits, as at last it seems that pranks and trickery are done. "Now the time has come to award the champions (in whatever faculty) of our recent tourney." With that, he pauses.

The elisthir excuse herself, getting up."I will come back mellon, I have promess to someone in the infirmery to get her down here!Enjoy", she then smiles and manage to ran by the door, almost unotice.

Martion leans toward Ailiell, and whispers something in her ear.

Martion +whispers to Ailiell, "... would ... that ... ... ... ... .... ... ... that ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...."

The 'orchestra' sits quietly, hands and instruments idle as they listen to the words of Elrond's son. Faerlin looks across to them smiling, content with the results of their playing. In particular she nods to a particular silver-haired elleth who clutches a silver harp.

Maegiaracha's glances to Tatharwen before standing and giving a slight bow, then turning to Olathlinn she smiles but remains complacent.

A soft laugh escapes her finally, before she can bite it back. Ailiell's eyes drift to the window where the unfortunate Naurind still rests limply. Silently she nods her agreement.

A servant appears next to Thileithel and fills his now empty goblet. He nods in thanks and looks down from the stage at the assembled Elves. Crossing his silk encased legs, the Hirvaethor smiles to those sitting with him, but remains silent. The only indication of his mood is his eyes. They are like lightning, but seen though a veil.

"Indeed!" Exclaims Arwen's brother, "If you will each give up your applause to our brave, canny and skillful victors, in competitions of wit and wielded-blade alike;" he inclines his head aside to Eryndae and Tatharwen, to whom it seems, falls the honour of bedecking the winners' breasts with medals and tokens of their victory.

Olathlinn carefully come back with an injured elleth, she helps her to walk aside Harchdolas. She give her a chair."There you are Gilnaurien!I must return to my place, but fear not, you are in good hand here!"

Gilnaurien smiles shyly and turns to look about her. She seeing many Eldar, Sinda and Noldo. She retruns Anorril's glance and bows from the waist, then gazes at her sprained ankle. "Hail," she adresses the floor

After his bout of spitting the vile liquid from his mouth, Naurind wipes his thin lips with the back of his hand, mumbling and grumbling something about evil old edhel. Turning from the window, one would see that the edhel is in a somewhat sour mood. Glaring in Harchdolas's general direction for a few moments, still feeling the taste in his mouth, Naurind's eyes flash up to the stage and he slinks down under the window, on the floor.

Tatharwen returns the nod of the Herion and steps forward towards Thileithel. Beckoning him to stand with a smile and a gesture of her hand, she shows forth a white box in the other hand as she does so. "Congratulations, Hirvaethor, for your fleetness of foot and wits have won you and your teammates this medal," she says to him quietly, still mindful of the Herion's speech. "I am only sorry that I was only present to give small help in the effort."

The glindis regain her place slowly, as she never quit it. She glance to Maegiearacha, "Did I miss something?"

Anorril smiles at Gilnaurien. He turns to whisper to her to not interrupt the Herion.

Faerlin once more watches Naurind, feeling more than a little compassion for the hapless edhel. She slinks across to one of the tables and smoothly pours a glass of crystal clear water. Thus equipped she moves over to the slumped edhel and holds out the glass "For you mellon, I think its the best 'antidote' to that particular medicine..It was a vintage thay Nyashcala and I made some time since."

Gilnaurien politly inclines her head in Anorril's direction to hear him and her eyes reveal her curiosty and wonder at this place. "Mae govannen! What goeth on here? I only arrived yesterday.

Though Olathlinn's sudden departure and reappearance so near to the moment of her honor brings a glimmer of concern to fair aged features, Eryndae remains poised and graceful nonetheless. She meets Elladan's nod with one of her own in acknowledgement, drifting slowly down the length of the table to pause before the victor of the highly skilled fancing match. "Stand, Silmaethor, and be honored for your skill in swordplay," she intones in a smooth, clear alto matched in precision by the movements of her hand as she carefully opens a similar white box. Then with practiced fingers, the lady pins a tiny silver longsword to the breast of his tunic, turning a reverent smile up to the valiant edhel.

Thileithel rises and accepts the box with a bow and a smile. "Thank you very much, Tatharwen. Your efforts in coordinating this event are more deserving of a medal than my poor riddle answers, but I appreciate this." He smiles again and sits back down.

A slight shake of the head from Maegiaracha is indicated to Olathlinn. A moment graces this and then she turns again, eyes locking upon her parents, a breath comes, eyes flutter. A meandering gaze darts again, a smile lifting faint cheeks, her head tilts, now watching the Miruvorthaer and enjoying the passing of moments.

Lifting his eyes to the approaching elleth, the edhel beneath the window stops mumbling. Naurind regards Faerlin and the offering for a moment, making no attempt to take it - though suddenly he does. "Thanks, I suppose. ...Though a warning would've done better." he replies quite grouchily, eyes dim and cold. Lifting the glass to his lips, he downs it all quickly, then setting the empty glass on the floor beside him. He gazes up at Faerlin, eyes flashing to the stage's happenings now and again, uninterestedly, "What? You -made- that .. poison? ...I've never tasted anything so vile. ...It was as if it was brewed in the pits of Mordor itself!" he says coolly, though the frown upon his lips fades into a slight grin.

As the banquet unfolds, Merilwen listens closely to Lord Elladan and his instructions. With that, the blonde-haired elleth's applause is cheery. Still, she stands alone, but watches the others with much joy and fasination of the event. Eyes of green gaze across the room as the awards are presented.

"Your humility is apt, Thileithel, and only more proof of your deserving this honor," Tatharwen answers softly with a smile. Her hand is already reaching for another box from the table, and her attention falls momentarily upon Olathlinn and looks to catch her eye.

Olathlinn looks is elsewhere as soon as she noticed the box. She thinks to Gwantolor and Palanarma, her parents, and became kind of melancolic.

Elladan seats himself, then, seemingly not given to a protracted speech; it being enough, in his opinion, seemingly; for Eryndae and Tatharwen's awards to speak form themselves.

Faerlin frowns at Naurind and shakes her head "It wasn't -intentionally- bad." Looking over her shoulder she adds her congratulations to Thileithel, a special sincerity evident in her expression, also as Olathlinn is soon to be honoured she speaks to the edhel on the floor "It seems that my relations have done well in the games."

Harchdolas murmurs something to Glasiel in a soft voice.

Harchdolas +whispers to Glasiel, "... ... ... ... ... ..., arranged ... turn ... more ... qualities to ... use."

Martion leans toward Ailiell. "I was out on patrol," he comments. "How did you do in the competitions?"

Smirking, the edhel's eyes wander to the floor. He remains quiet as the elleth before him gives her congratulations. "Relations? ...Who are you related to, might I ask?" replies Naurind softly, returning his frozen eyes to Faerlin.

Sitting to herself, only pausing to aknowledge close friends that are seated far enough from her- she sets down her drink so that she doesn't clumsily drop or cause an accident in any attempt to clap. After doing so, her hands follow in applause for the said winners. "A merry congratulations, mellyn."

Glasiel's eyes flash with mirth, as she nods in understanding. "A point you have masterfully demonstrated," she replies quietly, before turning to applaud the edhil receiving their prizes.

Stepping forward to the Elisthir, Tatharwen places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her eyes are sparkling with pleasure, yet catching a shadow on Olathlinn's countenance, that softens to a warm encouragement. "An award most-deserved, Glindis a Elisthir, for your splendid efforts in these games." She withdraws from the small box a small silver brooch in the shape of a drawn longbow. "This, for your true aim and steady hand at the archery contest. Congratulations!" With that she pins the sparkling medal upon the elleth's shoulder.

Harchdolas smiles expansively and leans forward as if to get a better view.

Sitting tall in her chair, Ailiell cranes her dark head to better see the head table. A warm smile flickers over her lips as her mellyn are honored. But then, Martion moves near and she follows, leaning in to better hear. Her glance slides to him, her smile faded into a smirk. "Our impromptu training session was much-needed. Let us leave it at that." She searches his face, adding softly, "Patrol?"

"Thileithel is my Uncle, and Olathlinn is cousin of sorts, though not a first cousin" Faerlin simply replies to Naurind, a smile playing further in her expression "I shall talk further but I have something to discuss with Olathlinn for a moment." She then crosses the room again to speak with her cousin.

Martion nods. "Just checking the boundaries," he says very low, then looks again at the proceedings.

Olathlinn I am happy of the honor of you, giving me that prize, but I whish to dedicate and give it to other My Lady, please do you allow me?I preferably tell it to you but if you want, I can try to annonce it myself.

Thegraelin smiles and stands quietly, slowly backing to the exit, "I am sorry to leave so soon, but I have things to tend to. Namarie all - and congratulations as well."

Martion smiles toward Ailiell, and nods, looking back toward the stage.

Only a few more medals to pin and words of honor, and Tatharwen completes her round of the winners' table in like warmth of congratulation. She stands back and observes the Miruvorthaer and the rest of the festivities in the Hall, which have not halted, only abated, while the awards were being given.

Ailiell smiles in turn, though her glance lingers a moment, some question remaining unanswered. The face she turns back towards those honored is absent, the edge of her lip caught thoughtfully between her teeth.

The honored Tirith stands back anew, pin sparkling proudly upon his garment. Eryndae then moves along to Maegiaracha, mirroring the formality and care taken in pinning the last award now in the Bathril's honor. "And to one who has also shown both skill and bravery with sword in hand, we honor you as well, Maegiaracha." An identical silver pin is removed from its bix and extended to the young elleth, a bright smile matching the award's sparkle in the Miruvorthaer's countenance. "Pray, stand forward and be acknowledged."

Hands now empty and clasped elegantly at her waist, the flaxen haired master vintner returns to her place at the end of the table, a grateful nod offered to the Herion for his words. "Mellyn all, of Imladris and Lothlorien fair," this she proclaims with a faint smile to Merilwen. "Before you stand those honored of all who lent their skill to the tournament festivities." Allowing a moment for polite applause, the lady then continues, Olathlinn's words drawing a smile to her lips. "And now one among them would address us all." Thus does Eryndae step aside, yielding the attention of herself and the crowd to Olathlinn.

Still smiling, the Lady joins her applause to that of the others, warm appreciation of the winners showing clearly on her face. Yet there seems to be more, and Arwen sits quietly waiting for Olathlinn's announcement.

Anorril speaks almost to himself and says, "I wish that I had competed, but alas, I too often put work ahead of myself."

Maegiaracha lifts from her seat gradually, never meeting her full height before she bows in thanks. A gaze is cast at Thileithel, a long moment closes with a smile and her gaze turns. Words begin to form upon her lips and but grace only her thoughts. Mouth now closed she bows again, hesitating.

Olathlinn gets up, quit disturbe, be happy.She clear up her throat. "I didn't not play to win nor to be here in front of you, mellyn,so I dedicate this prize, all the honors which comes with it, initially, to all the opponents which were against me and with their eagerness to take place on the line." She smiles"It is perhaps what gave me the advantage, you made a very good wind shield Messirs!" She ups her voice..."to all of you!" Her voice is now trembling."But I wanted to say, that it include somebody whom paid for my small victory in Archery with certain cruel reaction from other." Olathlinn face get white. "I got great pleasure to face him in the jousting...I owe him the same respect that I owe to my father, and ask as this prize lay in his hand, as a proude representant of all of you!"she says lowering her eyes as she not seen the Hirveator around the whole day.

Olathlinn politly bows. "I hope that someone will give this to Randinen!" Conscient of the commotion she just cause, she closed her eyes, swallow and hope that she will be able to flee far as soon as she can.

Thileithel returns Maegiaracha's gaze and smiles at her loss of words. He looks her way as she sits down and nods in a friendly manner.

A faint smile in return appears upon Merilwen o Lothlorien's face. The young Lady Counsel's cheeks still a bit of the color rose. And still it is that she watches the announcements of the winners and joins in her applause in congratulations.

Glasiel smiles at Olathlinn's words, and looks to see what will result from her speech.
Nervously, Olathlinn gets her head and chin up and proud. A quick glance to Eryndae wondering if she might now continue with her poem.

A slight smile of approval and a nod are Arwen's answer to Olathlinn's little speech. Again she raises her glass as if in silent salute, and drinks from it before setting it down again.

"Tis noble of you, Olathlinn," Eryndae murmurs, stepping forward once more to comfort the elleth and retrieve the pendant. "I will see that the Hirvaethor gets this, if it is your wish. Now, did you wish to recite? The floor is yours." Then with a slight lifting of slender hands, the Miruvorthaer motions for renewed silence before turning back to Olathlinn.

Suddenly climbing up from his resting spot on the floor, Naurind throws both hands up in the air, a broad grin on his lips. "Woooooo Olathlinn!" he shouts, clapping loudly as he runs to and through the door.

Harchdolas stirs, looking at Glasiel. "Maegiaracha and Ailiell have taken their test," he tells her. "You need to set an appointment with the Arnethril." This softly, so only those nearby are likely to hear.

Olathlinn gasps, take herbreath and articulate, suttering again:
" It is said that once uppon of time, the Tinuuviel was a bird of shadow and night, that is cries where for Ithil, not for Anor.One day, it seems that a female tinuuviel wokes up sooner and saw Anor greating middle-earth of her last ray. Till this day, tinuuviel sang at Twilight time and there is that song wondering why:

What in the world makes tinuuviel
Signing to Anor instead of Ithil?
What in the world makes tinuuviel
Not sleep well and always ill?
What in the world makes tinuuviel
Stay up in day and sing until
She falls deep asleep or is forced to kneel
Is her secret near to be reveal?

Her duties performed, Tatharwen returns to her chair away from the stage, taking up her glass of wine and a pastry on the way. She listens eagerly to Olathlinn's poem along with the many others whose eyes are once again upon the Elisthir.

Olathlinn continue, impassible.
Anor never looks at her,
Why sings she for the wrong master?
Anor never wanted her
Will she die for the bright solder?
What makes tinnuviel wake up in daylight?
Why singing and suddenly willing to fight?
Her place is in shadow...Does she know?
Her place is in sorrow...Dark hallow!
Is it better to never know,
Why for him she gave that show?
In honor of this day she quitted the night
To fall under Anor and his light!

Anorril unable to concentrate on anything else, pays close attention to the elleth.

Harchdolas seems to pay more attention to the tune than the words, but he smiles.

Faerlin listens attentively as Olathlinn recites the poem that she had worked on with her. The Linnor smiles as the Glindis speaks in tones more confident than she once would have imagined. "Speak on Olathlinn" she murmers, arms folded across her chest..as the Elisthir finishes she samiles "That was beautiful mellon, you have my compliments"

Then the door opens to allow entrance to another of the Eldar.

And garbed in a raiment of forest green, shrouded by a dim grey mantle, it is the Hirvaethor Randinen who appears. Yet... something seems amiss; grave. For he resembles a ghost, not merely in his pace -- quick, quiet and drifting -- for his features are pale, mien silent as a deep frown troubles his visage.

He does not wander far from the door, glancing round, almost nervous.

Olathlinn bow respectfully. Shaking. She returns to her place and let herself falls in her seat. Empty she is, fixing her plate.

Thileithel smiles and begins clapping, but then Randinen slips in and the Hirvaethor's gaze is drawn to his fellow. Setting down his wine on a small table, he rises and slips around behind those on the stage and comes down to stand with Randinen by the door.

Anorril looks to Olathlinn and winks, trying to thank her for her wonderful performance.

"Clap! Clap!", is heard as Helegrhofel, who had entered the House of Song and had been sitting by the door, applauses the elleth. Giving a warm smile to the poet, he moves and greets the quendi, "Mae Govannen!". He quickly scans for an empty seat. Luckily, one is found next to Tatharwen and thus, there does the edhel seat. "How are you my friend?", he adresses to the Idherveld.

Her fingers curled loosely in her lap, Ailiell smiles her approval of the elisthir's words, applauding softly as she finishes. The light whishing of the door draws her attention and she looks idly back to where Randinen hovers, a bemused frown slowly replacing her smile. She looks to Martion, indicating the Hirvaethor with a quick puzzled glance.

Maegiaracha smiles at Olathlinn, applauding all the while, "Wonderful," she exclaims almost in a whisper, "Thank you for bestowing that upon us."

Having seen the awards and heard Olathlinn's verse Faerlin decides that there is nothing further for her to do and that there are things to be done. Arriving at the door where Randinen and Thileithel are to be found she observes the former of the two carefully a troubled cast to her expression but she slips away non the less but not before giving a nod to the musicians who strike up a quiet but still light tune.

Eryndae's soft aside to Olathlinn is warm in tone and words. "A lovely recitation, Glindis, for so lovely an occasion. Again you have my honor, and now my admiration as well." Applause finishes in demonstration of sincerity ere the lady turns to regard the assembly, still growing it seems. "Now we feast! May merriment ensue for hours to come!" she calls brightly before Randinen's arrival fades enthusiasm in favor of concern.

To him she walks, steps slow and ponderous. "You are but a moment late to hear words spoken in your honor, Hirvaethor. But by your expression, I would venture to guess it was a matter of import to have kept you away." Silvered blue eyes speak a silent question; discerning is the nature of their light.

Olathlinn shyly smiles to Anorril, but her glance meet Randinen, she discretly pull on Maegi sleeves, whispering:"Was he here for long?"

"I am fine, mellon," Tatharwen answers Helegrhofel with a smile. She joins in the applause for Olathlinn's poem before returning her attention to the historian. "Have you enjoyed the games? I enjoyed the longbow more than my fall from a horse in the joust, but I /did/ enter the joust for a challenge, after all!"
Harchdolas stirs. With a nod to Glasiel, he slips toward the back of the room.


At the annoncement to the merriment and the music starting, Olathlinn dignely gets up again. "Sorry Maegiaracha, I have promess this edhel a dance!"SHe sighs. "I would have prefers talking longer with you, but later may be!". She start moving toward Anorril, passing near Randinen.

Martion leans closer to Ailiell. "Hmmm?" is all he says though.

And yet the Hirvaethor does not look up, not at the drawing nigh of the Randir Thileithel, and still not at the soft calling of the Miruvorthaer. Not until Eryndae's voice has silenced, and she now close and nigh, dares he to tilt his head.

"This matter concerns not me alone." speaks he in an unnatural hushed voice and a glint of agony weaves into his mien. Finding strength his gray eyes confront the brightness of the Miruvorthaer, searching her fair complexion, "Long have we been silent, the one to the other. I shall be honest to feel awkward at you approaching me to speak of praise mentioned in my name. I know not what I have done to earn these lofty comments. And yet, you speak just to discern all is not well and it haunts me still."

Softly he sighs, lowering his visage as he draws once more closer to the door, "Speak of what you must, Eryndae, for then I go and not return for a little while. For I heard troubling news... of one to bear my resemblance in gait and mien." Intently he faces now the Lady, ere he flashes an almost apologetic look to the Randir.

Anorril walks up from his chair, unnoticed for the most part. Slowly he turned out of the door.

With a slight frown for her misplaced subtlety, Ailiell leans in close, with another glance towards the haggard Randinen.

Ailiell +whispers to Martion, "The ..., ......... ... well? Do you know ... of this?"

Helegrhofel smiles at the elleth as he takes a piece of chicken and some salad. "Well, although I was unlucky and I could not take part in the Archery game, luck appeared to me yesterday and now I can make a bowstring like the original, strong and beatiful. A fine Galadhrim bowstring", says he with happiness and pride as he fills a glass of Himhithlin.

Martion shakes his head to Ailiell.

The elisthir looks all around. Of Anorril, no trace at all. Her mood get sad as a rainstrom.:"I did not beleive in me taking my promess!" She sighs. Quite upset, she looks around yet again, to be sure.

Confusion marrs the Miruvorthaer's fair features, a deep troubling shadow further darkening as eyes seek to understand what ears do not. "I know not what troubles you. But just the same, I hope that someday I shall. Seek me out another day, Randinen, for I have something that belongs to you." Saying naught of what that might be, Eryndae musters a transparent smile, one unable to fully veil the curiosity heavily weighted by conern. Then in a whisper of white silk, she disappears into the crowd of celebrating quendi once more.

To be fast confidente is now prouving her bad. Impulsivly, she ran to the door.

"I am glad to hear it! Then Lhossglir may sing once again at our archery practices," Tatharwen answers Helegrhofel cheerily. "And hopefully without missing any notes," she adds with a mischievous twinkle of her eye.

Olathlinn pass fast thought the door, looking her foot,and proud no more. She remove her circlet and go.

And darker grows the complexion of the Awardan. His eyes are fixed upon the disappearing Eryndae. And without thought he follows in her wake...

...only as he is half past the doorway, does he glance across his shoulder. Clearly he studies the faces of the elves present, one by one, lowering his head while shaking slowly, muttering a soft: "Namarie."

Then he slips into the hallway, hurried steps marking his pace.

Maegiaracha remains seated, her eyes focussed upon her parents, a longing gaze to move to them, silent she remains. Her hands slip upon her waist, a surging blink accompanying this. A breath of air passes quickly and silently from her lips. Both eyes focus hard, suddenly her feet are upon the move, a slight stride carrying her their way. Around the table she moves, slipping by others. Among the crowd naneth and adar are met, hands soon run through her hair and then urge her to follow them. A few words pass with others as this trio drifts nigh the door - then move through it.

Troubled all the more by the Gweithir's reticence, Ailiell runs one nail across her lip considering him. "Martion," she says quietly, "I am going for wine. Would you care for a glass?"

Martion looks up, seeming pulled out of distant thoughts. "Oh ... yes," he replies.

Helegrhofel's smiles disappears for a while in reminiscence of the false note at the training grounds. Then it reappears as he says to the Idherveld, "This meal is delicious, isn't it?". He eats a mouthful of salad and goes on, "Did you make any progress in your project?"

Nodding with a hint of a smile, Ailiell stands. "I didn't think you would say no to that." Looking out over the subtly dwindling crowd she spots the desired table, and wends her way through the Quendi as one on a mission.

Tatharwen smiles and sighs slightly. "Not much, there has been so much to do these few weeks with the vintners. Though it being a project on military strategy, I did have a chance to observe and even question some of the elder Tirith when we were preparing the ceremonies. What about your book, Helegrhofel?"