Sledding Accident

Garden

You stand in the wonderous gardens of Imladris. Beautifully terraced, the gardens seem to go on forever. The long rows of flowerbeds are covered with snow now, a white blanket glittering in the sunlight. There seems to be a pathway amidst the snow, leading back West toward the House of Elrond, while another leads South. There are a few bushes which have kept their leaves despite it being winter, some type of evergreen with narrow, slivered leaves.

Some tall, grey barked trees rise up into the clear, sunny sky. Turning, you can make out some truly peculiar bushes. Half-covered with snow, there are a very few bushes with pale, light green leaves. Blossoming on them are huge, beautiful white roses, despite the season.

Silaur (Airalin)

Pure in heart, bold in spirit. Those are the first few words that come to mind as your gaze falls down upon the lad standing before you, and staring at you in silence. Raven black hair falls loosely upon his shoulders, and although he stands but a mere 4 feet tall, a certain audacious sparkle comes from the young, grey eyes; and within those grey irises, tiny silvery spots stand out. A cheeky smile finishes the boy's graceful features.

He is dressed in simple clothes, well-suited to play about the Valley of Elrond, and to undoubtedly do things his parents told him not to. A small badge has been embroidered upon the lad's right sleeve, assigning him to the House Guild of Imladris; perhaps he's in training, or he's an apprentice of some sort.

Silei (Lindir)

Innocent in heart, courageous in spirit. Those are the first few words that come to mind as your gaze falls upon the elleth before you, and staring at you in silence. Though, her underdeveloped features make it hard to tell if this figure is truly a maid or a lad. Raven black hair falls loosely upon her shoulders, and although she stands but a mere four feet tall, a certain inquisitive sparkle comes from the young grey eyes; and within those grey irises, tiny silvery spots stand out. A charming smile finishes the girl's graceful features.

Dressed in simple clothes, she is well-suited to play about in the Valley of Elrond, and to undoubtedly do things her parents told her not to. Her grey tunic is snug against her body, though the sleeves are a bit frayed. A small badge has been embroidered upon the maid's right sleeve, assigning her to the House Guild; perhaps she's in training, or an apprentice of some sort. She wears black pants, which are well worn from her joyful excursions about the valley.


Angailmar (Telelas)
 
A young elven lad, fair be his blonde locks, bound by motherly care as a band of light blue gathers the unruly locks into a more tidy golden stream. Lightly this river of light touches the child's slender shoulders, a few locks astray veiling two pools of mischievious innocence. Deep be the depths of his emerald green eyes, brightened by a fire of youthful inexperience kindled within the reflection. His youth is enhanced by the grin upon his lips, woven with care in an almost too innocent smile. Delicate features mingle with the absence of ages, and a mixture of expressions -- upon a pearly white skin -- is forged upon this young elven face..

His clothes are ragged and torn, recent marks of latest mischief and discovery of the world around him. The boy wears a high-necked dark blue shirt, and over it a tunic of the darkest brown. A hooded grey cloak wraps his small shoulders, kept in place by a small silver brooch in the form of a bird. His pants are green, soil-stained. Around his waist he wears a plain black leather belt, his boots of a smooth brown leather. On his right side a sturdy short stick is fastened, imagination given flesh. A nicely decorated, thin silver chain descends into the child's tunic, it's end harbouring a locked medallion, marked by a sign.


Amarelei

This young elf maiden projects the very spirit of Yavanna both through her countenance and her demeanor. Her skin, though fair as that of any elleth, bears the subtle flush of the winter wind's kiss. A delicate nose graces the middle of her radiant face, just above full, soft lips, red in color as if stained by the juice of fresh cherries. Her inquisitive eyes mirror the last green shade of the leaves before autumn plucks them from the trees: a vibrant, yet faded hazel green, rimmed in a darker jade hue and flecked with gold, framed by long, willowy lashes. Falling down her back is a thick mane of rich earthen-brown hair, which barely allows the very tips of her pointed ears to peek through its full waves.

Soft and shining is the dark waterfall of her locks as they tumble forth from beneath the drawn hood of her warm woolen cloak, nearly hiding the delicate silver clasp that holds it securely about her shoulders. The calf-sweeping length of the garment is woven of finely combed, cream-colored wool. Beneath its blanket of warmth, the elleth's slender frame is hugged by leather and linen of palest color. The silvery blue of her tunic shimmers faintly in the brightest sunlight, as would a layer of freshly fallen snow. Peeking out from the silver-suffused cuffs are the sleeves of a sheer white undershirt, nearly hiding her delicate fingers beneath the fluttery softness. A subtly embroidered sash of the same silvery blue hue as her tunic defines the yound elf maiden's slender waist, allowing the fabric below to flare gently to its end just above mid-thigh. Her legs are clad in the softest cream sueded leather, clinging closely enough to her skin to leave little doubt of her femininity, but not so close as to restrict her movement. Sturdy boots of pale tan leather rise up to the Lhimbadhril's knees, their warm fur lining barely peeking out.


Eliniell
 
You are looking at a slender female elf, wearing a plain flimsy dress in dark green, with loose sleeves, long enough to almost hide her fingers. A thin light-brown leather belt falls loosely around her small waist, and from it hangs a pouch made of supple leather, russet in colour, and chased with golden leaves, seven oak and seven mallorn leaves whirling about each other. Probably the first thing you notice about her is her long hazel hair with the sheen of starry summer nights, tied on the back of her head by a simple emerald-green ribbon and flowing down to her waist. She has no ornaments on, but on her right sleeve one could see, embroidered with golden thread, seven tiny oak leaves. The same pattern, though smaller, is embroidered also on her light slippers, which are made of a soft pale green fabric and seem so new, as if worn for the first day.

Her posture is straight and proud, but still self-effacing and sometimes rather timid. Her face round, with warm brown, restless eyes lighting up the pale complexion of her skin, eyes innocent like those of children can be, and yet austere, deep with emotions not always openly revealed.

This elleths presence is not imposing, nor is her beauty impressive. But it is the perfection of a newborn leaf that you see if you observe her closely, features simple and soft, as if shaped out of clay. And though the expressions on her face might be sometimes able to destroy the impression of a calm and quiet power that she conveys, when she moves it is always with a flowing quality, as only a streamlet bedded in soft, fertile ground would.


Olrandir
 
He is tall, this elven form you spy, tall and slender, and when he moves he moves with a fluid grace. It is difficult to assess his age. Both youth and experience speak in his angular features: high cheekbones, leaf shaped ears, an expressive mouth. Stormcloud dark hair streams down past the ivory skin of his neck and is braided with lightning threads of silver. His eyes are the blue of deep waters and in them are the reflections of past griefs and joys.

His clothes are simple yet rich in quality. A hooded cloak falls back from his shoulders in a veil of indeterminate colour and is clasped with the figure of a silver nightingale. Over a silver-grey shirt, finely woven, he wears an azure tunic that spirals around his body to mid-thigh. His belt is composed of linked leather leaves chased in gold. From it hangs a hammer, beautifully wrought into the likeness of a tree branch, alongside a russet pouch. His breeches are of supple black leather as are his boots which are worn from many miles upon the road.

And sudden, clear and loud, there are the voices of children!

Innocent and light the voices of two carry far to reach as far as the Garden, appearing to rise from the north and drifting with the chill wind... "No... not so hard... I will fall! Pengothaur!..."

Then for a brief moment there is that blissful silence, only to be shamelessly disrupted again... but what is this? Not the sound of a child approaches, but something different... The snow sighs audibly under a weight that comes from the north, rapidly increasing in size.

As Naurelin watches Chaelei make her way to the house, she suddenly remembers that she too must return. She had left the arnica potion on the fire and had to add some aloe to make sure the slave was ready by tomorrow. She follows in Chaelei's steps but before leaving she quietly mumbles, "Namarie." With that said, her willowy frame disappears through the trees.

Olrandir hears the lilting voices of more children's voices upon the winter's breeze. Turning, he glances towards the wooden bucket some yards away, and then towards the sound of the children's voices. A slight smile crosses his lips and he wanders over to the bucket whilst winking to Benuial. "Perhaps the game is not done after all," he remarks, somewhat enigmatically, for the elleth had not witnessed his earlier game. Then there is a heavy crunching sound to the north and the Tannur frowns slightly. No elven foot would make such a careless noise!

Benuial watches Naurelin heading back to the warmth of the house and pulls her hood back up..."Ah Olrandir...what game would that be?" The meandis smiles cheerfully at the tannur's mention of games...a smile that seems to be present on her lips more often these days...

No elven foot indeed!

But hither -- from the north -- there is a wooden frame of sorts.. and atop sits a child... Those with keenest eyes would perhaps discern another behind, the one responsible for the great haste the wooden frame seems to hold.

For in dazzling speed it approaches the garden, taking shape till a poor sled can be recognized -- the young lad Angailmar being the one to steer it. Well, at least if the sled would allow itself to be steered.

The boy's eyes grow big, innocent and somewhat afraid... For the sled races straight for the small company of elves and there is little chance to alter the course of this steerless projectile...

Gwarin comes from the Garden Porch into the garden and sees the sled approaching fast. He runs away and hides for cover while he shouts:"Watch Out!"

Benuial jumps hastily out of the way of the speeding sledge but slips on the snow, causing some amusement. With that she laughs and adds "I am sorry but other matters call, as much as i love playing in the snow...Namarie mellyn" With that she is off back to the house.

Out of the house bounds a young elleth, perhaps a few years younger than the edhel on the sled. Her hair bounces freely, brushing against her cheeks. Her eyes widen at the speedy sled as she attempts to discover who the figure is upon it.

The clear winter air rings with the oncoming rush of the wooden sled. Olrandir glancing up notes the the poorly sawn wood, the bent black figures of nails ineptly hammered, the frayed cords of twine looped around the haphazard frame.

And then he jumps.

Leaping to one side, calling a warning as he does so, for snow and ice sprays up from the runners of the sled as it flashes towards the Quendi.

A slender figure approaches from the south, wrapped in a white shawl that gleams under the moonlight. She walks slowly, her eyes mostly concentrated on the trees and the bushes, touching the few green leaves. But some strange sound attracts her attention and she looks up to see -- A sled? Some children?! The elleth cannot surpress an excalmation of surprise as she jumps out of the way of the sled.

The young elleth, Silei by name, twin sister to Silaur, bounces off of the porch, her eyes still fixed upon the figure on the sled. She bites her lower lip, as the snow is flying about too much for her to discern exactly who it is. Silei shakes her head, walking a bit away from the porch, well out of the path of the sled it seems, she gets distracted by a bird flying across the sky and her eyes wander in a direction opposite the sled.

"Can't you look out where you are going with that sled???", Gwarin shouts as he runs back to the Porch.

Warnings... what use are they? It is not as if the boy has any remote chance of paying heed to such wisdom. Slowly the colour from Angailmar's face is drained away -- skin almost as pale as the snow he glides so swift upon -- for fright marks his young features, with the unpleasant prospect of crashing into something or someone sooner or later...

At the moment he is doing quite well! Or at least the elves on his path or keen enough to leap and dodge. So the lad and his sled glide ever onwards, a sudden frightful yelp let free by the child... for there is a flowerbed he can not avoid!

...

With a hollow *BUMP* the sled collides with the flowerbed, tearing apart some of the withering beauty. But even worse... the wooden sled has altered course, the bump having caused it to make a sharp turn, not losing all of it's speed. Now the boy and his sled race straight towards the innocent elleth... Silei!

Brightly coloured balls spill out into the glare of white snow as the sled careens past knocking over the bucket Olrandir had set down earlier. Gold, green, and purple balls roll and bounce past bushes and startled Quendi following the deep tracks carved so rudely out of the snow.

Picking himself up from the ground, hoping that his warning had been heeded in time by his companions, Olrandir glances after the sled and then traces it path towards.Suddenly the slender edhel is running down the slop following sled and bounding ball, calling out to the elleth below.

The young elleth does not quite notice the sled's turn until it is too late. Her head turns back, catching the pale face of Angailmar through the upturning snow. Her grey eyes are wide in fright, but there is nothing she can do, even trying to get out of the way, she would be hit. But perhaps the blast would not have been so hard as the child is blasted by the sled headon.

The impact seems almost in slow motion, as Silei first begins to double over then flies back about ten feet. Her raven hair contrasts the snow next to her body, strands of hair lay delicately strewn across her fragile face. Her body lays in an odd position, almost looking as if something could be broken, or maybe it is just the child's over flexibility. However, she does not move, not a whisper, not even the soft fall of her chest rising and falling.

The mists of morning veil both smile and step as another elleth drifts along the path from the greenhouse, her steps leading slowly toward the house. Though deep is her apparent reverie, Amarelei's thoughts return to the garden as her footsteps now carry her nearer to the gathering of elves. Hidden just beneath the drape of her hood, gilded green eyes flicker now to the younger pair. Wider they grow, and blushing lips part in surprise as the scene paints a picture on her mind...one of apparent urgency.

Quickening her pace to strides long and fluid, the young maiden whips back her hood, setting free a wild cloud of earthen-brown waves into the winter wind.

But Silei is not the only child with free flying lessons today. Eyes closed tight shut, a frightful cry leaving his lips, Angailmar is hurled from the sled the moment it bumps headon into the young maiden... There is of course snow to break his fall, as the boy lands several feet away, luckily not been thrown towards the porch with it's cold and hard stone.

Unlike the elleth, Angailmar visibly breathes, though he dares not to move, face down into the snow. Soft complaints he murmurs, be it in agony or in displeasement.

Eliniell stands by one of the trees now, completely out of the way of the sledge, following the sled's altered course with her eyes. Amazement and amusement mixed in her expression. She dodges a flying ball, recognizes Olrandir running behind the sled, starts giggling despite herself, then notices Silei, the impact.... It all just happens too fast for her it so seems, and her face changes from laughter to frown in an instant. The Olvaristdir stands still for a few seconds, her eyes widened, her face pale. It takes a few deep breaths before she can control herself again, and start running towards the direction of the accident.

The wind blows a few waves of snow dusting to cover the young Silei, whom continues to lay in a skewed fashion. Motionless. Breathless.

And the sled? It is forgotten, naturally, until perhaps elven heart's may skip a beat at the loud shattering and breaking of wood. For it flies straight towards the porch, to fall in irregular pieces when confronted with the hard stone.

Afterwards Olrandir would always recall the horror of that moment, where between heartbeats the clear beauty of the dawn, the white raiment of the gardens, the whisking of the sled, the shading of crimson and gold light, all turned upon the falling figure of a young elleth.

His usually nimble feet slip and slide such is his awful haste to reach that forlorn, broken figure laid out in the snow. Cold air burns within his lungs as he slide down the last few feet towards her, hands outstretched, blue eyes wide in fear. He looks then to the lad who moans in pain not far away. "Healers! We need them now!" he snaps to the onlooking Quendi. He then removes his cloak and lays it about the girl.

And perhaps it is more of a horror when the white snow around the young elleth begins to turn to a bright crimson. For there was a gash upon her right cheek, a wound the had been covered by the delicate strands of her raven hair.

Eliniell reaches Olrandir, looks at him, almost desperately for a moment, then looks from the boy to the elleth, trying to seize up the situation. "Go see after the boy!" the Olvaristdil finally decides. "Don't move him, keep him warm, she if he is bleeding." At that she quickly makes her way to Silei, kneels down beside her and puts her ear on her chest to see if she is breathing.

Though faraway in thought Amarelei undoubtedly was, focused and mindful is she now as urgency descends heavily on the timbre of morning's quiet song. Any traces of modest distaste that may have lined Amarelei's fine features at the fate of her plants now vanish like mists with the rise of the sun. She falls to her knees beside the prone figure of the young elleth, a slender hand emerging forth from beneath the cover of silvery-blue sleeves to fall across Silei's pale forehead. Though the weight of Amarelei's gaze lies with her, the lilt of her voice lifts barely enough for her own audience. "Aye, what trouble here has struck!" Moving now aside as Eliniell approaches, the young forester stands once more. Wide green eyes sparkling with autumn gold flicker to Angailmar in quiet assessment of his condition.

From the direction of the House comes a small figure, hair of raven-black dancing brightly in the contrast on the snowy landscape. Quick feet carry him lightly across the snow, and the lad Silaur reaches the Garden with ease. A smile dancing across his young features, his gaze shoots across the strange, chaotic scene, and then the grin is replaced by a frown. "Silei?" Searching the snow, his eyes grow wide as he sees his sister upon the ground, motionless. "Silei!!"

The young girl's heart beats, if weakly. However, her chest does not rise and fall. Only the sound of her heartbeat, growing ever fainter.

Silaur runs towards his sister, a desperate cry echoing in the Garden. "What happened??", he yells to Eliniell.

Olrandir moves over to the boy, frowing as he tries to guess at his injuries, but lacking the knowledge of the mysteries of blood and bone. Yet he does his best to comfort the lad, murmuring what words of ease he can. Then the startled shout of another boy catches his attention and he moves to hold him back lest the lad do some harm in his grief

A grunt as he is grabbed by Olrandir, Silaur begins to move wildly, trying to free himself. And with a good kick in the adult's shins, the boy is able to escape his captor, racing on towards his sister, kneeling beside her in the snow. "What happened??", he asks again, tones of desperation flowing through his voice.

Sighing in relief, Eliniell looks up briefly and spares a quick solemn look for Silaur. The Olvaristdil nods slightely to Amarelei, motioning for her to take care of him and concentrates her attention back to Silei, barely noticing Olrandir when he comes. Deep furrows line her brow as she puts her wrists on the elleth's chest, pressing on her with rythmical movements, her eyes focused on her mouth to notice even the slightest breathing. And as she does so, she suddendly starts singing in a low voice.

Perhaps blessed with a sixth sense, Angailmar does not move. It seems he is fine as he is, soft.. in the snow to cool his worries and slowly regain his breath and get over the frightful experience, unaware of what happened to his personal friend.

And now the elleth coughs, blood coupled with it. Silei tries to lift of her head while she is lying there, pain now welling up on her pale features. "Angailmar!" she whispers in fear and shock at the end, her eyes widening with fright.

The loud cries have attracted much attention from the House. Faces press against cold glass and distant feet patter over polished floors. Olrandir signals to a blue cloaked figure standing on the garden porch, the figure nods and disappears into the welcoming warmth of the House.

Turning back to the fallen children Olrandir bends down by Silaur. "There was an accident, and the sled hit your sister," he murmurs gently, "Be still. We need your help Silaur." His blue eyes settle upon those of the distraught boy, seeking to calm him somewhat.

Little more than a moment does Amarelei's gaze hold steady to Eliniell's, and yet its implied meaning is clear. Warm and yet somehow tentative is the drape of her hand as it now moves to Silaur's shoulder. "An accident, young friend, though incomplete is my own witness to such a misfortune." The quiet melody of her alto is smooth and comforting, yet concern lingers still in her aspect and eyes. Yet as now the young elleth finds breath once more, the worry once mirrored there upon Amarelei's countenance lifts slowly in favor of a focused relief.

The young lad Silaur stares at his sister and remains silent at Amarelei and Olrandir's soothing words, taking a few steps back, moving to behind Amarelei. "Hurry her to the Infirma...", and then a single, startled tear rolls down his pale cheeks. "Oh, Silei."

"Ahhh!" The singing stops as suddendly as it had started and Eliniell cleans the hair of the face of the elleth, pushing her brow gently, to make her lie back down. "Do not speak, please," the Olvaristdil answers warmly, a faint smile on her lips. "Your friend will be allright and so will you, but please try not to speak." With a swift movement she takes her shawl off her shoulders and covers the young one's upper body. Softly she touches her legs and arms one after the other, trying to see if anything is broken. And she starts humming again, now louder, more confidently, a song with no words, but with a melody soft and comforting.

From the House comes help, others with stretchers between them, hurrying down the white clad slopes of the gardens. Olrandir turns to Amarelei and Eliniell. "I shall prepare the way, notify the infirmary." He swiftly departs in the direction of the House, booted feet finding purchase in the deep tracks left by the sled, leaving behind blood in the snow and singing words of healing.

Nothing is broken upon the elleth, her odd position must merely have been the child's unusual flexibility. Silei lips move to speak again, though no words come out. She is mouthing the name Angailmar.

Hearing familiar voices... crying such familiar names, softly Angailmar grunts, stirring lightly. Spitting out a healthy dosis of snow, shaking his head carefully to rid himself of more of the white substance, the boy slowly tries to turn. Several times he opens his eyes wide, to close them again shut, visage somewhat blurry, undoubtly caused by the heavy impact.

Nonetheless the lad scurries up to his knees, clothes stuffed with snow. Only slowly he seems to realize what happened and is currently happening. For alarm gradually trickles onto his pale features, a wry smirk to trouble his lips...

Amarelei's hand lifts from Silaur's shoulder to alight upon the top of his head. Though moments pass before comforting words find their way from past her lips, a gentle smile blooms there in subtle sadness. "Healing hands shall find her wounds, and her pain too shall flee with time." With a grateful nod to Olrandir, her lifted gaze then finds Angailmar as he rises from rest in his bed of snow.

Another tear falls to the snow, and Silaur begins to cry now, as her sister is prepared to be moved to the Infirmary. "It just was an accident? Or did somebody do something to her?", he softly asks, through his sobbing. His gaze swirls to a recovering Angailmar.

Small hurts may easily be forgotten, and Angailmar needs but one cry to strengthen his mind and rise from his cold landing spot. "Silei!" Dismayed sounds the voice, the boy struck by silent grief... for he knows what occurred, or can guess.

Struggling over towards the battered frame of the young elleth, tears trickle down the boy's cheeks, he unaware, for he cares only for his friend. But he dares not to touch her, staring up with wide eyes at the healer. "Get her to the infirmary?!" he sobs, not remarking Silaur... and the grave danger he might find himself in now...

The arrival of more healers and Olrandir speaking to her, both distractions don't reach Eliniell immidiately, concentrated as she is with her patient. Yet they do in the end and they are comforting. The elleth nods to Olrandir and informs the healers of the situation soberly. "Her limbs are not broken, but she must have some internal injoury," she motions to the blood around Silei's mouth. With that she stands up, smiling down at Silei. "You will be allright, no need to worry, they will help you back to the infirmary," she says, before turning to the boy.

"Yes." The Olvaristdil hugs the Anglaimar's shoulders. "What about you? Are you allright?" she asks as she kneels back down, and tries to examine the boy.

Heavy footfalls now echo from the porch as two elves clothed in white descend the snow-dusted steps into the garden, their steps quick and deliberate...their worried faces turned to Silei. They fall to their knees on either side of the fallen young girl, gentle hands working quickly and skillfully to lift her battered frame. With a nod and a few whispered words to Eliniell, they depart for the house with little regard to the others, save a concerned nod to Angailmar, perhaps bidding him to follow.

"Will you come now?" Amarelei whispers to the young edhel standing not far from her side. Feeble words in the face of such grief, and yet her intended comfort is evidenced in the tones of her alto and the warmth of her hand. Taking up pace behind the healers, she guides the tearful boy along; a gesture meant more to soothe than to instruct, for undoubtedly the boy's heart goes with his sister in an hour of such need. Solemnity pervades the elleth's manner, and in dark contrast to the pleasant reverie in which she entered the garden, she now departs for the infirmary.

Speechless Angailmar can only nod... peering up at the Healer without actually seeing her through the tears which trouble his eyes. Raising his arm he swipes his sleeve across his face, sniffing audibly. But then meekly he stands up, nodding a little.

He will not abandon his injured friend, following in line with the small procession going back in the House. Limping somewhat the boy drags himself forth, assuring he is well clear from Silaur to avoid rash behavior from his side.

The devious sled remains... broken to pieces, kicked aside and away from the porch.

Eliniell smiles to herself, as the boy seems to be fine. Standing up again she nods slightely to Amarelei, as she guides the boy towards the house, and tries to recollect her thoughts. A quick look around at the broken sled, the snow stained with blood where Silei was lying, the colourful balls fallen here and there, the procession of quendi going back to the house... It is a strange sight. The elleth takes in a deep breath and starts walking towards the house as well.

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