Flowers for Arwen
Arwen's Chamber
A place of beauty and peace, as you look upon it, this room was obviously designed for one loved dearly, or by one who holds a deep affection for the natural beauty of Imladris. The fresh scent of flowers is present at all times, coming from several small vases and bowls, filled with fresh flowers from both gardens and forests.
A large window with white drapes to the southern side of the room is looking out over the Bruinen Valley. Close to it, a large loom is standing, so the full light can shine on the beginning of a great piece of black cloth.
A small sitting table is to one side of the room, a writing desk to the other. The walls are clad with the same oak wood most furniture is made of, crafted in a plain way of elegance. In one corner of the room, close to the loom, is a large bed with four heavy oak posts. Blue drapes can be drawn to close it to anything going on outside. A harp is placed in a holder close to the bed, but in a way that indicates it is, if at all, not often played.
Arwen is seated in an arm-chair that has been drawn closely towards the opened window. A warm blanket is drawn about her shoulders; beneath she is wearing a white robe. Her skin is unusually pale, her eyes seem wider than normal, thoughtful, but peacefully content as she looks from the window towards the door, expectantly.
Around the door frame peek two green eyes, wide and serious, though with a hint of sparkle within their depths. Slowly Amarelei steps into view, clothed in deep indigo, her earthen brown hair wild and windswept. Tucked carefully into her arms is a bouquet of fragrant wildflowers. "My Lady..." she intones softly, a weak smile blooming upon her lips.
A faint smile flies over Arwen's face at the sight of the gardener. She lowers her arms, folding her hands in her lap. "Come in, Galthor." she says quietly. "I see not all has faded to grey yet." With that, her smile widens just a little bit. Perhaps she was meaning to jest. Perhaps.
"TOC TOC TOC" There is a knock on the door, and the clear ringing voice of Carantil can be heard saying "My Lady?" before his tall figure passes under the beautiful wooden frame. "I came to see how were you feeling today." His countenance is grave now, as he takes a few steps towards Arwen. He stops there, glancing her for a long moment, before he adds. "If there is anything you command, my Lady, I will be more than happy to serve." The proud Elentiri almost bows.
Quite a crowd seems to be gathering the room as another Quende peers out into the room. "Not here..." Orostur shakes his head. "Then where?" The Glirion seems to fall into thoughts in the dooropening, blocking thus the way for anyone who wishes to pass through.
"Excuse me." A servant mutters behind the pethron. "Excuse me!" When the Nethron still doens't react, the maid softly pushes him into the room. "Sorry, but I need to get through..." She shakes her head, while walking with a duster to the corner of the room and starts doing her job, leaving the Glirion behind a bit astonished. "Er... Mae Govannen." He quickly bows then.
Amarelei's shyness fades slowly with the widening of the Heryn's own smile. "The frosts may threaten ever more, but they have not yet faded these blossoms." Quiet are her footfalls across the floor as she glides to a low table, carefully grasping an empty vase from atop it. "What little beauty is still there to be found in the gardens would find no greater purpose than to bring color to your quarters, Lady." Her voice posesses a hidden lilt, a melody serene and subtle. Both vase and flowers now in hand, the Galthor looks to the door once more as the two edhel enter. "Mae govannen," she murmurs, turning the warmth of her smile now to the others.
"Ah, yes, the frost..." Arwen reflects for a moment, before turning to the door again. A faint nod acknowledges Carantil's offer, and she answers, "The day finds me... well. I was enjoying the morning," she motions towards the window, "as I could." And at last, to the last edhel stumbling into her chambers, in polite tones, "And what were you looking for, Nethron?"
The room smells of flowers, brought here this same morning from the gardens and forests from the Valley below. But Carantil is absolutely unaware of their beauty, and that's rather strange, for he uses to make comments about the flowers almost every time he comes here. Sighing, he turns towards the door, where Orostur is standing. He nods first to him, next to the Galthor.
"Hail!" He says to the both of them. Then, frowning, he turns to stare at Arwen accusingly, as if he found there were too much people here already. "My Lady, you need peace.. or better, a walk. It's not sane for you to stay here locked up as if you were in a ceil. You would feel better with the grass under your feet."
"I was searching for your father, Lady Undomiel." Orostur answers. "I heared I might find the Master here." The Glirion shakes his head then. "But I see he is not here." The Pethron raises his shoulders. "Would you know where I might find him, Lady?" The Nethron frowns at Carantil then. "I think it wiser to leave those judgements to the more cunning on that subject." The words sound not accusing, but more a bit jesting, and his words are followed by a goodnatured smile.
Nimble fingers sift through the lush green stems of the wildflowers, tucking them into the vase, arranging each bloom with care. Amarelei works slowly, yet with a reverent focus about her. Fading away towards the window near where Arwen sits, the elleth carefully follows words spoken between the two edhil, her manner remaining quiet and attentive.
Her steps are habitually softer from her years in the Wood, and thus does Arwen's handmaid slip her slender form inside the just-cracked door with nary a sound. In case the Hiril is sleeping, perhaps. Whatever the cause of her entrance, if indeed a cause exists, Nimmeril is given cause for hesitation once she notes that the Lady is awake and has company. She remains just to one side of the portal, head slightly tilted in an attentive pose.
"My father? He was here earlier; I believe he was going back to his study. Is he not there?" Arwen asks, her voice still quiet. At Carantil's suggestion, she laughs faintly, and pulls the blanket closer about herself. "Perhaps the grass and the birds would be comforting." she answers. "More so than..." she breaks off as she notices Nimmeril in the doorway, and her expression softens a bit.
Turning towards Orostur, Carantil raises a brow and takes one single step towards him, to answer. "I certainly agree with you." He says, and in his voice there is a shudder. But Nimmeril is already in the doorway, and Carantil follows Arwen's glance towards there. "Of course." He says, ignoring the Nethron by now. "Perhaps one of your maidens could help you gather those flowers that have that honey smell." for the first time since he has come, he smiles, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. "Or lilacs."
"I have looked there." Orostur says softly. "Mayhap I just missed him." The Glirion shakes his head. "But it is not a matter of the greatest urgence." He ponders in himself. "It can wait... Perhaps it will be better anyway." The Nethron seems lost in thought. "Yes, it would be better to ask together." He seems not to notice he is reasoning out loud, though when the Pethron wakes up from thought he seems to realise what he was doing, for he mutters under his breath to himself.
Another smile is Arwen's answer to Carantil. "These," she motions towards Amarelei and the wild flowers she has arranged so neatly, "Will be enough for here. Others, I would rather see growing... but not today perhaps, although," and here she turns to the gardener, "I would like to hear what is still in bloom. What has resisted and is still strong?" It seems there is a meaning beyond the simple words of this question... or not... who could say.
Nimmeril sidesteps to get out of the way of the Elentiri in case Carantil wishes to depart, but the look that she gives Arwen is assessing. She seems relieved, in fact, when the Lady declines the invitation to step outside, and, after a pause to admire the gift from Amarelei, she drifts toward the bed to tidy it.
"As you wish, my Lady." Carantil says, ignoring completely the rest of the Quendi around him. His countenance is sober again, obviously displeased with Arwen's answer. He bows and takes a step rear. "May I have your leave, My Lady? Your room is crowded enough -Have his eyes moved to the rest of the people gathered there?-, and I do not want to disturb you more than necessary." Curiously, he is not wearing sword or swordbelt, this time.
Amarelei's gaze lifts from her bouquet to the door once more, a new smile warming her face as her eyes flicker to Nimmeril. The heavy glass vase, now brimming with blossoms of vibrant yellows and soft purples, and fronds of delicate greenery, is taken into the elleth's capable hands. A single step brings her near to the Hiril's side, where with great care she places the flowers on a low table. "The roses are all but asleep beneath the blanket of autumn leaves...and yet I find the violets and forget-me-nots very much awake to the world," she speaks quietly to Arwen, her enthusiasm apparent despite the volume of her words.
A gaze flows over the room. "Indeed, this room is too full." Orostur shakes his head. "If you'll excuse me, I shall make my leave. I still have other things to do aswell." The Glirion bows slightly. "Namarie, mellyn, Lady." He ponders a moment before he turns towards the door. Then with a stern pace he moves himself out of the door.
Arwen smiles at Amarelei. "What of the star-blossoms?" she asks quietly, her head tilted slightly towards the gardener. And still... at Carantil's request, she looks up, and for a moment it seems as if she was about to say something to hold him back -- but then, she seems to change her mind and simply nods. "Perhaps you want to join me to see the flowers with my own eyes tomorrow." she says quietly, more invitation than command.
Nimmeril tosses a glance over her shoulder in Arwen's direction, a brow slightly elevated, before she brushes her hand across the heavy coverlet of the Hiril's bed. "The flowers, Amarelei," she iterates softly and conversationally, "are truly lovely."
And indeed Carantil expected another answer from Arwen, and he's now completely disarmed, as usual. A smile touch his lips briefly, and his blue eyes glitter for a second, considering her answer. Another step back and another bow take him again under the wooden frame of the door. "I.. I will, my Lady." He mutters, "It will be my pleasure." Said this, he blushes ands turns over, dissapearing into the corridor.
"They are the least I can offer," is Amarelei's quiet aside to Nimmeril, though the flush of her cheeks speaks volumes of her gratitude for such complimentary words. As others depart, the elleth tucks her chin to her chest in a humble nod of farewell before turning back to the Heryn and her Silivriel. "The star-blossoms, Lady? They linger on even now, though they too shall retreat in the face of the coming weeks. If you wish to look upon them, I would do so before long....as soon as your recovery allows," she adds.
Arwen looks thoughtfully after the swordsman as he leaves, then turns back to Amarelei and, indeed, to Nimmeril whom she has not greeted so far. "Soon, yes. I hope to be seeing them tomorrow already, if I can find..." she looks carefully at Nimmeril. ".. company and assistance in going."
"Of late, Hiril, the trouble has existed that you cannot remove yourself from those of us who would smother you with our attentions and affections, not in finding company and assistance," Nimmeril states mildly before plumping the pillows. But her eyes twinkle; some good humor has been restored to her in the past few days.
A gaze hazel-green flickers between Nimmeril and Arwen, gold flecks glimmering partly from the light that streams in from the window, partly from within. "Indeed! I very much doubt I shall ever see the day when company would elude you, Lady," Amarelei replies with a modest chuckle and a sideways glance to Nimmeril. "If it be your wish, I know none who would deny you either or company or assistance."
"No, perhaps it is as you say." Arwen says thoughtfully. "And I do not deny that I long for solitude at times... time and place to think, alone, just for myself." She looks up, as if realizing what she just said, and smiles as she pulls the plaid closer about her shoulders. "Not before the frost has touched the green grass, perhaps, and winter has indeed come... perhaps I will not truly be alone until then."
Nimmeril straightens again and casts yet another gaze toward the Lady, this one the most assessing of all, then walks over to Arwen to tuck the blanket closer to her...if, that is, she will allow. "No cause exists for you to worry about such a thing now, Hiril...," notes the maid lightly, "no, I daresay not. Shall Amarelei and I leave you to your thoughts again, with the handsome company of these blossoms?"
Amarelei looks to the Hiril, calmly studying her features for a meaning behind what words are forthcoming. "Aye, it would pain me to remain in your company when solitude is what your heart most seeks..." This is her timid reply, mild concern lining her face as she looks upon Arwen.
"Not yet." Arwen says slowly, whether in response to Nimmeril's statement or her question is not obvious. "No, I am not tired yet, and I have had enough solitude for one morning. Instead, tell me," she shifts a bit, her face only briefly drawing into a grimace at the movement, "tell me what news there are in the valley." she motions towards chairs closeby... with her right hand. Not the left.
Nimmeril's smile at the Hiril is faintly bemused, as if a shared secret were generating that expression, before she takes a place not in the chair but rather on the rug near Arwen's feet. Arms hug her knees to her chest; this is a comfortable pose, informal and girlish, for the Tellenistril, and in it she lays her chin atop her knee to smile at Amarelei. "Your company is soothing and enjoyable, Amarelei...please do not be quick to withdraw it from us?"
Drawing some measure of reassurance from kind address, Amarelei drifts toward the unoccupied chair just aside of where Nimmeril sits. Hands now idle smooth over the indigo fabric of her gown, a lop-sided smile slowly broadening at her lips. "News of the valley escapes me as well, mellyn. Most every waking moment have I spent in enjoyment of the forest in autumn." Though constant and low, the tone of her voice is interlaced with joy and laughter, soft and lively like a fresh breeze through a meadow of tall grasses.
"The forests in autumn." Arwen says with a smile. "Not quite as magnificent though they may be as the mallyrn, I see that we have returned home and little has changed in the ways of the valley. It is good to find such constant joy where our life is spent."
"The beauty of our Home is incomparable, for it rests in our hearts, and I believe that fully." Nimmeril rolls her eyes up toward Amarelei, the maid's demeanor entirely at ease with these two ellith. "Were we to have returned amidst torrential downpours or sleet and early snows, I should smile all the same. 'Tis good to be home...good to be alive and well." Over her shoulder she glances again at Arwen and quips, "More or less."
You hear a knock from the direction of Hall.
The door parts and the Master of the House glides in, robes swaying in his wake. There is concern clearly writ on his brow, but he has a smile for his daughter. "Good day to you all," he says in his musical voice, though he only has eyes for Arwen.
At the mention of the mallyrn, a mixture of longing and peace finds its way into Amarelei's countenance, strange and yet familiar sadness on her fine features. Though not even this new shadow of emotion hides the warmth and vigor present in the Lhimbadhril's manner. "The comforts of home lift the thickest haze from even the darkest of days," she intones softly, a gentle sigh rising and falling in her chest. Her eyes then drift from the company of Arwen and Nimmeril to the window, as if she would disappear into a fond reverie. Yet as the Master enters, the young elleth's daydream fades anew. She tucks her chin to her chest in a respectful nod, returning Elrond's greeting with a modest smile.
Arwen is seated in an arm chair close by an opened window with a blanket wrapped about herself, Nimmeril at her feet. Amarelei is sitting close by in a chair. At Elrond's entrance, his daughter smiles, and seems about to rise out of her chair.
Nimmeril *does* rise from where she has been sitting with arms hugging her knees to her chest, for she feels ill at ease for greeting the Herdir in so casual a pose, but her hand reaches for Arwen's shoulder at once as if to forestall any further movement. Not that someone should prevent another from rising, especially in Elrond's presence, but...well, the poor Heryn is still injured.
For whatever reason, Elrond beckons to Arwen, in an in indication that she should rise and walk to him. "It is alright, Nimmeril; for we must move at times, even though our bodies rebel."
Following Nimmeril's lead, Amarelei rises slowly to her feet, slender hands clasped tentatively at her waist. Hazel green eyes downcast in a bow now lift to the Heryn, awaiting her movement in quiet observation. A healthy flush lingers in the maiden's cheeks, though the brilliance of her smile is now tamed in the Herdir's presence.
Unsteadily, but with her head raised proudly, Arwen makes no indication for reaching out for assistance as she rises, and after slowly straightening herself takes equally slow steps towards Elrond. She does not move fast, but she moves, and though her hands clench into the plaid around her shoulders, her face shows a slight smile... still, she says nothing.
Nor does Nimmeril offer assistance, instead stepping to one side so that she does not encumber or otherwise block Arwen's progress. The brief movement bears her to Amarelei's side, but worriedly she keeps her eyes on the Heryn, undeniable affection in that silvery gaze.
Elrond nods as Arwen walks to him, his eyes taking her in as though he can detect every secret hurt to her from her gait.
Amarelei's breath catches in her throat as she watches each step with quiet reverence. Even though she looks not upon the Silivriel, now at her side, Nimmeril's unrest is not lost on the young forester's keen senses. The elleth lifts a hand, allowing it to come to rest lightly on the forearm of her friend, a silent, subtle gesture of comfort.
Elrond examines his daughter's shoulder now as she approaches, eventually taking a step to bridge the gap between them. "Well, dearest... Now your brothers can no longer chide you for never having been hurt." His smile is weak, though. "You will be alright very soon, I think. Your weakness is mostly from loss of the vital humor, blood. Though it is difficult, I would recommend walking a great deal more; perhaps singing vigorously."
Her face pale, but calm, Arwen stops when she reaches Elrond, standing upright before him. "You call to me, father," she says, unusually formally, "And I come." Her voice is quiet, her face still pale, but she seems ... proud, and a small smile spreads over her face. "Has it not always been so? I have asked Carantil to walk with me in the gardens... tomorrow. I would like that."
Nimmeril 's lips thin a moment, fleetingly, before she stares at the floor between her feet. A small turn of her arm does acknowledge Amarelei's touch and even, perhaps, implies appreciation thereof.
Elrond shakes his head. "You and your ladies should go for a walk now, I think. And when you are quite tired, you should go to the hall and listen to some song; and drink no more of the herbal teas I know you favor. They are good for teh blood when it flows freely already. You must drink water -- four tall glasses of it every two hours." He looks to Nimmeril and smiles, "If you would not mind, Nimmeril, I would ask that you prepare a hot compress for your lady three times a day: once upon waking, once after the mid-day meal, and once before bed." And then he turns back to Arwen, "I am sorry this happened, Arwen." His voice is now much softer, and is missing its previous self-assured tone. "I thought the pass grew more dangerous; I did not realize. The world grows darker, more quickly than even I foresaw."
Arwen turns her head towards both Amarelei and Nimmeril... it is on the last, on the maiden that has done so much for her these last days, that her eyes rest, sharply, inquisitively. Without moving her eyes from her companion, she answers, "A walk. Just after we have spoken of the beauty of the garden... it would seem fitting."
At Elrond's words to Arwen and her companion, a faraway trace of unrest washes over Amarelei, as is evidenced by the manner in which she now chews gently upon the fullness of her lower lip, as well as the idle shuffling of her leather-clad feet. Her gaze now falls as well, and awkwardly the studies her hands.
Nimmeril lifts her chin when her name is spoken, responding obediantly, "Of course, Herdir," when his instructions follow for the further care of his daughter. No doubt exists in her attitude that his wishes will be carried out. But after Arwen answers, Nimmeril says to her and to Amarelei, "I wonder if I may linger behind a moment to speak to Hir Elrond. I shall find you in the gardens but a short time from now, I promise...if, that is, he has a little time for me?"
Elrond nods to Nimmeril, "Of course I do." And then with a smile for his daughter, "Perhaps when you have returned from your walk, we might speak?" Less a question than a statement, he then nods to Amarelei, "Would you be so kind as to accompany Undomiel to the garden?" And then assaying all three ladies to make sure they understand, "Remember -- no more herbal teas, but only water. Four tall glasses ever two hours."
"Yes, we will remember." Arwen says with a small affectionate smile towards her father, and letting the plaid drop on her bed selects a warm scarf that has been lying tidily over the back of a chair. "If the lady Amarelei will join me." She looks towards the gardener, as much a request for assistance as she will speak or otherwise express.
Under Elrond's gaze, Amarelei's manner is stately and proper to the best of her ability. Young and spirited she is, yet inspired as well. "'Twould prove more a privelege than a kindness, Herdir," is her quiet reply, followed by an attentive nod to his instruction. Stepping now to Arwen's side, a shy and youthful smile lifts the corners of her mouth.
Nimmeril withdraws a pace, silently granting Amarelei the privilege of caring for Arwen while she herself waits to address Elrond, apparently in confidence.
Elrond also steps aside with a small smile, watching the ladies make their way to the garden.
Arwen reaches out to take Amarelei's arm, and with a last glance over her shoulder leads the way out of the room and into the hall.
Amarelei sweeps into the hallway at Arwen's side, a soft whispering of skirts the only sound save the soft padding of leather-clad feet across the floor. She ventures no more than a quick glance to Nimmeril and Elrond before she disappears with the Heryn, practiced grace remaining about her manner despite the eagerness of her lingering youth.