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Galenfea
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Post Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 01, 2010 05:04
((OK, here goes...))

"He's asked us to go?" Galenfea stared at her brother for a long moment, looking for any sign that he might be joking. When his expression didn't change, she put down the apple she was peeling and twisted round in her chair to face him fully. "I think I heard you wrong. Tell me again."
Gaeron shook his head. "You didn't mishear: Arthon asked me if we would be willing to join a group coming from Imladris on their way to Minas Tirith."
Galenfea frowned. "We've not had contact with Gondor for years. Why now?"
Gaeron shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't ask. You can probably find out if you want."
Galenfea's frown deepened as she picked up her apple.
Gaeron sighed and sat down beside her. "We can't really refuse, Calen," he said softly. "They did let us stay here and care for Finnár..."
Galenfea shook her head. "I know that," she said. "But that's another thing: Finnár. He's recovered now, but you know he still doesn't like to be parted from us for long."
Gaeron nodded. "I said we'd have to make sure of that, but he'll be well looked after here, and he's made friends, he'll not be entirely alone. It's not as if we'd only been here a few months."
That was true, and Galenfea knew that it would in all likelihood do Finnár some good to be parted from them for a little while. She sighed, tucking her hair back behind her ears. Though his body had healed, bar a persistent limp, their little brother had still not recovered from his ordeal in the hands of Haradrim, for all that it was many years ago.
Gaeron chuckled and she turned to look at him.
"What?"
"You don't want to leave Ainu," he said, a teasing grin on his face.
"Will you stop that?" she demanded, pretending to punch him. It was true that she and their friend had been courting for some time, though they'd been putting off the decision to marry since their future in Middle Earth was so unclear. That, however, was not the reason that she didn't want to leave Lothlórien.
Well, not the whole reason, anyway.
Gaeron was outright laughing now, and Galenfea knew that she was starting to blush.
"To the pits with you," she muttered, shoving him. "But your points stand." She sighed and pared off the last piece of skin, popping it into her mouth. "All right. Let's go and talk to Finnár." She wiped off the small knife and put it down, then bit into the peeled apple. "But I warn you," she said, with her mouth full, "If he objects to us both going, then one of us stays, Arthon or no Arthon."
Gaeron nodded agreement and, hand in hand, they headed off to find their brother.
--- All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
gwendeth
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 03, 2010 04:31
In the quiet of Lord Celeborn’s study in Imladris, the only sound one could hear was that of a paintbrush sliding over canvas. The room was neat, and orderly, compared to Randiron’s cluttered (not ‘messy’) quarters in an upper floor of the Last Homely House.

How many hundreds of paintings had Randiron made? – Even he had lost count. But, who knew how much longer Celeborn would remain in Middle Earth, and why not take the opportunity now? And so, here the blond-haired ellon was, putting the finishing touches on his latest work of art.

As he highlighted the strong lines of the silver-haired elf’s face, though, Randiron couldn’t help but wonder if Celeborn missed Galadriel as much as *he* did his own, dear, dead wife.

She was dead… Randiron had come to accept it. Though how, or where, or by whose hand, he had never been able to discover…

A knock at the door (quiet as it might have been) made the painter jump – fortunately his brush was not on the canvas, so nothing was ruined. Interrupted, Randiron glanced at the elf that came to bring a message to Hîr Celeborn. Patiently, the blond-haired ellon waited for the missive to be read, and Celeborn to thank the bringer so he could get back to work.

But then, the former Lord of Lothlorien looked up at Randiron. With a half-smile, “You remember Arthon in Lorien, don’t you?” Celeborn inquired. Raising an eyebrow, “I do, hîr nín,” he replied. Long it had been since the artist had visited the Golden Wood, but he did remember that elf.

“Arthon has written to remind me of a task that Galadriel set to me a long time ago,” Celeborn told him. “A task that would do well to be recorded – in print, and in picture,” he added, and then went to a closet at the back of his study. As Randiron watched, the silver-haired elf drew out an exquisitely-carved, highly-polished, long, wooden case – a bow-case. “Care to see what’s inside?” the elven lord inquired, but as he opened it, Randiron had already grabbed his sketch-book, and with a charcoal in hand, and with a few practiced strokes, had the outline of the elven lord holding the case down on paper. Such was Randiron’s ‘eye’ for detail, he knew he’d remember the pattern of mallorn leaves etched into the case.

The bow itself was beautiful… and encrusted with a jewel. “Galadriel, herself set the stone,” Celeborn told him, “and gave the bow her blessing. It is to be taken to Minas Tirith, with a stop in Lothlorien for representatives from there to go with it. I have two others in mind from Imladris to go, but will you as well?”

Intrigued, “Indeed, I will,” Randiron replied, and added a bow to the silver-haired elf.

Though there was naught but a little to finish his painting, that work was set aside, and Randiron headed for his room to pack and organize his things for the journey. And so it was that the blond-haired ellon set out for Lothlorien in the company of Caimallen and Calmathil Holm-Oak – two elves he’d come to know during his stay in the Realm created by Hîr Elrond long, long ago, the former carrying the precious bow.

Heading southward, they forged across the Misty Mountains, using the Redhorn Pass, Randiron glad it was not the dead of winter as they did so, for otherwise it would have taken days longer than it did. As the three elves looked upon the edge of Lorien, “I wonder who will accompany us from there,” he mused. With a smile to his two companions, “Do you think whoever it is will give me time to sketch the party before we continue on to the White City?” Randiron humorously inquired.
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
Nifredil
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 03, 2010 10:44
"Oh I wouldn't worry about that," Caimallen replied his friend. With a twinkle in his deep brown orbs, the ellon smiled, his mind already drawing a clear picture before his eyes: Randiron running around and busily sketching every detail that caught his eye, and the members of the chosen group in those special situations, positions and places that would reveal their personalities best of all. "I am sure that even if they'll be in a hurry, you'll still manage to get an entire scroll full, mellon nín. What I would worry about, though, is that you'd run out of paper in the middle of a very exciting part of our journey, in a particularly pintoresque place. And then I'd have to go find it," his smile grew ever wider until it turned into laughter.

The laughter died, however, as the ellon looked down on Lothlorien again. Countless memories flooded across his mind, some of them filled with joy and happiness, others still weighed like a thousand stones on his heart.

"Mallen! Look! The meadow where we once used to play still lays there!" the excited voice of the youngest ellon in the company rang clearly over the rocks. Without another look Calmathil spurred his grey stalion, and they rushed down the steep hillside. A small avalanche of stones and pebbles followed the hooves of the horse, making his elder brother's breath catch in his throat.

"Calma!" Mallen's hands grabbed the reins of his horse, ready to rush straight ahead on his brother's aid, heedless of his own safety. For one horrible moment he thought his life would lose its meaning... again. But Calma's happy laughter cleared away the dread in Mallen's heart.

"Come on!" Calma waved from the foot of the hill, waiting impatiently for the other two ellyn to follow him down.

Mallen gritted his teeth. "Don't you ever do that again," he muttered under his breath, for even if he said that aloud the meaning of the words would probably never reach Calma. "Let's find a safer path," Mallen suggested to Randiron.
We still remember, we who dwell In this far land, beneath the trees The starlight on the Western seas...
In the Realm of Ulmo
Galenfea
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 10, 2010 09:27
By coincidence, Galenfea was guarding the border when the three riders approached. Since Gaeron had first told her of Arthon's request that they go on the journey to Minas Tirith, she had spoken to him herself, and had learned exactly why they would be travelling to Gondor. She didn't speak to the three herself, though, deciding to wait until she could get Gaeron and they could meet them together. She watched them curiously as she and a couple of others escorted them back to Caras Galadhon, though, weighing them up and trying to guess what part she and Gaeron would play in the group, as well as what other elves Arthon might have chosen to accompany them.
As soon as they arrived, she was dismissed and hurried to fetch Gaeron, climbing swiftly up the ladder to their flet. She kept her eyes upwards, trying not to think of the growing drop below her. She still wasn't quite used to ladders.
"Gaeron?" she asked, sticking her head around the door. Gaeron and Finnar had been playing a board game, but both had looked up as they heard her approach.
"Calen?" asked Finnar, starting to get up, looking a little nervous still. "What is it?"
"They're here," said Galenfea, looking from one to the other.
Her excitement faded as she saw Finnar's face fall. Gaeron had noticed it too, for he reached across the table and took Finnar's hand.
"Finnar?"
"I know," said Finnar, sounding resigned. "I... I can't hide behind you forever, and there's no point asking Arthon if I can accompany you." He smiled a little. "With my leg I'd only slow you down."
"Unless he has someone else picked out," said Galenfea, "None of them was a healer. Come and meet them, Gaeron, and Finnar, why don't you come too?"
Finnar looked pleased at that idea and pushed himself up, reaching instinctively for his staff. Galenfea frowned at the sight of it, hating the fact that Finnar thought he needed it, and hating still more the fact that he was probably right.
It took some time to help him down the ladder, but he was getting better at it and the three of them hurried towards where Galenfea had left the three new arrivals. If they weren't still there, someone would know where they had gone.
--- All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
Erumelmo
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 21, 2010 04:56
Banvain Nestad’s eyes followed the three riders. He sighed, a soft sound that pierced the still air around him. His eyes, now more grey then green, flickered through the wood that had been his home for a long time. The wood had grown still. There was life but it was one that was so quiet it was surreal. The trees still gleamed as the sun pierced the golden canopy but it seemed as though their light was dimming. The world he knew, the world he loved, the world he had lived in for the countless years of his immortal existence was ... fading.

His knees bent and though he was perched on a thin limb of a golden tree, he kept his balance perfectly. His left hand brushed the tree trunk and it was more or a caress then a need for support as he lowered himself to peer more keenly at the three elves as they passed under. It was time. He had spoken to Arthon and they had both concurred that it was time for the Gift to reach the one it was intended for. His gaze moved up to the little sky he could see glinting at him through the leaves above him. He stroked the weathered bark of the tree and he whispered, “It is time, my friend. It is time for me to complete the task that was appointed.”

His heart wrenched at the thought of leaving this place, a place he had assuredly called his home since the beginning of the Third Age of the World. The allegiance he held to his Lord had held him bound to Middle-earth, but in his heart of hearts he knew that it was also because he loved the sights and sounds of Lothlorién and could not bear to be parted from the memories he shared with the land of his birth. The Lady had spoken to him about this fixation...

“You must remember, Galadhlin,” she had whispered an Age ago, “everything here shall wither. You have two choices then, remove to Lorién in the West, the one this wood is a mere shadow of, or fade and remain a shadow of what you are ... and what you can be.”

“You made a choice yourself, milady,” he had replied, as he turned the gem in his fingers. “Was it the wrong one?”

“Choices make the sum of our existence. They are the grey between the light and the dark, it is our deeds that make these choices unquestionable.” She smiled and lifted her fingers to touch his chin. “Mine were made in a time other than this, they cannot be compared to the ones I make now. I have given up on the reason I made choices in the past.” She looked down at the Ring she wore on her finger. It glinted under the fading sun. “I have made my peace. To diminish is to be.” Then she looked back into his eyes. “Nadath nâ i moe cerich.”

Banvain looked back steadily into her bottomless eyes, and knew she spoke not only of the choices before him but of the task he was appointed with. “Amin naa tualle.”

Her smile was as enigmatic as the secrets of Tilion. She held out her hand, and he passed the gem he had created into it. “Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya.”

The time had come. He had made his choice. He would complete the task allotted to him and, if Middle-earth not take him, he would leave its shores forever.

He stood up and in a few swift movements landed on the ground. He needed to gather his belongings, and meet with the ones who would be his companions on the journey before him. He closed his eyes, took in a long breath – scents of earth, leaves, pollen, wind and water assailed his senses – and then opened them. They glinted green. Slowly, he began following the three elves before who had ridden past not long ago.
********************************************************************
Trans:
Nadath nâ i moe cerich.
There is much you have yet to do.

Amin naa tualle
I am your servant.

Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya.
May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
gwendeth
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 26, 2010 05:03
"I am sure that even if they'll be in a hurry, you'll still manage to get an entire scroll full, mellon nín. What I would worry about, though, is that you'd run out of paper in the middle of a very exciting part of our journey, in a particularly pintoresque place. And then I'd have to go find it," his smile grew ever wider until it turned into laughter.

Chuckling himself, Randiron acknowledged that was likely, but then looked down on the Golden Wood for himself. – Ah, it was a beautiful place!, and he was eager to see it again. His musings were interrupted, though, when Calmathil called to his brother.

Holding his breath as he watched the ellon bolting down the hill – the ground far too steep (in his opinion) for such a thing, Randiron yet ‘captured’ the moment in his mind’s eye, and promised himself to later sketch it out.
"Come on!" Calma waved from the foot of the hill, waiting impatiently for the other two ellyn to follow him down.

Mallen gritted his teeth. "Let's find a safer path," Mallen suggested to Randiron.

With a wry twist to his lips, the gentle Randiron nodded. “I agree,” he replied, and turned Nauren’s head toward a lesser-dangerous way down the hill.

Once down, the pace picked up, for the border of the Wood was not far now. Coming to the outskirts, they were met by one of the guards – an elleth, to whom Randiron bowed his head politely. And, though they knew the way to Caras Galadhon, they yet followed Galenfea as she led them through the white road to the south and east to the city’s entrance. (*)

As they rode, confident of Nauren’s steadiness (despite the horse’s spirited nature), Randiron pulled out his sketch-book and drew out Calmathil’s headlong dash down the hill. With a grin, he showed it to his two companions. “If you like,” he then said, “I will make two, so you may have one,” he offered the younger brother.

When they arrived at Caras Galadhon, their escort headed off, and as they dismounted and turned their mounts over to several elves who came to help, Randiron’s eyes searched for Arthon. He spotted the elf speaking with someone… an elleth who (he saw as they drew closer) had intense, jade green eyes. Regarding her, the ellon recognized Salabeth – a healer who had spent time in Imladris now and then, studying methods of healing with Hîr Elrond...


~@~@~@~@~

For weeks now, Salabeth had tended Finnar, the injured brother of Galenfea and Gaeron. Called to meet with Arthon, though curious (for she'd no idea of the impending 'quest'), the elleth gave her report. “Finnar is much better,” she told him. “He is moving slowly, and improving each day.”

Wondering why she was being asked, Salabeth saw three strangers approaching. - Well, not strangers, perhaps, for she saw one of them was the Artist, Randiron, whom she had met before. The other two elves (she thought) were familiar as well. - And then, behind them, her sharp eyes espied Banvain... though he seemed to be 'watching' for the moment. Intensely curious, the healer wondered what was toward. - Particularly when she saw Galenfea, Gaeron, and Finnar, himself, heading toward them.

With a welcoming smile, “Mae govannen,” ** she greeted Randiron and the others, and then waited to either be dismissed or (hopefully!) to discover what was going on...

_____________

* as described by Tolkien in FOTR
** 'Well met'
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
Nifredil
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: April 19, 2010 10:28
"Salabeth! Suilad!" Calma stepped forward, leaving his companions behind, and hurried towards the calmly standing elleth. It was not proper, this kind of behavior, and quite a few eye-brows were arched at this, only to be followed by knowing smiles of those who remembered the easily excitable and quick to laugh young ellon from the time he had been living in Lothlorien.

"How wonderful it is to see you again!" Calma took both of Salabeth's hands in his, smiling as warmly as only he could, his eyes, now brightly green, shining with the joy of meeting someone he knew, again. And it didin't even matter, whether they really knew each other well enough to call themselves friends, or their paths had simply crossed at some part of their lives - to Calma, everyone familiar was practically a friend. For usually reserved and gracious elves, a physical touch like holding hands was equal to a tight hug for humans - something Calma had once even tried. It had been quite awkward at that time, though...

"How have you been? It's been ages since we saw you in Imladris. Why didn't you ever return? Was it beacause Hir Elrond has Sailed?" the young ellon poured a river of questions over the blonde head of the healer. "I'm sure you never expected to run into us here, right?"

Mallen could only shake his head, as his younger brother stormed forward towards the obviously surprised elleth. Himself, he caught a couple of familiar faces looking at him, and nodded back his quiet polite greetings. Inevitably, the magnificent mallorn trees attracted his attention. He had almost forgotten how huge and impressive they actually were! How majestic...

Mallen used the attention his younger brother was getting to quietly slip away from the other elves. Sliding off his horse, the ellon tossed the reigns ofer a twig and decided he would take Moriaur to the stable just a short while later. He needed to be alone, alone in the forest - as alone as it was possible in Lorien. Almost reverently, he lay his palm on the soft bark of a mallorn, the feeling of being home rushing over him. Mallen took a couple of deep breaths to get his feelings under control, and made a couple of soft, soundless steps. His body instantly remembered how it was to be living in a forest, and amidst the majestic mellyrn. Only now he realized how much he had been missing them, in the beautiful but spacious valley of Imladris. Still, at the same instant he knew again the reason he had left. In his ears, the laughter of Rannathir rang, clear and happy, and with his mind's eye he saw her slender and green-clad figure run among the trees with her friends, playing one game or another, as they always did. Mallen flinched expecting the pain of her loss to be just as acute as it always was, in his dreams, in his memories... But it wasn't. The sharp edges had become dull, and brought him sadness rather than the usual agony. Mallen let out a slow sigh and pressed his forehead to the huge trunk of a mallorn, the tree almost audibly vibrating under his touch.

Meanwhile, Calma never even noticed Mallen's absence. He was busy greeting all the elves who were present and smiling for all he was worth. He was so caught up in his emotions he even forgot to let go of Salabeth's hands he was still holding.

[Edited on 19/4/2010 by Nifredil]
We still remember, we who dwell In this far land, beneath the trees The starlight on the Western seas...
In the Realm of Ulmo
Galenfea
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: April 27, 2010 05:17
Seeing Salabeth - a welcome familiar face, as Gaeron still didn't know many elves in Lothlorien - the three made a beeline towards her. Several elves had now congregated to greet the newcomers and Gaeron fought the urge to hang back. He was still a little nervous about crowds of people and could only imagine how Finnar felt, but his brother had also seen Salabeth and walked eagerly towards her, using his staff less than he had on the way. Gaeron laughed, guessing that he wanted to show how much he had improved under her care. He flinched away, though, as one of the newcomers ran over to greet her.
"Finnar!" exclaimed Gaeron softly, catching him as he stumbled.
Finnar gasped softly. "He... he startled me."
Gaeron nodded understandingly, though this made him feel even worse about leaving Finnar behind.
Galenfea reached out to stroke his hair gently. "Come on," she said. "Let's go and say hello. He's a friend of Salabeth's, you know that he won't hurt you."
Finnar nodded, but still looked unsure. Gaeron looked for the other two - perhaps someone a little less outgoing would seem less of a threat. To him as well - he wanted to get out of the crowd.
"Where are the others?" he asked Galenfea, who craned her neck to look around.
"There's one," she said, pointing to one elf who still stood with the horses, his reins looped over an arm as he worked at something on a piece of paper in his hand. "I can't see the other, though."
Gaeron aw an elf retrieving the third elf's horse from where it stood with its reins hooked over a branch.
"Looks like he's gone. Maybe he doesn't like crowds either."
Galenfea shot him a shrewd look. "I heard that 'either' she said, her voice only holding a hint of teasing. "Come on, let's go and say hello to him."
Gaeron nodded gratefully and helped Finnar to get balanced again.
"You all right?" he asked.
Finnar nodded, leaning on his staff.
"I don't like it when people move suddenly," he said apologetically.
Galenfea bit her lip and moved awkwardly to stroke his hair again. Gaeron grimaced at her. He knew she found it difficult to cope with the fact that though his own and Finnar's bodies were healed - or nearly so - there were plenty of injuries left that couldn't be seen.
"Do you want to go and see the horses?" he asked, smiling a little and trying to tease.
She laughed. "Not as much as you want to get out of the crowd. Why don't I take Finnar over to say hello to him, and you can go and see what became of the other one? There's quite a commotion, there'll be more people coming soon."
Gaeron looked at Finnar to see what he thought of that idea. Finnar smiled a little.
"As long as no-one runs at me," he said. "Then I'll be fine."
Gaeron wasn't so sure of that, but didn't want to embarrass Finnar by saying that he didn't believe him. So he nodded a little. "I'll come over with you," he said to them both, "Then if there are too many people I'll leave. You can come with me if you want, Finnar, and if you want to stay and talk, Calen."
They both nodded. Finnar reached out to take Galenfea's hand, leaning on his staff with the other hand, and they went over as a group to greet the one remaining elf, who lowered his paper and smiled a greeting as he saw them coming. Gaeron noticed that it was covered in drawing.
"Hello," said Galenfea. "I'm Galenfea; these are my brothers, Gaeron and Finnar." She gestured to each in turn. "I hear that you're to be traveling with us to Gondor."

((tag!))
--- All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
Erumelmo
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: May 05, 2010 03:41
The moment the light of the clearing parted the dark green shimmer of the trees, Banvain’s step slowed. As the party of the visitors began to be greeted by the Elves of the Wood, he moved ahead and stepped onto the periphery of golden, fluttering light. His eyes instantly found out where Arthon stood; then they flicked to the stately elleth standing beside him and their eyes met.

His facial muscles relaxed and his eyes turned a light green. Salabeth, his long-time friend and fellow student when they studied under the tutelage of Lord Elrond, was just as beautiful as she was when he had first seen her. Her gaze was diverted within a moment, and the corners of his mouth lifted. She had struck him as severe at first, those long years ago; but as he got to know her through the passage of time, he realised it was her passion for healing and saving Life that made her so forceful. But the reason they both understood each other was because the both of them had a great capacity to maintain patience in the face of a conundrum and zeal to learn as much as they could about healing.

His eyes moved to seek out another elleth, and within a few seconds they found her. She was greeting the excitable elf, who was holding onto Salabeth’s hand. Banvain’s smile widened ever so slightly, as he noticed Lillassëa trying to smile and talk at the same time. As the elf moved on, her eyes found his and she began to wind her way toward him. As she drew nearer, he noticed her anxiety. He met her grey eyes questioningly.

“I have spoken to Arthon,” she stated perfunctorily. “He has yet to make up his mind.”

“Then you must abide in patience until he does, Lil.” Banvain said softly. He noticed the elf wearing dark clothes move off into the trees. Banvain could tell the elf needed to be alone, because he himself wanted to go back into the arms of the trees.

“I understand that, Banvain,” Lillassëa said softly. She turned to stand by his left, facing the newcomers and the ones who had come to greet them. “I am just fretful.”

Banvain turned his face to look at her. “You should have left with them, Lillassëa.”

Lillassëa swallowed and raised her chin a notch. Her son, Celeblas, had left for Valinor with her husband’s kin and she had not accompanied them. “I cannot leave Middle-earth.”

Banvain turned to her fully, with his left hand he made her turn and face him. “Remaining here will not bring Eäheru back. He walks in Námo’s halls now.”

Lillassëa raised her downcast eyes and met his. Banvain blinked as he saw the pain there, and he sent a silent prayer to the Valar to help him find some cure for it. “I understand that as well. But this is the land he fought for, Banvain. This is the land he gave his life for. This is the land that still has his memory. I cannot yet leave it. But I am torn. There is no purpose in my existence. I wish to be here but I also wish to be needed here.” As her eyes welled up, she lowered them again and turned back towards the clearing.

Banvain knew how she hated showing any sign of weakness and so he said, “If Arthon thinks you will fare better with us on our quest, he will let you leave Lothlórien. You must trust in his wisdom.”

“Then I must also wait.”

“That you must.”

She looked back at him and a smile was etching its curves around her lips. “You are infinitely better at waiting then I am.”

Banvain’s eyes softened. “That I am.” He agreed matter-of-factly.

“Do you not wish to meet the arrivals?” She asked, as she turned her gaze back to them.

“I shall.”

“Finnár is healing well.”

Banvain looked where Galenfea was greeting the tall newcomer who Banvain surmised was the artist Celeborn had said he would be sending. He looked at Galenfea’s younger brother and the staff he was using, he glanced over the boy’s leg, the angle of his body and judged the weight he let the staff carry for him quickly. “He is healing. Time will tell how swiftly his body learns to adjust to the medicines Salabeth has devised for him. But, aye, he is on the mend.”

“At times, he reminds me of Celeblas when he was growing.”

Banvain cocked an eyebrow. “That one,” he gave a brief nod in the direction of Calmathil, “reminds me of Celeblas as he is now.”

“Aye. He does.”

The words were mere whispers, but they got Banvain’s attention. Lillassëa felt her son’s parting deeply, he knew, and this was further intensified because she had lost her husband, Eäheru, in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. He sighed. “You wish to speak to them now?”

Lillassëa looked at him in surprise. Banvain was not one to mix much with people, more so if they were unknown to him. “You do not have to, Banvain.”

“If it cures a wound within your heart, Lil, I’ll speak to all the free folk of Middle-earth and the Land Beyond.” He stepped forward, with his hand behind the small of her back. “Come.”

Lillassëa smiled as they moved toward where Galenfea and her brothers stood with the tall artist. As they got closer, she wondered at the elf’s height, and somehow she was reminded of Eäheru. She blinked to dismiss the comparison and smiled at Galenfea and then at the stranger. “Mára aurë.” She said with a smile that brightened her face and made her clear grey eyes twinkle. “I am Lillassëa. This is Banvain.”

Banvain’s eyes were focused on something that was in the saddlebag behind the artist. “I haven’t seen the bow or the jewel since I helped make them. I can feel her blessing.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled. “It’s a part of her heart still existing in this part of the world, and I am glad.”
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: June 20, 2010 02:23
With amusement, Randiron watched as Calmathil instantly went to greet the Lothlorien elleth-healer. Indeed, the ellon’s enthusiasm was such not often seen.

Salabeth, although slightly surprised by having her hands grasped, yet could not help but smile back. “It is good to see you again, Calmathil,” she replied, and turned her head to nod at Caimallen, lest he be upset with his eager brother.
"How have you been? It's been ages since we saw you in Imladris. Why didn't you ever return? Was it beacause Hir Elrond has Sailed?" the young ellon poured a river of questions over the blonde head of the healer. "I'm sure you never expected to run into us here, right?"

With a rueful twist of her lips, “Yes, that was the reason,” Salabeth answered, and with a chuckle, “No… I didn’t expect to see you here. You are both doing well?” she then inquired, noticing that Caimallen had slipped off into the trees.

Finnar, Gaeron and Galenfea then joined them, and the healer’s sharp eyes watched her patient carefully as he walked. Much improved, he was, despite his brief stumble. She said nothing, though, wishing not to embarrass the ellon… instead sending the three siblings a welcoming smile and noting then a brief glimpse of Banvain and Lillassëa before turning back to Calmathil. “How was your journey?” she continued on to the enthusiastic ellon. “Did you come over Redhorn Pass?”

********************************

Barely had he dismounted when Randiron was again at his favorite activity - sketching everything he saw to get the basics down for later completion: elves greeting elves, the horses bending their heads to graze (including his own), and the beauty of Lothlorien he was all quickly capturing when from the corner of his eye he noticed two elves slipping into the depths of the trees. One, an elleth, caused a brief ‘flicker’ across Randiron’s memory, but ruthlessly, he shoved it away. Long ago he’d learned the trick of doing so, for it was no use to think of…

But then, he saw the elleth who’d escorted them to Galadhon approaching with two others.

There was a similarity about them, and with his Artist’s eye for detail, Randiron knew they were all related somehow.
they went over as a group to greet the one remaining elf, who lowered his paper and smiled a greeting as he saw them coming. Gaeron noticed that it was covered in drawing.
"Hello," said Galenfea. "I'm Galenfea; these are my brothers, Gaeron and Finnar." She gestured to each in turn. "I hear that you're to be traveling with us to Gondor."

Setting aside his sketchbook, Randiron bowed his head politely. “Indeed, I am,” he replied. “I am Randiron, of Imladris,” he went on. With a smile, “I will be recording our journey in sketches… that is, if I do not run out of parchment,” he added, grimacing slightly.

With his eye for detail, Randiron had not missed Finnar’s limp, but said nothing of it. “Are all three of you going?” he then inquired, deciding to put his sketchbook away for just a little while. “Have you heard when we are to leave, or how many will be traveling to the White City?”
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: August 16, 2010 06:28
As soon as Galenfea had greeted him, Randiron had put his parchments down. Galenfea looked curiously at the closed folder, wondering what he had been doing, but her question was almost immediately answered.
With a smile, “I will be recording our journey in sketches… that is, if I do not run out of parchment,” he added, grimacing slightly.

Galenfea had caught the gleam in Gaeron’s eyes as Randiron mentioned drawing. He had wanted to draw when he was younger, but had never had much talent for it.
“You certainly seem intent on it,” he said, smiling. “I hope you brought plenty of parchment, or you will run out! I’m sure you’ll be able to get some here, though.”
Randiron nodded, smiling a little.
“Are all three of you going?” he then inquired, deciding to put his sketchbook away for just a little while. “Have you heard when we are to leave, or how many will be traveling to the White City?”

Galenfea glanced at Finnár, biting her lip. She wondered if Randiron had noticed his limp, and if so, how he thought it might be a possibility that Finnár would join them on such a journey. Gaeron also shifted uncomfortably.
Finnár seemed unfazed, though, and just smiled a little. “I couldn’t go on a long journey,” he said, repeating the justification they’d used to him so many times. “I’m going to stay here, but Galenfea and Gaeron will go.”
At that moment, a couple more elves walked up. Galenfea recognised them as Lillassëa and Banvain, having encountered them several times since her arrival in Lothlórien.
“Mára aurë.” She said with a smile that brightened her face and made her clear grey eyes twinkle. “I am Lillassëa. This is Banvain.”

Finnar had stepped a little behind Gaeron as they approached and Gaeron sighed a little.
“Finnár,” he hissed and stepped to the side so that Finnár wasn’t hidden any more. “You know them, you silly elfling.”
Finnár glared at him. Fortunately, their three companions had been exchanging introductions and Galenfea didn’t think they’d noticed what her brothers were doing. Attention now turned to the bow-case fastened behind Randiron’s saddle.
Banvain’s eyes were focused on something that was in the saddlebag behind the artist. “I haven’t seen the bow or the jewel since I helped make them. I can feel her blessing.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled. “It’s a part of her heart still existing in this part of the world, and I am glad.”


***

Gaeron stepped further to the side to see what Banvain was looking at, the brewing confrontation between himself and Finnár forgotten. He saw a beautiful wooden bow-case and realised that here was the object of their quest. He restrained himself from gaping at it, admiring the carvings of mallorn leaves, the honey-coloured finish of the wood, polished to accentuate the natural grain.
Finnár was not so restrained. He stepped forward, apparently almost forgetting his weak leg until he stumbled on it. He caught himself, though Randiron reached out to help him, and ran his fingers over the carving.
“This is what you’ll be carrying?” he asked softly, looking around. At their nods, he looked back at the case. “It’s beautiful. Might we see the bow itself?” He looked at Banvain. “I never met Lady Galadriel; you know that we arrived only a little while after she left. You did know her and think that this bow is like a part of her. I should like to see it.”

***

While Finnár was admiring the bow case, Galenfea stepped over to Lillassëa.
“Are you going to join us?” she asked softly. “Whatever route we take, we’ll have to cross Rohan or Rhovanion, and you don’t like to leave the forest, do you?”
--- All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: December 03, 2010 06:22
[“This is what you’ll be carrying?” he asked softly, looking around. At their nods, he looked back at the case. “It’s beautiful. Might we see the bow itself?” He looked at Banvain. “I never met Lady Galadriel; you know that we arrived only a little while after she left. You did know her and think that this bow is like a part of her. I should like to see it.”]

Eyes that rivalled the blue of a cloudless, summer sky. Hair that caught the beams of both sun and moon. A brow that spoke an age-old saga, mixed with expressions of tumultuous past and uncertain future. A quiet form covered in white. The Lady of Light. His Mistress.

Banvain’s eyes moved over the bow case, he had helped create so many years ago. His eyes turned a murky grey as memory caught within them and turned in eddies diffusing the green.

“Aye,” he whispered, to no one in particular, “I knew her when she passed through these trees. The bow is not as much a part of her as the jewel is – but they are her nonetheless.” His eyes flickered. “As they are part of all of us who created it, and from where it was created.” He looked away, his glance resting on the ground beneath his feet. Then he looked up towards Gaeron. “Now it is the part of those who form this quest. It is a part of you all.”

Lillassëa was looking at the bow case and the intricate carvings on it when she felt a presence to her left.

[While Finnár was admiring the bow case, Galenfea stepped over to Lillassëa.
“Are you going to join us?” she asked softly. “Whatever route we take, we’ll have to cross Rohan or Rhovanion, and you don’t like to leave the forest, do you?”]

Lillassëa looked at the elleth with long brown hair. They knew each other in passing but she had heard a lot about Galenfea’s bravery. Lillassëa’s sharp eyes took in the bracelet on the younger elleth’s right wrist before moving up to meet her blue-green eyes. She smiled. “I do not yet know if I shall be joining you. Arthon has yet to give his consent.” She paused as she smoothed her skirt, in a pensive motion. “As to your other question, the thought of leaving the forest is not one that leaves me without sorrow. I was born under the shelter of leaves and came with Lady Galadriel’s retinue from Eregion to this – ” she gazed up at the fading canopy “home. But the world has changed, Galenfea. I need to move with it, for there is nothing left for me in the past.” She looked at Banvain, and in a quieter tone, she ended, “Or here, if Banvain leaves.”

She smiled again, this time at Finnár. “My epessë is Almisthel, but I have no choice now but to stray.”

“But,” Banvain said softly, “But your mother knew you would have to, Lillassëa. Thus, your amilessë, Ninuiniel. Water is never still, if it is, it grows rank.”

“True,” Lillassëa said. Then after smiling at Galenfea, she spoke to Finnár, “And what is your intention, dear one?”

Banvain’s mind left the conversation and went back to the bow. He lifted his right hand and passed it slowly over the case, without touching it. His eyes brightened considerably. His nostrils flared. Then the moment passed and he stepped back.
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: December 28, 2010 03:25
Randiron's artist's eye did not miss the way Banvain responded to the bow. In his mind, he 'captured' it for later sketching. - Indeed, the ellon would quite happy when he when he would be shown to a talan for the night and could pull out his sketchbook once again...


******************

Salabeth was yet quite happy to be talking with the two brothers. It would be interesting traveling with them... with all of them, and she just hoped her skills would not be needed upon this journey.

Looking at Galenfea, "When do you plan for us to leave?" the healer inquired. "It will not take me long to pack my supplies..."
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: February 13, 2011 11:56
“Aye,” he whispered, to no one in particular, “I knew her when she passed through these trees. The bow is not as much a part of her as the jewel is – but they are her nonetheless.” His eyes flickered. “As they are part of all of us who created it, and from where it was created.” He looked away, his glance resting on the ground beneath his feet. Then he looked up towards Gaeron. “Now it is the part of those who form this quest. It is a part of you all.”


Calma let his bright green gaze slide over the smooth form of the bow with admiration. Bainvain's words brought a smile to his face.
"My brother also helped making it, you know," the young ellon stated proudly, as if not his brother but himself had participated in the creation of the magnificent weapon - or perhaps even more so. Calma himself had never even touched the bow, nor did he yearn to. He respected Mallen's work and the way he managed to create even the most formidable weapons as objects of art. However, he would have preferred his brother to be actually creating art, not weaponry. It didn't sit too well with him.

Calma tucked a stray lock of fair hair behind his pointed ear as he looked up, expecting Mallen to be right there and casting a reprimanding glance at his younger sibling for mentioning his input - but Mallen was not there. Calma made a complete turn, studying the familiar faces and also the strange ones, but none of them was Mallen's.

Calma's shoulders tensed. He suddenly felt alone and lost.

"Mallen?" his lips whispered barely moving. Calma looked around again, and failed to see either his elder brother or his horse. That had to mean Mallen had wandered away from the crowd. Belatedly, Calma remembered his sibling hated gatherings. Mallen had been avoiding them ever since he moved to Imladris.

"Did you see which way Mallen went?" he asked Salabeth. Calma suddenly felt like he absolutely needed to find his brother.

With delay, worry crept on his smooth face, as he recalled the history of his family.

"He shouldn't be left to wander out there all by himself," Calma explained, biting his lip, his eyes still searching the crowd.
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Post RE: Galadriel's Heirloom
on: March 31, 2011 05:48
Then he looked up towards Gaeron. “Now it is the part of those who form this quest. It is a part of you all.”


Gaeron started to reply, but Banvain had apparently lost interest in the conversation, lost in his own world as he looked at the bow case. Gaeron glanced at Finnár and the two drew away a little, leaving the other elf to his thoughts. Finnár was still gazing at the bow case and Gaeron smiled to himself, glad to see his brother distracted from the crowd. He was leaning more and more on his staff, though, Gaeron noticed.

"How's your leg doing?" he asked.

Finnár startled a little and reflexively looked down at his leg. "It... could be better," he admitted. "But I can stand on it a little longer."

Gaeron frowned a little and Finnár smiled.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Gaeron asked seriously.

Finnár nodded, hesitantly at first, but then more firmly. Gaeron sighed a little, but took his hand and they went back over to where Galenfea was standing, talking to Lillassëa. Seeing them, she smiled.

Then after smiling at Galenfea, she spoke to Finnár, "And what is your intention, dear one?"


Finnár glanced at Gaeron with a small frown, then he said again, "I'm going to stay here. I couldn't go on a long journey." He glanced round at Salabeth and smiled a little. "Your fellow healers will look after me, even when you're gone, won't they? And I'm nearly healed." As if to demonstrate, he deliberately put weight on the injured leg. Gaeron instinctively drew nearer to steady him and Galenfea also took a step forward. Finnár caught himself, though, and smiled thinly. Gaeron wondered if anyone missed the silent lie.

***

While Gaeron and Finnár spoke to Banvain and continued to look at the bow, Galenfea had been talking to Lillassëa.

She smiled. “I do not yet know if I shall be joining you. Arthon has yet to give his consent.” She paused as she smoothed her skirt, in a pensive motion. “As to your other question, the thought of leaving the forest is not one that leaves me without sorrow. I was born under the shelter of leaves and came with Lady Galadriel’s retinue from Eregion to this – ” she gazed up at the fading canopy “home. But the world has changed, Galenfea. I need to move with it, for there is nothing left for me in the past.” She looked at Banvain, and in a quieter tone, she ended, “Or here, if Banvain leaves.”


Galenfea looked over at Banvain, then back at Lillassëa. Of course she had known, as all elves could see such things, that each of them was married and, looking at them properly, it was obvious that they were husband and wife. It became still more clear as Banvain spoke to Lillassëa of the need to keep travelling, to keep moving. Galenfea sighed a little. It didn't seem long enough since she and her brothers had arrived. Still, at least this would probably be a short trip.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Finnár - silly show-off that he was - once again tried to stand without his staff. Galenfea started forward to catch him if he should fall, but Gaeron was beside him and caught him first. He smiled at her, the smile almost more like a grimace, but she didn't say anything, unwilling to embarrass him.

"When do you plan for us to leave?" the healer inquired. "It will not take me long to pack my supplies..."


Galenfea blessed Salabeth for the distraction, even as she wondered how it was that she was apparently in charge.

"Well, uh... I'll have to check with Arthon myself...." She met Gaeron's eye for a moment and he glanced towards Finnár. It wasn't much, barely a flicker, but she knew from that that he felt the same as her: it wouldn't be fair to leave too soon. "But I'd certainly prefer to wait a couple of days." She smiled a little at the newcomers. "Apart from anything else, you must all be tired after your journey. I... I think guest rooms have been prepared for you." She waved vaguely in the appropriate direction. As she did so, she noticed that one of the newcomers - Calma, she remembered him calling himself - was looking around, apparently distressed.

"Did you see which way Mallen went?" he asked Salabeth. Calma suddenly felt like he absolutely needed to find his brother.

With delay, worry crept on his smooth face, as he recalled the history of his family.

"He shouldn't be left to wander out there all by himself," Calma explained, biting his lip, his eyes still searching the crowd.


Galenfea remembered the abandoned horse that she had seen someone retrieving.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," she said, hoping to comfort the other elf. "There's nothing dangerous out here, after all."

He shook his head a little, still searching the faces around him.

"I'll go and look for him," said Gaeron. "Finnár, you go with Calen and show them where they'll be sleeping."

Finnár nodded and beckoned, leaning on his staff again. "It's this way," he said, and turned to limp off towards the guest quarters. Galenfea smiled a little as Gaeron vanished into the trees. She'd suspected that he was getting uncomfortable in the crowd. As she looked at Calma again, she hoped that her own brother found the missing elf soon.
--- All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
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