Mal Taurduin at the Fallen Beech(#6531Rtof)
Steep banks plunge down to the river's surface, cradling the Taruduin in a deep bed of tree roots and grey rocks interlaced through loamy brown soil. To her very edges, ancient beech trees stand, growing imperturbably up to the sky like stoic soldiers against all from snow to sun; but one weather-beaten veteran has finally faltered; roots growing weary until he no longer had the strength to stand against the wind. The tree has fallen clear across the river, his upturned base pulling up in a large circle that stands just to the north of the path with twining roots twisting together every which way like a large brown spiderweb. His trunk, tremendous and solid while he was still hale and sound, now sags softly under its own weight, a gentle arc of grey bark-robed wood spanning the Taruduin.
Bright sunlight pierces through the spring canopy, the dappled light playing on the smooth river-stones that line the Taurduin's bed. Red and brown, yellow and orange, the ripples of the water distort the rocks into amorphous splotches of ruddy color that shift as ceaselessly as the everchanging colors of spring wildflowers. The river, having gotten past the infuriating boulder upstream, now runs contently nestled in her deep bed, her waters burbling gently their liquid-soft song. The trilling of male birds fills the mild air as they swoop acrobatically over the river, diving and looping for the benefit of the females, who for their part don't seem particularly impressed as they sit nonchalantly among the sprouting spring trees.
Obvious exits:
West leads to Mal Taurduin at the Rock.
SouthEast leads to Mal Taurduin at the Gardens.
Eilialhenel sits on the beech over the middle of the stream, holding adaisy and one by one dropping its petals, which twist and spiral as they flutter like small yellow butterflies to the currents below.
Cyndrial is walking along the river line, in her hands she holds her harp with much care, her fingers strum across the strings to create a soothing melody to accompany her on her way.
One small bird, a mousy grey above and light buff below, swoops down to snap one of the petals out of mid-air, carrying it off to a perch on a branch that overhangs the river. With startled eyes, Eilialhenel follows the creature's flight, and the smiles to herself as it cocks its head quizzically, opening and closing its beak on the soft yellow petal experimentally.
The music of a plucked harp reaches her ears above the tinkling rush of the Taruduin below her, and her attention is drawn away from the bird as she looks over to the bank of the river.
Cyndrial does not notice Eilialhenel as of yet, her eyes looking down at the water directly along her way.
Eilialhenel places her hands on the tree on either side of her, and lightly springs up to her feet, casting a long shadow across the river in the afternoon light. Her form is silhouetted against the ruddying sky, dark, but her voice is light as she calls out, "Good afternoon!"
Cyndrial sees the shadow projected across the water and looks up at the silhouetted figure of an Elf, at the voice she smiles and increases her apce a bit. Taking one hand briefly off the harp to wave, "And to you as well, mellon"
Erandir arrives from the east.
Erandir has arrived.
Eilialhenel holds out a hand, half-plucked daisy drooping limply between her fingers. "A harp," she says with a smile, her voice barely louder than than the murmur of the Taurduin that runs silvery in the long light below. "Always I have admired the talagand who with deft fingers draws such sweet sounds from a few taut strings. In all of nature there is no sound I love better than the tinkle of a stream, save perhaps birdsong, or the rush of the wind in the trees, and no sound is there that reminds me of that more than the cascading of a harp," she says, musing more to herself than anything else.
Eilialhenel is standing on the fallen tree out over the middle of the stream, talking (kind of) to Cyndrial who is on the bank.
Walking pointlessly, Erandir sees the two elves talking to each other, "Mae govannen mellyn, Lady Eilialhenel
Cyndrial smiles softly as she hears some of Eilialhenel's words, "I myself love the sounds of nature more then all sounds, there is much to learn from them if you listen well"
Cyndrial looks back at the new voice and nods at the newcomer, "And you as well, mellon"
Eilialhenel holds her arms wide, above her head, spread to the sky as she stretches upwards, upwards, even on to her toes. The twittering of birds as they hunt the dusk-emerging insects envelopes her, and she is for a while silent as she closes her eyes and watches the world about her with just her ears.
And then, she falls back on her heels, and her arms fall to her sides. She looks to the silvan elf, and smiles. "Erandir," she says simply, with a nod.
Erandir smiles looking at Eilialhenel, looking up at the sky closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around. Then his gaze returns to her he says "It is indeed Erandir"
Cyndrial sits down at the bank of the river and places her harp gently in her lap, covering it protectively with her hands. "How do you fair, mellyn?" she asks the two.
Erandir replies with a great smile, "I'm quite fine, I've been visiting Amon Thranduil for the past day"
Her feet flickering before her like the dainty steps of a deer, Eilialhenel skips lightly to the edge of the beech, and then hops down to the ground, dress fluttering about her form like a grey mist. This she smooths down with two hands, frowning as she notices droplets of mud that have splattered up from the soft ground of the bank. Nonetheless, she looks up, and smiles. Taking an obviously deep breath, she looks around and asks wonderingly, "How could one fare but well on such a night as tonight at the beginning of spring!"
Cyndrial nods at Erandir and then looks dreamily at Eilialhenel, a memory spring up in her mind at those words "Aye..., how?"
"I think," Eililahenel continues, her words flowing in musical elven-speech like a cool spring from a rock, "That we ought to continue this Bardic congress a bit longer, and have a spring festival as well, with all of the realms in attendance!"
Erandir smiles at the idea of having visitors from around the realm, "This would be a good opportunity to hear about the outside of Amon Thranduil too"
Cyndrial plucks a few soft notes on the harp without giving thought to it, looking up at Eililahenel with gleaming eyes "Aye, a joyous fest is better at spring, livelier..."
Eilialhenel laughs, a soft, low sound full with mirth and golden happiness. "Erandir, so anxious are you to share stories with other travellers? For verily we have one here..." she says, then faltering as she searches for a name to put with the maiden before her.
Eilialhenel laughs helplessly, looking down at Cyndrial.
Erandir laughs, "I'm not that envious, I am just curious on how things are going outside Amon Thranduil" looking at the sky he adds "It seems like such a long time that I've wandered accross the realm"
Cyndrial looks up at Eilialhenel, somewhat lost in her memories she doesn't notice the intention of Eilialhenel's gesture, and looks at her with a level of curiousity, wondering what it is she wants.
Warmly burnished copper-bonze-gold tones streak the clear sky as Anar begins to dip below the horizon, and it is up at her that Eilialhenel gazes momentarily before looking back down. "Name, name," she says, flopping her hands before her. "I am Eilialhenel, this is Erandir - though I should let him introduce himself! - and now, who are you, talagand?" she asks.
Cyndrial giggles quietly "Ahh, forgive my drifiting mind..." she stands up and dust her skirt with one hand while the other carefully holds the harp. "Well met, Eilialhenel and Erandir..., my name is Cyndrial Silvanus" dusting her hand some more over her skirt she offers it to Eilialhenel to shake.
Erandir face becomes red of shame as he hears Eilialhenel name him instead of himself doing it, "I am most sorry, I forgot to present myself. I am Erandir, a wanderer who arrived in Amon Thranduil some days ago" and with a small concealed laugh he adds "even though I wish to take home here and stop my wandering"
Bright Morwinthi twinkles on the horizon, the faintest spot of light in the pale grey-blue of the sky opposite the setting sun.
Cyndrial averts her glance towards Erandir, nodding at his words "Why wandering is a wonderful thing, though perilous as well. I wish you well in here, sometimes even wanderers seek a home in which to stay"
"Ah, Mae govannen, Cyndrial," she says, clasping her hand in her own marble-white fingers. She laughs, a merry sound, and addresses Erandir, "Yes, it is high time I think that you stopped living up to that name of yours and settled down - the world is far too dangerous to be alone in the company of...well..." and she falls silent, clouds darkening the radiance of her face as her thoughts turn to the fell creatures which abound in the woods beyond Thranduil's realm.
"Dear Eilialhenel" says Erandir, "I thought that I would talk with the local scribe here at Amon Thranduil to learn about what happened here while I wasn't here, but I couldn't find him", his face taking a puzzling look.
Cyndrial looks over at Eilialhenel whilst shaking her hand and says "I recall your name, Eilialhenel, the Tur Mirchelek?"
Eilialhenel's expression seems puzzled as she says, "Scribe? I don't believe that there is a scribe in the realm now, though the Tarkano has been trying his hand at keeping a record of events."
"Why, yes!" Eilialhenel exclaims with a silvery laugh, "I do believe I won that title at a congress past."
Cyndrial smiles "Aye, a most wonderful congress was held by the Mithlondhrim. I remember most of it rather clearly"
"The sea, the sea," Eilialhenel sighs. "I remember the sound of the sea, wave-horses thundering crashing on the sand, grey fog salt smell..." Her voice is very quiet, small, and she is lost for a moment.
But it is but a moment for soon the chirping of birds, the groaning of the trees in the wind, the stridulant call of an early cricket; these bring her back and she smiles. "It was a long journey," she says finally, "And not one I think I'd care to make again any time soon."
With a serious look on his face, Erandir sweep his locke of hair hiding a part of his visage and says pondering "We should have a scribe in the realm, at least for the Bardic congress, who else could keep record of the events", then with a more serious look he adds "maybe I should try to get the position don't you think?"
"Aye, loneley wanderer," Eilialhenel says to Erandir, smiling warmly, "I think that would be wonderful. You ought to speak to the Ernil, Legolas, I think. He and his father the King should be glad for a scribe, I deem."
Cyndrial is lost herself for a moment in that image of the sea, uncounciously her fingers begin to dance across the strings of her harp, playing the very tune for "Gaer", a song she composed while staying by the sea.
"I certainly will talk to the Ernil, next time I can see him that is" and with that goes back into remembering about some memories
The delicate plucking of harp-strings sings to Eilialhenel's ears, and her voice catches in her throat, her mouth half agape. "Certainly the harp must be the instrument of Uinen herself," she mutters.
Cyndrial says no word while focused on the sounds of her harp, mind reeling back to the wondorous tranquility of the sea, wishing in part she was in Mithlond at this very moment.
At length, Eililahenel turns her depthless gaze on Erandir, stars strung through like glistening dew on invisible spider silk. "Have you ever been to the sea?" she asks softly, a longing tone in her voice that resonates with the music of the harp.
Erandir sighs "The sea, maybe the only place I didn't travel, besides Mordor of course", with that he looks on the ground "I've always thought myself safer on the ground than on water"
The sun sets over Mirkwood and the stars paint the forest in silvers.
Eilialhenel's laugh is melancholy as she she hears Erandir's words, replying, "You show sense then, mellon, for once you have visited the sea, the longing will forever remain in your heart. Small, perhaps and quiet, but there. It will grow over the ages, I think, until finally it overcomes my love for the trees of the Eryn Galen, and then will I answer its call willingly. But!" she exclaims, "For now I stay here!"
Cyndrial finally completes her music, using her hands to delicatly still the vibrating strings. "There is no harm in such a longing, Eilialhenel, if you ask me. What's wrong with answering the ever present call?"
Eilialhenel smiles faintly as the harp-song dies, replying, "Nothing wrong, of course mellon, but I have things yet to do; things yet to discover here in the east, and then of course there are loved ones that I would not leave behind."
Cyndrial nods bitterly at Eilialhenel's words "Aye..., your words are sheer and true, mellon"
Eilialhenel's upper lip curls up into a wry smile. "I visited the havens, and I returned," she states. "Easier for me or you, I think, than elves of other blood. The noldor are wise and subtle, but they must be burdened ever with the sea-longing for the west. A burden, I think, that I am glad not to carry."
Erandir look on the ground, speaks in a murmuring voice "I for one tend to fight this call, I fear the day when no elves will remain in the realm, I fear to think what will happen then, what will become of the forests and trees once we are no longer here to protect them"
Cyndrial smiles at Erandir's exclamition while nodding at Eilialhenel "Aye, no burden is carried lightly, and the lighter a burden you may have the better for you"
A horrified light is in Eililahenel's eyes as she looks on Erandir, and then the ancient forest around her, but it passes quick as a summer thunderstorm and she laughs warmly, "But this is such morbid talk! And it is spring, and the sky is clear, and Elbereth smiles upon us with her stars! We should rejoice, and though it pains me, once again I will push the sea from my mind and let it rest in the depths of my heart for the while where it will not interfere with the merriment I intend to enjoy for the rest of the congress!"
Erandir smiles at Eililahenel, "You are right, I shouldn't think of such dark thoughts"
Cyndrial nods at Erandir, witha sullen face "Indeed, keep such thoughts away from surface"
Eilialhenel peers curiously at Erandir. "Dark? Nay, the sea is not dark. But heavy, I should say. Too heavy to be dealt with now. Why, listen! The frogs are awake!" And so they are, in the cool night peeping slowly, hesitantly, testing out their lungs for the first time this season.
Cyndrial takes a deep breath of air into her lungs and smiles determinedly "Aye, let us rejoice! We are here to celebrate after all"
Erandir stands up and says to the ladies "I think I will go take a look in the library on some history of Amon Thranduil, it always interested me", then he bows "If you could excuse me of course"
"Yes, celebrate," Eilialhenel agrees, holding up her long-forgotten daisy. "And celebration, I think, oft takes place in the talan of the Erynedhrim, and I think that is where I shall retreat to now : up among the canopies of the neldoreth. Should you care to join me - for I find that the flets are far more comfortable than the confing walls of stone in the King's halls, I should be more than happy, of course!"
Cyndrial nods "Fare thee well, Erandir" looking at Eilialhenel she says "I would be glad to follow you to the talan of the Erynedhrim"
Erandir says, "I shall take my leave then, until we meet again mellon""
Eilialhenel echoes Cyndrial, "Namarie, wanderer. I hope you find the history interesting."
Erandir says, "of course, and I will try to meet the Ernil, Legolas""