A Dream

Played by:
Rhun Darkmoon

Tall and beautiful she stands, her emerald eyes mirroring the green of the forest around her.  The muted light that filters through the foliage casts silver highlights in her fair hair - hair that moves with the gentle stirring of the air around her, lifting in small tresses to float and settle about her shoulders.  She seems to merge as one with the delicate ferns that carpet the ground at her feet; the leaves and buds drawn by his very hand upon her skin taking on a life of their own as her body flexes and turns with her movement.

"Yavanna!" The word is but a whisper of breath upon Aulë's lips, for his throat tightens painfully at the sight of her.  Even so she turns to look at him, her eyes round and luminous in the soft light.  The tight knot in his chest seems to writhe and tighten more for there are deep shadows of pain in those glistening eyes.  Her face, the planes and curves of it once so perfectly chiseled, is gaunt, the soft lips pulled into a tight line and dark shadows like bruises underscore her eyes.  The soft lashes sweep her cheeks as she blinks uncertainly and then turns away to stare again at something just out of Aulë's sight.  As she stands there staring, the world around her seems to grow dark, and she begins to fade into that darkness before his eyes.

"Yavanna!"he croaks again, taking a step forward, his hand reaching out to touch her.  Again her head turns to look at him.  Her brow furrows with uncertainty, and her eyes blink in confusion before her chin drops, and she stares down at where her hands fidget uncertainly with the edge of her cloak.  Never has Aulë seen her thus; uncertain, confused.. hurting.  Not even when so very long ago now, they had clashed over the dwarves, when he had so arrogantly told her they would kill and take her beloved trees for their forges, and she had pleaded tearfully with Manwë for it not to be so.  Ahh, then there had been fire and determination flashing in those shining eyes.  Never, never before had he seen them carry such desolation.

Watching her now, standing before him so dejected, the hard knot in his chest tightens more until it seems he can no longer draw breath. "Yavanna! Forgive me!" he manages to gasp and takes another step towards her.

At his words, she raises her head and stares at him, her lips quivering, her whole body seeming to tremble where she stands.  She turns her head again and gazes at that something he cannot see.  She glances back at him, and he can see a single tear shimmer and fall upon her cheek.  With a sorrowful shake of her head she turns from him and walks away, towards that something, and disappears utterly into the darkness around her.

"No!" Aulë gasps. "NO!" This time his voice rings out with all his yearning and regret.  He lunges after her and falls painfully.   He lies there a moment in the dark, dazed, his breath rasping between his lips.  He places his palms upon the ground to push himself upright, but it is not a soft, leafy forest floor he feels beneath them but cold hard stone.  Confused he wills a small ball of light into existence and pushes himself up to look about him.

He blinks as familiar shapes take form about him, and with their emergence memory comes flooding back.  How long has it been that he has searched for her?  Desperate to find her he has roamed the very length and breadth of Aman.  From the Woods of Orome, to his own Mansions, and further, he had searched.  North almost to the grinding ice of Helcaraxe, to the far western shores and through Tirion he had searched.  But he has found no sign of her. Nothing.  Finally he had returned to her deserted palace, his body utterly exhausted and collapsed fully clothed upon her bed.
A dream. It had been a dream then.  He fingers the soft linen sheet that had entangled his legs, causing him to fall to the floor as he had lunged for her.  Wistfully he raises it to his face and rubs his cheek against it, the bristles from a face long unshaved rasping against the soft fabric.  Her body had lain against this sheet. It had enfolded her along the length of her being, felt her form, held her.  Balling it in both his fists he buries his face in it hoping to catch a lingering breath of her perfume, but there is nothing but the slightly musty smell of linen left unused, and sweat and leather from where he had fallen, unwashed from his journey, onto the bed.

"Yavanna." His whisper is hoarse and broken, redolent of the tears he had not known were being shed.  "Yavanna." And the tears become sobs as brokenly, Aulë Tulka Marda, the great Smith of Arda, calls for the wife he has lost.

Olwe's Offer

Played By:
AelKennyr Rhiano
BelenosStormChaser Magic
Rhun Darkmoon
Shawn Daysleeper


Eilif 's lips tighten but she does not drop her gaze as Olwe regards her.  While she has begun to come to terms with her disfigurement, with only the slight tugging of the tight new scar from time to time to remind her of its existence, still it took effort not to drop her eyes in shame under the Elf King's gaze.   Her chagrin turns to a small amusement as he listens to him speak.  So she had nettled him a little, it seems.  She watches his face as he speaks first to Adelstienn and then turns his attention back to her.  Emotions play across the finely chiseled features, and his eyes shadow with pain as he speaks of his cousin.  Well, not a pompous one, at least, she concedes to herself, but then anyone can speak fine words and act a part.

((She watches his face...))

Eilif puts her now cold pipe on the table as she replies, "Aye, Aztryd and her babe are with us.  That babe has a fine pair of lungs and likes to exercise them during the night so she has retired early to get some rest."  She deliberately lets her eyes roam his form, taking in the crumpled salt encrusted clothing and the disheveled hair before continuing. "I must confess, you do not quite live up to the elegant, well-attired image she gave us of you, but no doubt she was starry eyed by your majesty.  Indeed, you are almost as good at story-telling as she."

((..the crumpled salt-encrusted clothing and the dishevelled hair..))

Nasi is even more glad of the hand that hides his smile as he listens to Eilif's reply.  Again he admires her pluck.  If only Fafnir were here to hear this!  So this is the one in whose hands their fate rests.  He drops his hands to his knees and leans forward to listen, waiting with interest to see what was said next, his dark eyes regarding the stranger with veiled curiosity.

((If only Fafnir were here to hear this!))

The Master Brewer regards Olwe thoughtfully. He says he is a king, but he certainly does not seem to act as one. He is definitely different from the other elves he has dealt with over the years. Most of the elves he encounters have a haughty demeanor. This one is certainly... odd... compared to his own prejudices. It seems Eilif will remain sharp-tongued, and he grimaces a little at her words to the elf king. The Elder is not one to judge the elves. Among the dwarves there are many differences, and he realizes that. So should be the way of the elves. Now that Olwe has appeared before them, the offer seems genuine. Looking around at the others, though, he sees concern. "Your... majesty, "he says uncertain, "you are very generous to come before us, but I would like to ask you if you would tell us about your land." The Elder then reaches for his mug for a drink.

((The Master Brewer regards Olwe thoughtfully.))

Just beyond, in the huge fireplace that serves also as a cook-fire, the flames twist and dance merrily, a kindly sound, a familiar sound, one that is the same the whole of Middle Earth.  Mingled in the popping sound of the logs as they burned are the voices upstairs of the sea merchant Nole and the disguised Lord of Dreams, Irmo-who-is-Etelin.  Nole's voice, a clear bell-like sound that is answered intermittently by Estelin's lower, deeper voice.  Comforting, the voices, despite the current tension between the three of them.

Olwe cocks his head, giving Eilif a long and measuring look, taking in the brittle sharpness of her words, and the even sharper gaze she turns upon him.  Flattening his hand upon the wood trestle table, he shifts his body into a more relaxed pose.  "I am glad she and the babe are safe," He says after a moment, his voice calm and measured.  He lifts his gaze and regards the other, younger, male dwarf, who is, most assuredly, watching Olwe, but, as Olwe has noticed, watches with but half his attention. He notes the dwarf's posture, his bearing, the tautness that seems to be in every muscle.  At last he turns his gaze to the courteous Elder and inclines his head.

  "Please, friend," he answers gently, his gaze warming as he studies the open and friendly face of the Master Brewer. "To you all, I am but another elf, I know."  And he gives Eilif a side look and then adds, "A most unmajestic one by report." He smiles to soften the words. "But I will promise the lady here,"

(("To you all, I am but another elf, I know."))

He lifts a hand to indicate the dwarf beside him, "that upon the morrow, I shall try, for her gracious sake, to appear a bit more kingly. "  He looks back over to include both Nasi and Adelsteinn in his gaze.  "It is enough to call me Olwe, " He says simply.  "And I imagine you are indeed, curious about Alqualonde."

(("..I shall try.. to appear a bit more kingly."))

His gaze softens as he speaks of his beloved Swanhaven, and before him, in his mind's eye, rises again the image of her shores, the curve of the shoreline, the call of the swans, the smell of the salt air there, the sounds of Telerin voices raised up in song. Again, as the words fall like water from his most favored waterfall, he hears the call of fisher-elves upon the docks, boasting of their catch that day and their catches on the morrow.  He speaks to them, and his voice swells and fall, like the waves, like the tides, as he once again relives coming first upon her shores, seeing for the first time the high King of all Elves, Ingwe, kneeling upon the sandy beach in hushed awe and fear as Ulmo himself  bestowed the pearl circlet he now wears--has worn-- through all the ages.

((His gaze softens as he speaks of his beloved Swanhaven.))

He speaks of the kinslaying as the fire banks in the fireplace and has to be replenished by a slender female elf, whose Sindar heritage cannot be denied.  He speaks of nights under a twilight sky, and star-strewn days. He speaks, finally, of the vision from Irmo, which began this new turn in his life, that gave the dawn to this 4th Age and took a peaceful land and a peaceful king into the center of a dark prophecy.  He finally bows his head and falls silent, waiting, not daring to look over at the female beside him, for he could feel her hostility and resentment, a well banked heat. He does not look over at the younger dwarf, for he feels that one is anticipating someone or something not in this tavern room. He looks not at the dwarf elder, for there is nothing in his look that can say more than his words, his gestures, his looks have in the vast telling.  He sits, and he waits.

((He sits, and he waits.))

Eilif draws her feet up on the bench as she listens to Olwe's long tale, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring at nothing as her head fills the visions his words create.  When he finally falls silent she shakes her head a little to clear it of the images there.  "Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with your tongue at least," she murmurs before looking to Adelstienn to guage his thoughts. Behind him, she can see Nasi shifting anxiously in his seat, clearly only paying half attention to what was being said.

((Behind him she can see Nasi..))

Nasi cannot help his gaze turning yet again to the tavern door.  What IS Fafnir?  In such a short time that tall, lanky dwarf has become such a close part of him.  He is nearly always at his side and Nasi has to admit to himself he likes it that way.  Now with him gone for so long, even the novelty of Olwe's arrival cannot keep Nasi's attention for long.  He sighs as the door remains firmly closed.  He tries again to listen to the elf's tales of far shores and distant events knowing Fafnir would want to hear it all when he returns.

((Where IS Fafnir?))

 Adelsteinn listens quietly to Olwe's story. After he finishes speaking.  the Elder replies, "There has been little inclination of helpfulness between our two kinds." He looks towards Eilif with a meaningful look, hoping she sees it."I am sure I do not need to remind you of that, Olwe." He then continues with a more inquisitive tone. "If I may ask, why would an elf of clearly long and noble history bother with a down and out group of homeless dwarves you have never met before?"

((He looks towards Eilif with a meaningful look...)

Olwe lifts blue eyes to look about the room, There, on the fire, two fine fat hens have been set upon a spit to cook, and the smells of grease dripping into the fire and flesh cooking fills the room.  But for the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, the travails of the journey settle heavy on his shoulders and in his lower back.  Elves are slowly starting to filter in...one or two more at the bar now, talking in low, silken voices in a mixture of Sindar and other tongues foreign to the Teleri King. He is weary, now that he has laid before them his love and his story of his Alqualonde.  Turning his head, he answers Adelsteinn but fixes his gaze solely upon Eilif.  

((..he..fixed is gaze solely upon Eilif))

" I am a child of Eru. You are the children of the Smith. Some may see that as cause enough to create a river of suspicion and doubt and mistrust between our races.  I am elf, and you are Khazad, and the history between our people is replete with those mistrusts and those doubts. Great evil has been done because people from both our races decided to swim that river of suspicion.

(("I am a child of Eru."))

"But I will not dive into those waters.  I have not lived my life to now swim in that river.  When Aztryd was found in Alqualonde, I saw not a child of the Maker. I saw a mother and a child. I was a father once. I, too, held my child in my arms, and I know what it is like to do anything, anything for that child. I see you now, and I see a people on a journey. The end they know not. Their future they know not.  They do not know, I think me, what the morrow will bring.  And once I was a traveler like you, a refugee upon a quest like you. I guess one may say that again I am a traveler, upon a quest whose end he knows not.

 "I offer you home in Alqualonde. I understand if you say no.  I will give you what aid as you may require of me and may wish to receive from me. But I do it not for a group of beings I see as lesser. I do it for a group who are not, truly, so very different than me."  He raises a hand and tries to stifle a yawn.

(("I offer you home in Alqualonde."))

"Forgive me, friends, for the day was long, and the night calls to me to rest upon a bed that does not sway with the lull of the ocean."  He rises smoothly to his feet, his weariness not merely from the day but from the enormity of what lies before him.  "May we talk further upon the morn?"

A Chance Encounter

Played by:
AelKennyr Rhiano
BelenosStormchaser Magic
Rhun Darkmoon
Shawn Daysleeper



   "...help Olwe gather our packs from the hold and bring them to the dock..." said Nole.

Not King or Lord, simply Olwe. The Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea watches the sea merchant as he walks towards a build that could only belong to the harbor-master.  Blue eyes the color of the seas note the set of the merchant's shoulders, the weight of his steps.  Never has Nole referred to his king as simply "Olwe," and while Olwe does not correct his companion, he purses his lips thoughtfully.  Has something broken in their relationship that cannot be mended, or must time be the weaver, and Olwe must learn to thread patience into the repair of his mistakes. The salt air mingles with the smell of fruit left all day beneath a hot sun; a smell that both entices his stomach into loud complaints and causes it to roil, for the sweetness of the smell is cloying and overripe.

So, too, must now patience be part of the weave the fabric of forgiveness from Estelin, who is secretly the Vala Irmo, Lord of Dreams.  The disguised Vala has a haunted and gaunt look about him, his cheeks hollowed and dark circles under his eyes.  The measuring look he gives to Olwe is one full of reproach, though naught is spoken between the two. In silence, the two haul their gear and packs up from the hold of the ship, the smell of cramped quarters and recent sickness nearly gagging the Eldar king.  The wait for Nole upon the docks was done in a drowsy silence, as evening crept across the sky and descends upon the elven port.   The cries of market vendors fade with the setting sun, and the soft sounds of merchants putting away their goods for another day, the sounds of mothers and children hurrying home to hearth and supper, the cries of babes hungry  for teat and bed, settle the Grey Havens into the end of another day.

Nole returns and  with a gesture, the three from Alqualonde fall into step with each other and make their way from the docks along a cobbled street, well-tended and clean to a large tavern. Silence follows their footsteps, and the trapped heat of the day rises through the stones through the soles of their boots, warming their feet.  At the door, Nole reaches out and places a hand against the worn wood, which disappears to reveal the interior, dark and cool and sparsely populated.  Olwe follows, casting a last look around outside before stepping into the coolness of the tavern and standing at the door, waiting for Nole's lead.

((..waiting for Nole's lead.))

Nasi 's thumb stops the relentless digging at the knot in the wooden tabletop as he feels the puff of cool air against his cheek.  His dark eyes look up expectantly, but it is not Fafnir who stands in the doorway.  Disconsolately he eyes the small group of elves standing a little uncertainly just inside the door.  But they are not Farnir, his Fafnir, and Nasi quickly loses interest in them and drops his eyes back to the table.  Where is he?  His thumbnail digs again at the irregularities of the knot. "I'll be back soon, Handsome," he had promised just as they were entering the Inn late this afternoon, and melted into the crowd in the marketplace before Nasi could stop him.  Where is he?

((Where is he?))

Eilif puffs diligently on her pipe until it is drawing evenly.  She drops the smoldering coal into the fire and leans the tongs back against the side of the fireplace, muttering a little to herself about the overly large size of them.  This was an elven city and nothing is made dwarf sized.  They are going to live in another elven city, if this Olwe ever arrives, so for a while at least, it was something she is going to have to get used to.

((It was something she was going to have to get used to.))

Returning to the table, Eilif clambers awkwardly onto the too-tall bench, taking her place next to Adelstienn again and watches most of the dwarves make their way up to the lodging area.  Few of them ever linger in the tap-room for long, preferring to eat early and retreat upstairs rather than endure the company of the elven patrons, who usually came later in the evening seeking food, ale and merry company.  Even Aztryd has sought her bed early this night, having endured a few sleepless nights with an unsettled babe.

((... taking her place next to Adelstienn..))

Eilif takes a long satisfied draw on her pipe and settles in to enjoy some quiet conversation now supper is finished and there is no whining baby to talk across. Her eyes are drawn to the quiet stonemason as he fidgets in his seat. The space next to him, usually occupied by the tall dwarf Fafnir is empty tonight.  She opens her mouth, about to ask his whereabouts when a cold gust of wind swirls around them.  Slitting her eyes against the windblown smoke from her pipe, she peers towards the door. Perhaps it is him now.

((Perhaps it is him now.))

Adelsteinn watches Eilif look up as the door opens. He sees another elf in the doorway, actually three more. With a sigh he has another drink of ale and contemplates their next move. It seems that this Olwe should be here by now. His thoughts turn to perhaps seeking out more permanent lodging here in town. Staying in the Inn is certainly not cheap. "We may be able to hold off on that if we can somehow earn our keep," he thinks silently.

((...this Olwe should be here by now.))

Nole and Estelin enter the tavern of the Green Leaf Inn with Olwe. The early evening nip in the air  has come off  the harbor outside and makes Nole appreciate the warmth that greets him as he enters. He glances around the room and raises his eyebrows to see one group of dwarves at the table in the corner. He murmurs to Olwe ,"Perhaps you do not have to look too far to find your passengers after all?"

At that moment, Estelin heaves a sigh. The voyage makes him feel very weak and bilious. While he is glad to have his feet on solid ground again, his stomach churns a bit at the smell of the cooking food as he enters the tavern. Nole notices the sighing groan as he turns to him. "I think it will be wise if I hurry him upstairs away from the food." He turns to Olwe as he speaks.

Olwe's gaze is drawn to a corner of the tavern where sits a company of dwarves. The table is laden with the remnants of a sizable repast, the smell of the glazed ham, the roasted bird, the fresh baked bread and the the stew causing his mouth to water.  But the moan which rises from the seasick Vala underscores Nole's suggestion.  Turning to Nole, he says softly,"Perhaps with a good night's rest on a bed on land, our musician will feel much restored in the morn. You are a good and true soul, my friend Nole. "Yes, please see him settled, and I will greet our Khazad friends."  He watches Nole and Estelin cross the expanse of the inn and mount the stairs to a wide landing where sits barrels and crates. Then the two turn and ascend another set of stairs.  Drawing in a breath, Olwe squares his shoulders and walks over to the  dwarves seated there.  "Is there room for another?" he asks in the common language.  "I would sit with you, if you allow."

(("I would sit with you, if you allow."))

Nasi looks up in surprise as he hears quiet footsteps approach their table.  The tallest of the group was making his way across the tap-room, seemingly intent on approaching them.  Glancing behind him, he realises the other two have disappeared unnoticed.  As he watches the stranger he cannot help but notice the graceful self-assurance with which he moves, the way his silver hair, even though slightly bedraggled and windblown, glints with light from the fire as it lifts upon the gentle eddies of air at his passing.  He is tall, even for an elf.  Nasi notices with approval the fine but well toned muscles that are outlined by the fabric of his clothing.  Not a city elf then, but one who trains with weapons, this much is clear.  Nasi lifts a hand to rub against his chin thoughtfully as he waits to hear what his business is with the small group of dwarfs.  Even as he waits he cannot help but glance impatiently at the door again. Where IS Fafnir?

((Nasi looks up in surprise..))

Eilif's eyes look over the new arrivals, taking in their slightly disheveled appearance and the slightly greenish tone of the skin of the one standing in the rear.  Not locals, by the looks of them.  Perhaps they have come from the ship she had watched limp its way into port earlier that evening.  She glances sideways to where the Elder sits apparently lost in thought next to her, her teeth chewing thoughtfully on the stem of her pipe.  She had not wished to add to his worries by mentioning the poor state of the ship she had seen, nor even that she had been out in the city alone.  Now though, if her guess is right, he might still come to hear of it.  She turns her dark eyes back to the group, watching them carefully and hoping with all her might that they would choose to sit well out of earshot of her group.

((She had not wished to add to his worries...))

Eilif  watches as the taller of the group of elves turns to murmur something to his companions, whereupon they make their way upstairs.   Her eyes widen in surprise as the remaining elf makes his way directly to their table.  Her chin tilts up and up as he approaches closer.  By the Maker this one was tall indeed.  Her teeth close tightly on the stem of her pipe when he pauses by their table and asks to join them, and her eyes dart automatically to Adelstienn to gage his response.

((..her eyes dart automatically to Adelstienn..))

Adelsteinn watches the taller elf approach with curiosity. None of the other elves that came in or out have taken any interest in their little band. Not only that, this one is quite impressive, as elves go. He is actually quite taken by him. "Please have a seat." An elf asking to join the company of dwarves? He believed such hospitality died long ago, before the fall of Belegost and Nogrod, the home of his ancestors.

 "There is room for you." He gestures across from him. "I am Adelsteinn. Who might you be?" he asks curiously, not wanting the hospitality to change.

((..this one was quite impressive, as elves go..))

As Olwe waits for a response from the band of dwarves, his blue eyes watch with intense curiosity  as as perfect rings of white smoke rise from the bowl of the pipe Eilif is holding.  He smiles at Adelsteinn as he hears the kind, and well-measured answer, but instead of sitting across from the little gathering, he moves slowly and with the grace of his race around to take the vacant spot on the same bench, offering a shy smile to Eilif as he lowers himself upon the bench.  The salt of the sea has stiffened the linen of his shirt, and it crackles softly even as the leather creaks.  Turning to the others, he address Eilif, his command of the common tongue made possible from the sailors like Nole who have traded through the ages with their kindred in Middle Earth, but his accent surely different to their ears.

"Your pipe," He says. "Came it from the wee folks," He pauses, floundering for the name given the sturdy smaller folk. "My cousin gave unto me a pipe much like that and the weed which one smokes. " His pause this time is because of the small dagger of regret, of pain for not having been able to see the Sylvan Queen, his nearest kin in the mortal world. "But I must confess me that I have not yet tried this habit of pipe and smoke." He continues, pushing past the tightness in his chest, his eyes clearing again of the ache. He turns to Adelsteinn and gives a nod. "I am Olwe of Alqualonde," he tells him.

Nasi 's eyebrows rise in surprise at the newcomer's melodious voice.  He lifts a hand to stroke his mustache and hide his smile as the elf not only chooses to sit next to Eilif but speaks with her, for Nasi knows well Eilif's thoughts on elves.  Oh, if Fafnir were here to see this! His eyes start to stray again to the door but then he hears the name "Olwe" and he turns in his seat and looks again at the elf. Olwe!  Olwe of Alqualonde, he had said.  He narrows his eyes thoughtfully and settles back to listen and watch.

((He.. settles back to listen and watch.))

Eilif lowers her pipe and ducks her head, trying in vain to hide the wound that disfigures her face.  Although now mostly healed, still it has left a wide and as yet still vivid scar.  She stares down at the glowing contents of the bowl of her pipe and almost gasps aloud at the stranger takes a seat beside her.  Under the pretext of shifting back in her seat politely so she is not between the Elder and the elf, she slides a little closer to Adelstienn, turning slightly so her shoulder is not rudely turned but not enough that she must show her face clearly.

((...she slides a little closer to Adelstienn))

Eilif is grateful she has lowered her pipe, for her breath hisses in between her teeth as she realizes the elf is speaking to her.  Her eyes are hard flecks of obsidian black as she continues to stare down at her pipe and her tone is only slightly softer as she replies, "Aye, it came from those whom you no doubt consider wee folks from your lofty height, as did the good leaf that is in it."  She turns and lifts her eyes, staring full into his regardless of her disfigurement, as she continues, "Does Olwe of Alqualonde receive so many gifts that he often leaves them untouched and unused?"

((She turns and lifts her eyes, staring full into his..))

 Adelsteinn smiles a little at Eilif's sharp tone, realizing she is hardly likely to be warm to any elf. "Olwe of Alqualonde?" The Elder asks looking in surprise at the elf. "If I may, you do not look particularly kingly. You seem..." he looks over Olwe's muscular form... "seems like you do all the work yourself. I noticed the two that came in with you were much slimmer." He looks at his companions a moment before continuing. Are you, indeed, Aztryd's Olwe?"

Olwe watches her shift in her seat, and slide close to the one called Adelsteinn, his blue eyes widening a little at her reply. Across her face, in a jagged diagonal line, he sees the pucker and still angry flesh of a still healing scar.  In her voice, he hears the same as well.  He looks up and past Eilif to the red-haired male dwarf, who, from his carriage, must be their leader.  To Adelsteinn he answers first. "I am Olwe, and I did meet Aztryd when she, through some strand of Vaire's loom, upon our shores found herself. " He looks about the room and then back to the Elder. "I hope that she is with you, and her child, and both are safe, for precious are children and their mothers." He ducks his head a moment, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"I am Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea," he continues, and the firelight catches the faintest glint off the pearl circlet that sits upon his forehead.  "And I am King of the Teleri, although caked with the salt of the sea and my sweat does not make me look particularly majestic." He rests an arm upon the table and leans in to include them all in his gaze. "A band of metal does not a king make, nor finery nor cloth of gold. " And here he stops a moment, then continues slowly. "For I cannot ask another to do what I myself would not."

(("I am Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea."))

He turns his gaze upon Eilf, the ache for his cousin open in his eyes. "I speak from no lofty height, my lady.  Forgive me if the name of the people who make such a wondrous creation such as you hold escapes me.  But I have been told the folk are small in stature as well as mighty in heart, and to be so, I think, is no slight. " He lifts a hand and gestures to her pipe, coloring a little more. "I would try this...smoking, if one who knows how would show me once we are returned to Alqualonde. For that alone has left me with wont of trying it.  That.." he swallows and then finishes," That, and it was the last gift I received from her.  She...she smiled as she gave it, and the memory I have not wanted to touch, lest it be colored with less happier and more recent remembrances."

A New Day

Played by:
Cinnamon Raymaker


Elwing awakes from a restless slumber and streches her body from the somewhat cramped position in which she had been resting. Her dreams have taken her time and again through the tumultous events she had experienced since the disappearance of Earendil and Vingilot.

Foremost in her mind at this particular moment is a preoccupation with her uncle. When will King Olwe return from his important journey? Important because it is a mission to rescue Aztryd and her kin from their wrecked clan home, and who knows what else? Elwing also wonders how safe would be her uncle and the stalwart sailor Nole, both sailing into the same unknown situation. How many survivors would they find? How many would they be able to bring back to safety?

Elwing rises from her bed and dresses hurriedly, splashing water on her face and dabbing it dry with a soft cloth hanging by the wash bowl. Disregarding the rumbling in her stomach, she finds herself wandering her uncle's palace, pacing, ever pacing.

The break of day is imminent, and the sun's rays will take their time reaching out to the balcony on which she stands. She raises her eyes and looks whimsically across the sky for a sign of the morning star; her head tells her it is not going to be there but her heart ever holds the hope that it will appear. Sadly, it is still missing.

"One day," she whispers to herself, "everything will again be right in the world. My beloved will be returned to me, and I will be there to meet him - even if I have to go search him out myself!"

Elwing is unsure how this will be achieved, but she believes she must retrace her steps to the place near which she last saw the morning star before it disappeared from view. To do this, she must again rebuild her strength and will, hoping that the Valar, Lord Ulmo, will again support her in her quest.

Patience and the ability to weather the storm alone have been ever present in Elwing's emotional artillery. They will again stand her in good stead as she works towards helping her Uncle and Aztryd's people have a comfortable homecoming when they  return to this safe haven of the swans. Looking across the abandoned marketplace she notes the calmness of the swans in their haven and takes a calming breath herself.

With her promise to herself and her beloved firmly tucked away inside her, she heads for the palace entrance and starts to make her way down to the lands below, mentally reviewing the items she will need to collect for storage in preparation for the visitors the Swanhaven will be hosting once Olwe and Nole return with them from the Grey Havens.

Silence

Played by:
Rhun Darkmoon



They say the night is darkest just before the dawn, yet in Middle Earth even at that hour, the night-time sky is still lit with myriads of stars.  One can gaze upon it, and despite its inky expanse there is no sense of emptiness, for the glorious panoply of heavenly bodies that reign there fill the eye and mind with a beauty beyond belief.  If one listens, breathes deep and truly listens, the ear cannot hear it, yet the very air seems to vibrate with an ethereal celestial chorus.  Standing, eyes cast upwards, feeling rather than hearing the Song of the Stars, one can never feel truly alone, or truly bereft, for every living thing seems part of that Song, cradled in the velvety embrace of the night-time sky.

Aulë has always likened the mental connection shared by the Ainur to this night-time magnificence.  In the vast space of thought the presence of each of the Ainur shimmers diamond bright needing only a conscious effort to reach out and touch the mind of one of those shining beings.  Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Irmo, all of them he could pinpoint exactly should he have need.  Each shone in his mind with their own personal radiance, each hums with their own recognizable vibration.  As with the diamond-bright midnight sky of Middle Earth, he has never felt truly alone.  Always there has been that connection there.

Brightest and most beautiful of all for Aulë has been the light of Yavanna.  Now as he runs-- long, well-muscled legs covering the ground in easy rapid strides-- he searches for that light.  "Yavanna!" he calls into his consciousness, but there is nothing but echoing silence.  The place in his mind where her light has always shone is nothing but a dull flat blackness.  "Yavanna!" his cry echoes through his mind, vibrating with an increasing desperation.  To not see her light, to not "feel" her there wrenches at him; a physical pain far worse than the protest of muscles pushed beyond endurance in his haste to reach her palace.  His lungs burn with their need for oxygen, his breath rasping hoarsely, as he forces this physical body to his will, but it as nothing to the pain of her absence from his awareness.

He trips and stumbles painfully.  His legs, rubbery with exhaustion, are barely able to stop him from falling.  So preoccupied has he been searching his consciousness for her he has not noticed that for some time now he has been running through her realm, the Pastures of Yavanna, until his feet trip on the first step of her palace.  Now as he catches his balance, he surrenders to the needs of his body and stands, hands on knees, half bent, with mouth open as he gasps for breath.   He stares down at the inlaid marble between his feet, feet covered in dust from his rapid journey.  A half-hearted rueful smile curls his lips as he mutters, "Well, you certainly know how to present yourself in such a manner to impress a lover."  The smile fades from his face, for he knows it will take far more than clean feet to mend what he must mend.

His breathing more steady now, although tremors still run through the tortured muscles of his legs, he straightens at last and looks about him, seeking the comforting sight of home - her home, yes-- but where she abides is always home to him.  The small light of pleasure that had begun to shine in his eyes at the prospect of home dies stillborn as he gazes upon her gardens.  Wizened, yellow and dead now stood where once had been verdant and lush.  Mighty trees that have stood tall and majestic through all the Ages were now leafless, their bare branches clawing blindly at the sky; some with the stark raw wounds where branches have broken and fallen.  The elegant terraced gardens are lifeless and brown. Shrubs and plants that have bloomed eternally are nothing but husks, fallen and broken, so dried and lifeless as to be unable to support their dead weight.

With growing horror Aulë turns to see the beautiful ivy that drapes the palace is nothing more than a shriveled web of brittle twigs.  A last surviving withered leaf drops and falls as he watches, joining a myriad of others that litter the once immaculate marble entrance.  Beyond he can see the magnificent oak on the upper terrace.  How he had teased her when first she had planted it there, saying they would find acorns in their supper one day, while secretly he had been pleased at her vision. Together they had watched the seedling grow and flourish until its spreading branches had stood like a dense green crown over her palace, branches that were now dead and broken, one limb lying shattered against the marble colonnade.

"Yavanna!" This time his cry is ragged and urgent as he forces his still protesting legs to carry him up the steps and into the palace. "Yavanna!" His call echoes around the empty rooms as he searches for her.  "By Eru, what's happened here?" he mutters under his breath as he finds nothing but silence and decay.  Where are her Maiar?  Surely they would know.  But the palace is still and silent.  Standing on the upper terrace, having searched every room, Aulë looks down upon the devastation around him.  Life, there is no life here at all.  Nothing stirs.  No birds sing in the bleached gardens.  No small things scurry in the now dead forests.  No one stirs in the palace.  Aulë is quite alone.

Again he reaches out with his consciousness, feeling for her, but all he feels is a sense of despair.  Looking around him he cannot tell if it comes from the air around him or inside his own heart.  He reaches again for her and again there is utter silence.   Yavanna is gone.  She is utterly gone.  He fights the urge to fall to his knees and howl like a babe as the realization washes over him.  "No!"Tthe cry is wrenched from his throat.  No!  She cannot be gone!   He would find her. He MUST find her!

I Know I Belong

Played by:
AelKennyr Rhiano
Shawn Daysleeper


It has been some time since Manwë has returned from Mandos. He still worries about the condition of his Herald. He dearly misses Eonwë at his side in the throne room, but does not wish to summon him to the White Mountain. He decides to go see for himself how his healing is progressing. Out of care and loss he goes to the lake in Lorien for a moment of serenity before meeting him.

((Out of care and loss he goes to.. Lorien.))

The lake is clean and clear. It's magical properties absorb all evil from those that are being cleansed. It is a quiet place, and he welcomes the serenity and calm after the chaos and darkness he has been feeling in the underground hold of Mandos and in Melkor's old prison. The prison is now safely inaccessible and buried under rubble by the Lord of the West himself. Such things are now past, and the West is renewed.

He is now eager to see if his Herald is healed. At the shoreline, he looks over the smooth waves, seeking out Eonwë.

Clouds drape themselves across a velvet sky that never changes, never loses the calm tranquility of an unscarred place.  Soft they look, as they do a slow and majestic saunter across the skies, and the trees atop the great waterfall behind the Maia seem to stretch green branches towards them, as though their limbs could reach and trail wood fingers across the smoothness of the clouds.   Crickets call a drowsy counterpoint to the raucous song of the water as it dances and slips across worn and lichen covered stone to drop into the waters of the lake.  Breathing deep as he floated languidly swims, the perfume of trees heavy with fruit, flowers drunk with their own nectar, and the heady scent of green grasses fill his lungs.  Powerful arms slice through the surface of the water as the Maia, at ease now in this physical form, glides through water, unaware of his grace, unaware of his beauty, conscious of creation around him, of him, in him, and nothing more.

The water, cool when he enter, slides over his flesh like the warm carress of a patient lover, and when he pauses in his swim, treading water, little fish rise from some hidden sanctuary and nibble at his toes, causing the Maia so gasp in surprise and splashes the water as he jumps.. laughter spilling from his lips, rushing to fill the air with another sound of creation.

(("Laughter?" thinks Manwe.))

The serenity of the garden does not hurry Manwë. He strolls further along the lake shore enjoying the beauty around him. He enjoys setting aside his worries and duties while he seeks out his Herald. Walking further he is drawn by the sound of laughter. "Laughter?" thinks Manwë. He spies a form in the water and recognizes it as Eonwë.

((He spies a form in the water.. Eonwe.))

Water, Air. It is but a difference of sensation, thinks Eonwe as he dives down into the water, feeling the push of the water against his body. Touching the bottom, he pauses as he flexes and then clenches his toes, the silt softness of the bottom sliding between and over those same toes. The disturbance to the bottom causes little brown puffs of silt and sand to rise up as Eonwe pushes off the bottom and propels his body back up to the surface. Breaking the surface of the water, Eonwe tosses his head forward and back, lifting a hand to push long dark wet hair back and away from his eyes.  There, on the banks, stands a figure that was not there before. A form well known and much loved.

((There, on the banks, stands a figure..))

There stands the Lord of the West. "Manwe, " Eonwe breathes, and the word is a song, a wind, a hope, a pledge of  love, and a prayer. He rises from the water, as soon as he utters the  word, uncaring and unashamed that he is clothed only in flesh. It is the Lord of Arda who stand there. His Lord, and his heart swells at the sight.

((He rises from the water.. clothed only in flesh.))

 Manwë feels his heart lighten at Eonwë's good spirits as he plays in the water. He sees how tranquil and confident he moves as he walks out of the lake. So very different from when he last saw him. He is free of the burden that had poisoned him before. The legacy of the Fallen One claims him not. Manwë looks him in the eyes and smiles. "Eonwë, my Herald."

((.. it is then that he realizes his nakedness.))

The wind swirls and dances across the lake, across the shore, as though to honor he who is the Lord of  Winds, and as it cools the water upon Eonwe's skin, it is then he truly realizes his nakedness.  A rosy flush sweeps across Eonwe's cheeks as the Maia, with a thought, adorns his body in a white rainment such as he has seen the Vanyar wear when attendant upon the Breath of Arda.  Blue eyes, so often sharp and level in their regard, now shine with a reflected love.  "Manwe, my Lord," answers Eonwe, now dressed fittingly to be in his Lord's presence. He closes the distance between him and his Lord and taking one of the hands of the Lord of the West, Eonwe drops to his knees and bows his head, touching his forehead to the back of Manwe's hand. "My Beloved Lord, "Eonwe says, and his voice is as it were before. No, no, it was more; deeper, richer, fuller, filled with equal parts joy and sorrow.

((Eonwe drops to his knees...)

Radiant is the face Eonwe turns up to gaze into the face of the Lord of the West. "I am thy servant, my Lord. Let the Will of the Lord of the West be my guide."

Manwë's face colors slightly at Eonwë's dedication. Holding Eonwe's hand he smiles. At last, he is healed. He urges Eonwë to his feet. "You, Eonwë, have stood at my side all the long ages of the world. Your actions and words say to me that you have indeed found the path of Herald once more. Your place is not at my feet, but at my side, as it once was. I now ask you, will you rise and take that place again and become the Voice of the Lord of the West?"

(("Your place is not at my feet..")

Eonwe rises at Manwe's urging, his gaze locked upon the face of the Lord of the West as his eyes shine with unshed tears, He clutches the hand tightly and swallows, confused for a moment at the sudden thickness of his throat, the loud pounding of his heart. Yes, he thinks remembering his dream/trance.  I am I, Eonwe. "I am Eonwe, who is your Maia, now and evermore. It is to be at your side that I exist, Lord othe West.  Let me be by your side. Let me serve you, with love and hope that I shall never again disgrace what I am or who you are. Command me, Lord of Arda, and thy words will be my will."

(("I am Eonwe, who is your Maia, now and evermore."))

Manwe looks at Eonwë, then looks at the empty place at his side. "Then if you will do my will, take your place beside me again. There you will serve me with love and hope." Manwë waits, holding his hand to his side.

(("..take your place beside me again..."))

The Great Song is in the voice of the Lord of the West, in his words, his look, his gesture. All about them, in the garden of Lorien,  to Eonwe, the Maiar, the Mightiest in Arms in Arda, He who was the Voice of the Lord of the West, all creation still and waited. Waited for the response of a Maia.  As does he who is the greatest of the Valar, the closest to the mind of Eru himself.   Here stands Father, brother, friend, Lord, and the answer that rises forth from Eonwe is part of that Song.

((Eonwe moves to take his place by Manwe's side.))

Smoothly, Eonwe moves to take his place by Manwe's side. "My Will is the will of the Lord of the West. He speaks, and I am his Voice. Thus it has been. Thus it shall always be." He pauses and then looks over at his Beloved Lord. "But now, my Lord, I know who I am. I know what I am.  And I know I belong." He gives a soft smile, then, just for his Lord. "I know I belong."

(("I know I belong."))

Grey Havens, At Last

Played by:
AelKennyr Rhiano
BelenosStormchaser Magic
Shawn Daysleeper


Olwe, Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, King of the Teleri elves, lifts eyes as blue as the ocean beneath them up, watching as the mountain ranges slowly grow larger and larger.  The blue-grey of the rock blends in with the verdant green, and on the peaks are still caps of ice and snow at the higher elevations.  The crippled swanship bobs upon the gentle swaying waves, and it lurches drunkenly, off-balanced despite as the sea merchant brought the ship into the mouth of the harbor.

Olwe shifts his weight, and the boiled leather of his armor creaks in response, but the sound is lost in the lapping of the water. Olwe turns his head back and starts to offer to help the sea merchant, his tongue and teeth pulling down his top lip to lick the sea salt from it.  His eyes feel gritty, and his lips and mouth parched and dry.  It was a hard journey, done without complaint on Olwe's part, for the Teleri king feels the weight of his defiance of the Vala Ulmo settle upon his shoulders and across his lower back. It was a hard job to mend the sail enough to be seaworthy, and parts of the sail did not hold up to the wind, hanging instead down in tatters. The ropes, however, held strong, and the merchant more than steady at the helm.

Grey Havens unfolded gradually for Olwe; a sprawling stone-hewn port, boasting functionality , utility, and at the same time a delicate beauty, as  the harbor city sat cradled by the Blue Mountains and kissed by the sea. Are they here, Olwe wonders. The Khazad. Did they make it to Grey Havens? The swan that had flown with them circled and doubled back, for Alqualonde, he imagined, when Osse unleashed the storm that propelled them from Sylvhara.  Olwe has searched the skies for a glimpse of the swan, but  has been rewarded only with a cloudless sky and a red, scorching sun.  He could not send them a message, nor receive one, and now he wonders where they are, and if they are, and how they will receive him.

Nole is very pleased his makeshift repairs brought them from the sandy isle  to the Grey Havens. The last day of sailing has been very stressful on the sea merchant, and he suddenly begins to feel somewhat weary of keeping watch on the repairs. Looking at his king, he remembers his defiance against a Vala and a Maia, whose realms are the seas within sight of the wooded shores of Sylvhara. The unnatural storm that followed nearly wrecked his ship. With a relieved sigh at a safe haven, he scanned the markets from the deck of his ship afar, and he sees vacant stores on the waterfront. It looks like it may be difficult to find one to repair his ship. But for now weariness begins to take him as he prepares to step on the quay and secure the battered swanship.

Estelin looks out the portholes of the hold, seeing the distant Ered Luin and harbor city draw closer. With a relief the ship comes to a stop by the stone docks. The ship still bobs about gently, but after the waves he did not feel anywhere as queasy as he has the last few days. With a dissatisfied short nod towards the opening of the Gulf seaward, the domain of his brother Ulmo ad his surrogate, Osse, he rises with difficulty and ascends to the deck.

Eilif kicks at some small stone rubble underfoot. Here, on the  promenade by the lighthouse the dressed stone is old and weather-worn, patched with lichen of different colors like the worn out clothes of a once grand lady.  The glow of the rapidly lowering sun bathes the stone in a soft rosy glow, muting the air of age and decay that is so clearly evident in the noonday's harsher tones.

How old is Mithlond, she wonders, as she looks at the graceful curves of the harbor arches. Despite its somewhat functional purpose, the elves have always taken great pride in this city as they seem to with all their settlements, from what Eilif has seen, but in truth she has noticed fewer and fewer of their kind among the merchants and officials of the town over the course of her visits here.  Where they have gone, she did not know, but stores and homes that had once housed the businesses or families of elves now either stood vacant or hold the wares of men, for that race seems to be everywhere these day, except, of course, in the fastness of the dwarven cities.

Eilif's fingers play absently with the jewel in the hilt of her sword as she thinks about the two races.  She trusts one no better than the other really. Elves, humans, they were all Outsiders.  Despite this, though, and despite Adelstienn's admonition to always go about the city in pairs, Eilf has felt the need to be alone.  She has spent much of her life alone in Gamilfun, but since the Attack this small band has lived, breathed and even slept in close proximity.  Now with their arrival in Mithlond, their departure for a strange land across the ocean is that much more imminent.  Eilf, the sword at her hip prominently displayed to ward off any thoughts of her being an easy target for a light-fingered thief,  has slipped out the back door of the tavern and escaped up to the point that was home to one of the twin lighthouses of Mithlond.

Slowly Arien's vessel sinks behind them, rosy fingers stretching out for one last caress of the skies of Middle Earth before her vessel, too, docks, and lies still until next called to duty. Slowy, too, the crippled swanship  is guided by Nole, as a wind rises, as soft as a lover's breath upon a cheek, filling what parts of the sail are still whole. Now as they are moments away from dropping anchor and mooring the ship, the smells of a trading post rise and tease Olwe's nose. The fishy salt smell mingles with the hefty smell of cooking meat and the smell of vegetation, the "green" smell that comes from fruits and vegetables lately picked and laid out beneath a hot sun for inspection. There are noises, too, noises Olwe has not heard in his own beloved Swanhaven in, lo, these many months.

There are the calls of merchants, enticing sellers with, "Fresh Fish, fresh crabs...catch, catch, catch them as they have been caught!" How familiar the call! There another voice rises, ancient and cracked but strong for all that, the ancient accent thick and hard on the Teleri Lord's ears: "Oh-hey-oh..my wares must go.  The pots are black as they can be. In the looking glass, your fair face you'll see.  Pay my fair price, no one beats me. Oh-hey-oh!"

On and on, voices raised in the old tradition of haggling. Voices calling out for news of neighbors or of kin.  The squall of a child who has tripped over a cat, and now sits on the cobblestone, hot tears forgotten a moment later.  Voices offering leather, tools, jewels, cabbage, pipeweed, and things of which Olwe has never heard.  Voices, such a  cacophony of voices.  They sound both beautiful and discordant.  His eyes sting for a moment, and he blinks hard.  The sounds of life are like a blow to the gut after the near silence of Alqualonde.

Nole watches to ease his ship to settle next to the warf without damaging it further against the stonework. He hurries to furl the sails to keep the ship stable. He then drops anchor and moors his ship at the wharf. As the ship comes to rest he is very relieved to be here at last. He makes ready to secure the ship to the dock.

The teleri musician finally arrives on deck. He is very ready to set foot on dry land. He grabs the ropes to steady himself as the ship bobs around gently. Feeling his stomach, he sighs. He feels a new kind of pain there, one he has not felt in quite some time. The smell of cooking reaches his nostrils. "Am I feeling... hungry?" he barely voices aloud.

Eilif tugs the hood of her cape a little further forward.  The breeze off the water has a damp chill to it, which is very different from the crisp clear cold of the mountains.  As has become her habit since arriving in the city, whenever she is out and about her eyes are drawn to the ships in the harbor.  From this distance with the mighty peaks of the Gulf behind them, they seem tiny, like children's toys.  They bob and dip with the movement of the water, much the same as the twigs she had dropped into the clear mountain streams as a child.  Surely without the ropes that tie them to the wharves they would be as much at the mercy of the currents of the ocean as those twigs had been.   As her eyes roam the frail-looking timbers and rigging of the shipping a shiver passes through her that has nothing to do with the briskness of the late afternoon breeze.   It is with interest then she watches a new arrival to the harbor.

Eilif narrows her eyes to see it better in the swiftly gathering gloom of approaching evening, for this one was unlike any she has seen in port before.  As she watches, the ship seems to lurch drunkenly, and her own stomach lurches with it at the thought of being on board when a vessel does such a thing.  Eilif leans against the old stone arch, as she watches the ship settle awkwardly at the dock.  Even to her inexperienced eye, it is evident all is not as it should be with it.  Raw jagged edges of timber glare through the fine paintwork, and the sail, oddly smaller than those the other ships bore, was ragged and torn.  As she watches the captain fight the wind and water to bring his vessel safely to harbor she feels her stomach clench.  It appears they truly are as frail and vulnerable to the whims of wind and water as she fears. Her toes flex inside her boots as though reassuring themselves that for now, at least, she is still on good solid stone.

Nole steps ashore onto solid ground. With a grateful sigh, Estelin moves towards him. Nole holds up his hand as Estelin tries to come ashore however. "My friend, I need to check in with the harbor master and register our ship. Perhaps you could help Olwe gather our packs from the hold and bring them to the dock. When I come back we will go to a place to stay and seek out our dwarves." He looks around towards the large bustling city. Finding little people here may be a task. Dwarves are small, they barely come up to his waist. "There is naught for it just now," he concedes. "I think a good supper and rest are in order tonight." He nods to a stately looking building nearby. "I think the best place for us to stay is there. The Green Leaf Inn."

"Everything is changing.."

Played by:
Aelkennyr Rhiano
BelenosStormchaser Magic
Rhun Darkmoon
Shawn Daysleeper


Eilif 's eyes narrow, the deep brown darkening almost to chips of dark obsidian behind her lashes as she listens to the other dwarf. Her lips compress into a thin line as she reaches out to catch a handful of his beard in her fingers and give it a tug as sharp as her tone as she answers him. "So now not only are you dross and half-made, but you are cast aside by the Elder too, are you?  What a sorrowful life you have, Fafnir." Her voice crackles like the fire in the nearby grate. "You surprise me, for one I took as being rather sharp, by how blind you are."

(("You surprise me..."))

Eilif lets go of her grip on his beard lest she be tempted to yank it out by the roots, such is her annoyance with the young dwarf.  Setting both hands palm down on the table she studies them for a moment as she calms herself.  Strong, well-made, capable hands.  She wriggles the fingers on her right hand experimentally again, pleased to see the movement no longer caused her pain.

(("Everything is changing, Fafnir.."))

When she speaks again her voice is calmer, but her tone was firm and no-nonsense, "Everything is changing, Fafnir. Everything HAS changed. Try as we might, I cannot see us keeping the old ways once we are in this elven land. "  She looks up at him at last, "We are Khazad.  Our traditions and way of life has always defined us, but sometimes I have wondered if we have become as rigid as the stone we love so much in our dogged determination to follow that way of life. There was no place for different. There was no place change.  But everything IS different, and everything HAS changed.  What is more, it is going to change even more. At least here we could walk home if we wished, but when we step upon a ship and sail away our lives will be changed forever.  What we make of that, young Fafnir is up to us."  She looks at him searchingly, hoping he understood her meaning.

(("You know nothing of my life.."))

Fafnir shakes himself free of his stunned surprise, his cheeks reddening as a hand goes up to stroke the coarse hairs of his beard as his eyes narrow and lips purse. Silence follows her words, broken only by the sounds of the elf behind them, going about his duties, the shift of floorboards overhead and the crackle of the fire a few feet away. When he speaks in answer, his voice has nothing of the bantering tone about it, nothing light and soothing. The voice is low, the tone silken soft, and the words formed with a care. "You," he answers, and his hand resting upon the table curls into a fist. "You know nothing of my life, neither before nor now."  He draws in a breath. "We may all sleep together, eat together, trot down to the wharf and board that ship together, but nothing of that gives you to know my life, only what you see of this facade of society. " He draws himself up to his full height, back ramrod straight. "Sharp, you took me for? That is a rare thing to be taken for. Usually it is 'forgettable,' or 'usable,' but I can't saw that no one has watched me long enough to dwell long upon my attributes, or lack thereof."

He drops the hand that is fingering his beard and rests it beside her own. "My hands may not be callused, and it would be a fool who would depend upon me to shoe a horse or mine a copper vein, or fashion a cornerstone sturdy and true.  But I am not 'young Fafnir,' to be schooled. Not even in this brave new elven world we Khazad are sailing blithely into."

(("But I am not 'young Fafnir,' to be schooled.."))

Nasi quietly closes the lid on the wooden chest, taking care to make sure it was securely locked before rising to his feet and slipping the few gold coins he has taken from the chest into the small money pouch hanging from this belt.  It is never wise to carry too much coin in a strange city, he knows, but he had wanted to make sure he has enough on him to cover his and Fafnir's needs.  A smile curves the straight line of his lips at the thought of the other dwarf.  Fafnir.  His brave Fafnir who had stood with him to face a dragon yet gaped like a child at the novelty of the elven city.  There are depths to him that might take years for him to plumb. The smile on his lips grows wider at that thought.  Years with Fafnir.  It was not something he had ever imagined coming into his life.

Eilif tries to control the small smile that tugs at her lips, and she raises an eyebrow, half in jest, half in challenge, "When I shoe a horse I do not need to know its sire and dam to know its nature. Nor do I need to know what paddock it runs in, nor which barn it sleeps in, but I KNOW the horse.  You just have to watch how they move, how they stand, what their eyes do.  I can tell the ones who are simple creatures going through their lives with not a thought of anything but the next bucket of oats or trough of hay.  I know which are young and foolish that seem to have nothing but pure mountain air between their ears, and I can tell the ones with fire and spirit too."

Eilif leans forward to look into Fafnir's eyes. "You are not the first type. If you behave like the second type as you have just been doing, I shall call you 'young Fafnir,' for it is no less than you would deserve. You have much more than mountain air or solid rock between your ears, Fafnir, and you have fire and spirit, despite what you or others may sometimes think.  Nasi can see it, and so can I.  So once you tuck that stubborn Khazad pride away and remember all that you are, you'll find Adelstienn more than eager to hear your words for he is in need of friends, good friends." She pauses a moment and then adds quietly, "As am I."

(("As am I."))

"I have known more asses than horses in my life," answers Fafnir, his amber eyes staring hard at her, his mind whirling. Is she friend, as I once thought? he wonders.  Friends can be like the last draw of the finest of Adelsteinn's brew; delightful to the eye, heady to the nose, bitter and flat in the mouth but nonetheless soon gone, for one turns no cup down when not assured of better.  And he has had many last dregs of friendship in his life.  "Although the ones I have known were short two legs," he quips.  He lifts the hand next to Eilif's and rests it atop hers.  "Shall we drink to asses and horses and mountain air?" he asks, his eyes still studying hers. "And friendships, too?"

((Nasi casts a last glance around the room..))

 Nasi casts a last glance around the room before turning to descend to join Fafnir in the taproom below.  Several rows of beds of varying types stand neatly in the large open room. He smiles to see that the elven tavern girl had been up tidying the beds again.  He has heard some of the others grumble about her "interfering," clearly not understanding the notion of "service" that is provided in city Inns. "Bumpkins," he mutters as he descends the ladder and turns to the steps that lead to the taproom below.  His eager steps still as he catches sight of the two seated at the table below. Fafnir!  As always something tightens in his chest at his first sight of the tall dwarf.  As always he feels as shy again as the first day they met.

(("Bumpkins," He mutters..))

Eilif glances around the room to ensure no one was within earshot and leans closer to Fafnir and whispers, "Alas, I fear we did not leave all the asses behind in the mountain air, so let us drink to friendships; good, long friendships."  Her lips spread into a full grin.  The movement tugs the tight skin around the healing scar of her wound, and the grin wobbles at the reminder of her disfigurement.

(("...let us drink to friendship.."))

Fafnir leans closer in response and gives a soft chuckle at her response. Nodding, he turns his head so that his lips are close to her ear and whispers back, "And, by the Maker, one has nocturnal flatulence, and the snores of the other is enough to give a headache to the Lord of the West atop his mountain perch." Then a movement from the corner of his eyes catches his attention.

((Then came a movement from the corner of his eyes.. Nasi.))

He sits back and twists around to look up as Nasi descends to the landing.  His eyes light up, and his lips curve into a smile. Nasi, his Nasi. The walls lose their patina of age, and the wooden floors shine in reflection of the light Nasi brings with him when he enters the room. Nasi is the sun, his sun, and it feels like the room captures the light of presence and basks in it. Fafnirs lifts his hand from where it rests atop Eilif's to wave at the other dwarf.  "It is so crowded in here, I fear he would miss us, towered over as we are by the masses of overtall customers at this time of day." He blushes as he speaks, and hopes his jib would cover his spontaneous reaction to the appearance of his Nasi in the room.

Nasi's heart skips a beat at Fafnir's smile. That smile washes away his shyness in an instant, and he bounds down the steps more like a boy than a mature respectable stone man. His muscular legs take the over large stairs easily, and his boots clunk loudly as he lands on the floor.  He pats Eilif on the shoulder in a friendly gesture as he comes to stand next to where she and Fafnir sit, "How are you Eilif?" he asks even as his eyes are drawn to Fafnir.  "Hello, my Fafnir."

((He pats Eilif.."Hello, my Fafnir."))

His hand slides into Nasi's without any consideration on Fafnir's part. His smile widens, exposing white and wellformed teeth, in a dazzling smile. His amber eyes look into Nasi's soulful ones, and for a moment, Fafnir is content to gaze upon the young stone mason. Elves may be gossamer, and dwarves may be dross, but Nasi is neither. Nasi is Nasi, and as he stares into those loving eyes, he finds that beauty that is the mason's alone.  "Hello, my handsome tree," he says, remembering what he said to Eilif. "Eilif and I are having a very interesting discussion about gossamer and trees and asses."  He tugs on Nasi's hand. "Sit, please?"

((Eilif,Nasi and Fafnir))

Eilif 's smile is bittersweet as she watches the exchange between the two. Their tenderness with each other tugs at something deep inside her, something she does not wish to examine too closely. Not here. Not Now. So she brightens her smile to something she hopes resembles warmth and greets the newcomer. "Hello Nasi. Yes, you must take a seat while there is still one free in this overcrowded room."

((Nasi Settles on the bench next to Fafnir...))

Nasi settles on the bench next to Fafnir, leaning close and sliding an arm around his waist, the gesture feeling both so right and yet so new and strange to one who has lived his entire life alone.  He glances around the almost deserted Inn and grins over Fafnir's shoulder to Eilif, "I almost got trampled in the rush."  Unable to resist the impulse Nasi tightens the arm he has around Fafnir's waist to draw him back against him. "What's this about me being a tree?"

((Fafnir leans back against Nasi...))

Fafnir leans back against Nasi, and feels the tension from before seep out of him.  The smell of the soap Nasi used this morning  mingles with the leather of the stone mason's jerkin, a smell that means love and warmth and acceptance.  Giving Eilif a wink, he turns his head around toward Nasi and answers. "Eilif and I were passing the time discussing very weighty matters. Well, not as weighty as our merchant friend with the sagging jowls to match his sagging stomach, nor were they as sonorous as our mystery snorer upstairs.  Nothing, certainly, to cause a horse to throw his shoe or a dwarf to miss his meal eh?"

"We should eat, for certes. For I cannot think we will have much in the way of cooked food when we are on one of those ships.  A cook-fire aboard a pile of wood." He shudders.

Eilif 'sighs at Fafnir's words and picks up a fork although she only pokes listlessly at the food on her plate before laying the fork back down again.   She still wrestled from time to time with her revulsion for cooked meat, and now the thought of the journey ahead of them quenched any appetite she might have had. "Even if this Olwe does come, I like not the thought of just sailing off with him to an unknown land.  An unknown elven land at that."

(("Even if this Olwe comes.. I like not the thought.."))

Fafnir watches her set her fork back down.  Leaning back a little more against Nasi, his eyes grow as serious as his tone as he lasps into their people's tongue.  "Would you remain here among these elves, Eilif?"

(("Would you remain here among these elves, Eilif?"))

Nasi deftly uses his free hand to spear a piece of meat on his plate. The newly healed scars on his knuckles pulled tight at the moment, but he knew in time they would soften and ease. Popping the meat into his mouth, he chews thoughtfully as he listens to the others talk.

Eilif scowls unseeing at the food before her. "Why should one lot of elves be different to another? At least here I know where I am.  Once we are in his lands, how could we make our way back if we wished?  Khazad are not fish or birds, nor do we make it a habit of flying around on swans as Aztryd claims she did. What is more, I trust not his intent.  Is he truly such a paragon as to welcome us purely from the goodness of his heart?"

"We do know the swan exists, for our Elder saw it, and no drink produced from his brewery can induce such visions," Fafnir says slowly, his appetite dampened by the turn of the conversation.  "I guess we can also give credit to this Old-way for returning Aztryd to her people," he pauses and corrects himself, "to us. I mean to us.  I have yet to hear much in the way of details from our delicate motherly flower, to know what kind of place this Ack-cue-lond is. She has naught but praise for this elf king." He gives a shrug. "What intent could he have, with such a motley band like we?"

Nasi nods thoughtfully as he eyes the food in front of him, pondering which to try next.  One of his great pleasures when he visited the elven cities on business had been tasting their cooking.  Spiced with exotic flavors and dressed in delicate sauces they have always been a delight to his palate. "No doubt our delicate motherly flower will have even more praise for him if he takes her in again and saves her from a life of penury.  I sometimes wonder if living in a palace may have quite colored her viewpoint, but then if he welcomed such a social pariah as a runaway wife to his home, perhaps he is a kindly paragon indeed."  He takes a bite of one of the green leafy vegetables, enjoying the crisp tart taste as his teeth sink into it.

Fafrnir swivels around to look Nasi in the face. "Do you think he knows that she cast off her husband. She could have told him anything."

Nasi stops chewing for a moment, giving Fafnir's question the same careful deliberation he gave to most things in his life.  After a moment he continues chewing, and swallows before replying, "How else could she has explained the babe and traveling alone?"

Fafnir thinks a moment and answers in a falsetto voice, "Oh, Great king of the elves, take pity upon me, a widow, with a child. I was kidnapped by orcs and forced to wash their socks. Luckily, I was at the bank of a great river when my sweet, lovely child fell into the water. Naturally, as sweet lampkin cannot swim, I had to dive in after her. "

Fafnir flutters his eyelashes and continues after taking in a huge breath. "Oh, how did I arrive at your fair kingdom? Well, great king, a young human  captain saw me as I was floating down the river toward the sea, and he scooped me and the little minnow up aboard his mighty ship and took me aboard, finding me a fine figure of dwarven beauty, but just as we were crossing the mighty sea, a huge storm swept my delicate frame, and that of my sweetling, and the waves, by the miracle of Maker, brought me to the shore of your fair land."

Nasi stares at Fafnir's antics for a moment, jaw open in disbelief and then sits back and roars with laughter. "By the Maker, my Fafnir, I shall have to watch the elven king myself should you choose to flutter your eyelashes so deliciously at him!" Still chuckling, he takes a bite of a leg of chicken and chews merrily, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Eilif chuckles and shakes her head, "So we are putting ourselves into the hands of a strange elf who is either a blindly trusting paragon, sly, or an utter gullible fool.  Your words comfort me not, Fafnir, but what choice do we have?   If nothing else there will be plenty of swan in his realm to hunt, judging by the way he offers them as transport and couriers.  We shall see, I suppose, the truth of the matter, should he ever deign to turn up."  Still chuckling a little she reaches for her fork.  After all, what will be, will be and it was no good facing it hungry.