Hall of Song
This delightfully gay hall easily fills much of the southern side of the house. Warm and inviting, it is a treasured place of joy and merrymaking. Chairs are placed around the room in a varied arrangement, allowing for small groups as well as audiences to be formed with little trouble. Standing guard at the door rest two over-sized harps. Above the door hangs a large wreath made of ever-blooming flowers. Huge windows fill the eastern wall, gently curving upon a view of the gardens and forests. Their panes are made of a shining silver, equalling the beauty of the view they give--they may be opened or closed for performances.
The most impressive sight of all in this hall is the graceful stage found at the western end. Gracing the front of the stage are garlands of delicate white flowers. Banquet tables are set up on either side of the stage, always laden with food and drink of all varieties.
The night breeze is cool but refreshing as it blows gently through the Hall. You hear a call in the distance of a bird of some kind as it flies through the night sky.
Contents:
Sidhel
Kylin
Daerlach
Ostiel
Large Harp(#649OVXaeM)
Obvious exits:
Backstage, Oak Door, and Hallway
Thileithel enters the Hall of Song ahead of a procession of Elves dressed in stately garments. The Elves in Thileithel's train find seats in the front row as he himself climbs up to the stage and finds a seat to wait. The gweithir looks out down the hall with a smile as the windows show the greying night before dawn.
Just behind the entrance of Thileithel and the others enters Kylin. He looks over the hall and finds a seat near the front. As a server comes by, he takes a goblet of wine and takes the smallest of sips from it before sitting back and getting set for the singers.
ANd behind Kylin comes Daerlach, Apprentice o Caras Galadhon. He glances around the large hall, and sees he is not late this time. He pulls his cloak about him and takes a seat twoards the front row. Giving the hall a more open glance, he searches for his master. not finding him, he bows his head forelornly. Noticing a passing server, he takes a glass of wine and a small sweet roll, nibbling small bites and sipping in turn.
As the second leg of the contest begins to warm up, a most unmelodic man makes his gradual way into the Hall of Song. Talbinor steps through the door, cleaned up slightly from his usual utter filth but still unable to get the basic grime of Rangerness out of him. His cloak is placidly wrapped around his shoulders as he walks in, glancing around at the largely immortal crowd with no particlar expression on his face, before heading off to the site.
Picking a seat mostly out of the way of the rising dawn, Talbinor plucks a handful of little cheese cubes off a tray, sitting down and munching on the dairy product quite placidly, as he waits for events to get underway.
As the Elves and then a few Men and now even a Dwarf file into the Hall of Song, Thileithel gets to his feet and looks out over the assemblage with a warm smile. A nod is granted here and there and then a wave to Krenin as he waits for the final guests to enter.
Indeed, a dwarf does enter the Hall of Song this day. Long of beard, wide of shoulder, and loud of mouth. As Thileithel waves, a grunt is given by the dwarf, a bit of a nod offered in response. Making his way further in, Krenin soon finds a seat near to the front, lest his height, or lack thereof, offer any difficulty in watching the festivites.
As others enter the hall, Kylin crosses a leg over the other and an arm drapes on the back of the chair next to him. He watches those that enter, nodding to the few he knows and offering a smile to those he doesn't.
Two elleths of similiar physical appearance enter the hall together, one in soft golden-green, the other (and perhaps younger) in dark blue. Tall and graceful, they find seats near the back.
"Naneth," Ostiel asks of her mother, moving towards refreshment, "Would you care for a glass of wine?"
"No, child," the elder replies, smoothing down the folds of her gown with practiced grace. Ostiel nods, nabs one glass of red, and takes her seat beside Lothuial.
With those who are going to be on time already here, Thileithel raises a hand, calling for quiet. As if by magic, a hush falls over the hall as the spectators fall silent, sensing things are about to get underway.
"Guests of the Last Homely House," begins the Elf, "This morning is the second part of the contest of 'Elvish Tragedy'. Our judges are present. Who will go first ere the sun rises?"
As the call for singers goes out to those gathered Kylin turns in his seat looking for who will be the first to take to the stage.
Glancing left and right at those assembled, and seeing no takers, a grunt, sounding more like a snort, comes from the dwarf. Awaiting a few more moments, he finally hops off his seat, stepping into the aisle, and looking up at the elf at the front of those gathered. "I'll go first, if'n ye'll 'ave me!"
Thileithel chuckles and waves the Dwarf forward. "We will hear your song and have a yardstick against which to measure the ones to follow. Listen well, friends, to this tale of the Naug." With that, he sits down to listen.
As the contest is about to begin, a Human enters who some know to be one of the Dunadan. With practiced silence, though unable to match that of the Quendi, Nauthcel moves towards one of his kin, Talbinor. With each step, his long robe gives the faintest of rustlings. Quietly, the Constant sits down, his gaze passes quickly over the crowd before resting on the dwarf who had offered to recite his work.
A grin spreads on Kylin as he watches the dwarf head to the stage. He leans closer to the elf that sits beside him and says softly "The only songs I have heard from dwarves fit better in a bar. This should be entertaining." He takes a sip of of his wine and waits for Krenin to begin.
The stage-borne dwarf draws nothing from Talbinor but a polite nod towards him as he makes his gallant offer, though the Ranger's eyes flicker towards his fellow Dunadan as Nauthcel sits nearby. Finishing his chew on a cube of cheese before he speaks, Talbinor quietly nods to the Constant, before his eyes return to the stage, not wanting to miss the beginnings of the song.
One of graceful composer and demeanor slowly winds her way through those gathered, a goblet not of wine but of simple water clutched tightly in her hand. It is not toward her fellow Galadhrim the Minister finds her way, rather to the human Kylin. Here her steps halt as she leans to whisper, "So it is true, you have come to find the only decent wine and song to be found in all of the lands." Slowly she sits and nods toward his drink with interest and a arched brow.
Grinning, the dwarf's framed visage swivels back and forth, glancing at all those gathered as sure, yet heavy, footfalls propel him forward. Finally, he arrives at the front of the gathered throng, and he turns to meet the gazes of those who look incredulously upon him, his grin spreading wider.
"Now, th'only song I can think in me rep'toire tha' constitutes an elf's tragedy be on th'subject o' war. Since I know yer folk seem more comf'table when wars c'n be 'voided." Clearing his throat, and grinning eyt anew, he bows his head, eyes fluttering closed a moment as he hums softly to himself, a sound only those nearest the front may hear. And then, beginning softly, his voice booms out in the words of his song.
As the one called Niinaeth nears, then speaks, Kylin nods and responds softly "Ah, Lady Niinaeth. It is well to see you again." He holds up his wine and nods "Indeed I have."
He looks then at the dwarf, as he readies for his song.
The voice booming catches Thileithel suddenly and he sits up straighter while his senses adjust to start picking out actual words.
"Axes flash beneath the sun
Off to war, our will be done
Speak with steel, sword arm, and might
Fight through rain, snow, sleet, or night
One for the hammer, two for the shield
Three for our foemen, soon to yield
Four for the fallen, five for the live
Six for our heroes whom have died..."
The strong bass of the dwarf begins softly, yet grows into a hearty, rich tone, growing to fill the room with his melody.
"Slick and crimson grow our blades
Weapons clash and battles rage
Dawn 'til dusk, and further still
We'll endure with all our will
One for the hammer, two for the shield
Three for our foemen, soon to yield
Four for the fallen, five for the live
Six for our heroes whom have died..."
A glimmer fills his eyes, and a smile is full upon his lips, half hidden beneath the bushy moustache and beard. Yet, his words continue to flow, unabated.
"Soon our armies shall prevail
Listen to death's mournful wail
Side with us ere all is lost
We shall win despite the cost
One for the hammer, two for the shield
Three for our foemen, soon to yield
Four for the fallen, five for the live
Six for our heroes whom have died..."
Voice growing with confidence and verse with each passing word. Drawing breath, Krenin's tone soon grows to a powerful gale, echoing throughout the hall with power and purpose.
"Heralds, sound the victory horn
Make them wish they never were born
Fallen strewn upon the plain
Silence falls on death's refrain
One for the hammer, two for the shield
Three for our foemen, soon to yield
Four for the fallen, five for the live
Six for our heroes whom have died..."
"Seven for our brethren, eight for our wives
Nine for those who yet survive
And ten for another war to come
And all that we've already won...."
Softly, he allows the final, dying note to echo, and slip quietly into silence. The soft reverberation remains, and it is not until then that he stirs from his spot, nodding his head in an acknowledgement to the end of his offered tale.
Kylin sets his wine at his feet as he has done earlier in the day. When he straightens up he claps for the song as well as the singer.
Thileithel gets to his feet, hands clapping slowly. The Elf smiles and looks out over the company as he comes even with the Dwarf and speaks again in the Common Tongue. "My friends, Krenin. It is well you went first and I thank you for your song."
Niinaeth simply nods in reply to Kylin as her attention rests on the dwarf..man? Woman? Man, yes or so it would appear from the voice. She offers a clap for the dwarf and withhold the desire to ruffle the little persons hair.
"I have never heard one of the Naugrim give song," Ostiel whispers into Lothuial's ear, eyes on the dwarf as he begins to sing, "But it appears to me that his lungs are very strong." Lothuial stiffles a chuckle, though her manner is not one of laughter. "Hush, my daughter."
Ostiel does hush, for she is obedient even in adulthood, and as they listen to the song, her mood turns sober. When the last notes drift into silence, she puts down the goblet and applauds firmly, grudging respect written on her face.
The wine is taken up and he gives Niinaeth a glance, with a soft voice "Not exactly a Tragedy, but a fine song all the same." He sits back and a sip of the retrieved wine.
Looking out again, Thileithel calls, "Who shall follow the excellent song of Krenin?"
Kylin looks about the room, trying to see who will be the next singer.
Lothuial raises a slim hand with the confidence of one long matured. "I will sing," she replies to the inquiry, voice low, rich, and self-assured. Ostiel merely sips her wine, not at all surprised.
Thileithel smiles and waves Lothuial forward. "Come and share with us your song." Looking out, he adds, "Win glory for your homeland this morning."
Ahh, another singer steps forward and so Kylin sits back in his chair and sips at his wine. His eyes following the new singer.
For some time, a lady darkenlight has been in the room. No one saw her enter, just as no one sees a breeze that makes its way in through an opening, a soft and summer breeze that ripples over the smooth skin and new-washed skin, making it feel light and clean. Now she sits quietly and a little apart in the midst of the softly spread pool formed by her skirts, her little fingers lying still upon the rich winter fabric and a sweet and mild upturning upon her lips. Silent she is and unmoving, a still point in the midst of the sound and movement in the Hall. The hiril en Danas, lady of the Green Singers and of nos Denethor, is present and alone at this celebration of song.
"Lothlorien is filled with glory already, as a cup is with wine, but I would be honored to add to the goblet," Lothuial notes pleasantly, standing and leisurely moving to the front. Once there, she closes her grey eyes, and mentally enters the mysterious realm where music is fair breath, and life is a story that must be told, or be stifled.
Thileithel nods and finds his seat, surrendering the stage. But not before he notices one of the guests present, a certain lady who earns a nod in greeting.
As Kylin sits near the front, that entrance of another escapes him. That and perhaps it is because his full attention is fixed upon the Lady that now readies for her song.
The certain lady acknowledges Tuil's greeting so minutely that, perhaps, no one but he is able to note it, with a slightly warmer turning of the edges of her lips and brushing of lashes upon her pale cheeks. She has the knack of it, of a kind of understated nobility of movement, not at all self absorbed, but simple and unaffected.
Light is life, and life is light
Darkness is death, and death is pure night
Those who waited, waited in grey
For all was gone, swept away
'Give me sign, Elbereth, Give me sign!', he did cry,
'For I am stranded upon this ice, and waiting to die.'
'For what hope we had claimed, has been stolen away,
and joy is a memory of better days.'
There was no answer
Or so it seemed
For in the night, there came fay dream
A voice so fair, it made him weep
Spoke to his ear, low and sweet
'Do not weep, dear child, and follow me'
'To the place where heart and fea runs free'
'There is no dark, there is no sea'
'Only life, and harmony'
'But lady,' said he, voice broken and slow
'I cannot take that pleasant road'
'You must' said she 'For it is there where is your destiny'
He fought, and she grew
In size and splendor great
Then in his heart, he knew it was true
And left his body to wait
And when they found him, with fair voices they cried
'Ai! Ai! What is it to die!'
But he could not answer, and they could not see
For he danced on lawns fair, with Harmony
Sitting in stunned silence for a time, Kylin just looks at Lothuial. Then at last he claps his hands, muted and respectful.
Thileithel claps as well at the expressive song. Again he gets to his feet and walks to where Lothuial stands. "Well done. A fine piece and well sung. The Golden Wood will be proud."
Eledurima does not clap her hands; however, she is smiling approvingly so that her lack of movement seems more simple understatement than any approbation withheld from the performance.
Lothuial accepts the compliment with gracious silence, dipping her head in grateful acknowledgement. She makes her way back to her seat, beside which Ostiel applauds with familial pride. Sitting, Lothuial slowly returns from the world she has willing entered, back to the present.
With the woman now seated again, Thileithel looks out across the crowd, grey eyes challenging each to raise a hand and come forward. "There were five songs in the last part, will there be three more to match here?"
And like before, Kylin looks about the crowed, wondering who will be next to take the stage.
As no one is heard to claim the offer, after a moment a sweet voice carries through the hall and up to the master of ceremonies, soft as it is. Like the presence attached to it, it is contradiction, soft and yet easily heard. "I regret that I've no song upon this day's theme, if that is at need. But songs come, as you may know, most easily to us, to my folk. In fact, there is, perhaps, a song that suggests itself for the sake of this lovely weather, the lace that dresses the the Valley in its pale and shimmering gown of white if there is any reason for these folk here gathered to hear of it. It is no tragic song, with all apology to those who are charged with making their notes...the kind of notes that are other than song." It is the voice of a lady who is seated with her hands still in her lap, a little apart.
Thileithel nods to the lady then. "Come forward then or let us all turn so that this lady may be heard." He lifts a hand, waving for the lady to begin as she wishes.
Bormeldir slips in, moving to a place in the back, his wife standing with him now. Late, he was dressed in his travel clothes and waited there, eyes watching the one they spoke to as he folds his arms, eyes roving the crowd, one hand self-conciously lifting his hood up and over his mismatched ears.
Kylin looks from the lady after she speaks to those that are on the stage. When Thileithel calls her to come forward, he sits back, arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his lips.
Behind Bormeldir walks a tall Elf clad in long, blue robes. Halamoth, for that is his name, quietly moves to the side as well towards an empty chair, then sits down and turns his attention to the front, or at least the center, of the room. He sits quietly, awaiting the next performance.
Ostiel looks back at Eledurima with recognition, and her eyes glow warmly above the goblet rim, filled with interest and anticipation.
The lady darkenlight rises up like a star and then, once standing, shorter of stature than most of her kin, but still a willow, graceful, every movement dance. When she is up, she stands still motionless except to open her her arms slightly away from her body, her palms up. "I beg you not to judge the song too harshly, or at all, for singing is, for me, for the sake of giving praise and joy. So."
She lets her eyes close for just a moment, and then opens them again, those same eyes taking on a light and animation that touches the edges of mirth as she begins to sing, unaccompanied by any earthly instrument, in a voice as sweet and pure as white flame......
The songs of the Dadhrin are the songs of the leaves
And roses and starfall and silver-green trees
And light on the hillside and towers above
And sorrow, yes, sorrow, but also of love.
The snow I left out, Dear,
The cold and bright light.
Enchanted by singing,
It falls in the night...
Like bright stars to earth then.
They say we are cold.
They know not that snow melts
When flow'rs it enfolds.
For songs burn like changing of leaves on the trees
And they shimmer in opals like moonlight retrieved.
And the Quendi are masters of song and of art!
Ai! Who says we know not the songs of the heart?!
And, truly, as quickly as a snowflake melts upon the tongue or the nose, the little song is gone upon the air, and the only vestige left of it is the lingering smile and the light of near mirth in the lady's turquoise eyes as the sound diminishes and then...poof...vanishes into memory.
Bormeldir listens to the song, smiling somewhat t this and he lifts his hands, applauding lightly from where he stood at the back, nodding his head as indeed, the brown-haired elf enjoyed it, as the smile on his face is evident.
Thileithel claps briskly as the song is ended and he calls, "A worthy addition to this morning's fare. And fear not, for Master Dwarf's song was not of the theme of today either, but it will be considered as well as yours, Lady." He inclines his head and adds, "Who will follow the lady?"
Enchanted, that would best describe Kylin when the song ends. Not till others applaud does he shake his head, breaking the trance, and joins in the clapping.
Bormeldir looks at Thileithel consideringly at this, pursing his lips as he moves, sweeping the room to see who may go next, although his wife nudges him, whispering softly. He laughs, giving a response and shaking his head "Let those who live for it go first."
The little light of mirth finds its way to the surface in the form of a soft giggle, a momentary breech of the lady's composure as if it were unable to restrain. And then, it too is memory. But when she hears Tuil's pronouncement, she shakes her head, assuming more a stance of assurance as she speaks again. "Nay, Thileithel. I beg you, I did ask that it not be noted. It is not an entry. It is only a song." Is the this hiril en Danos who speaks now and not the little singer for joy, another contradiction.
Halamoth sits quietly while the song is sung and played, and he also claps and is among the last to stop. Then, growing quiet, he becomes rather still as the mystical element of song lingers in his eyes.
Lothuial applauds softly, eyes sparkling with appreciation of the song, the singer, and the many merits of the performance. Beside her
Ostiel sits entranced, long fingers clutching the wine goblet tightly.
Smiling first ad the lady and then thinking maybe the crowd could use some inspiration, Thileithel puts his right hand over his heart and holds up his left as he speaks dramatically, "All life is a song and we are but transient verses that are sung and then fade away. All life is a stage (such as this one) and we are but players who speak our lines and then give way to others..." The gweithir clutches his heart poignantly.
There is hardly a sound, lost is the young Silvan amongst the many gathered elves and the sounds of the hall. Barafinnel slips in unobtrusively, keeping near a wall and the only sound hailing him the soft patter-pat of feet. He finds a place near where Bormeldir and his wife are, but does not come near them yet, turning instead to watch the goings-on.
Pins drop, heartbeats are heard, the silence is deafening. Thileithel puts his hands down and regains his composure. "My friends, when this part of the contest is concluded, we will adjourn to the dining hall for breakfast. I am told there will be a plentiful supply of cinnamon rolls." He smiles and goes on, "But if there are no more singers, the judges will gather to deliberate." The Elf looks around in a final warning and then motions to the panel in the front row.
Bormeldir relaxes then and adds to his wife "I have no Tragedies written anyways."
There Kylin sits watching the judges and awaits the verdict.
With a regal...but warm...smile and slow nod to Tuil as he ends the competition, Eledurima, still standing, turns toward the door of the hall, her smile returned unto its rightful place. And like the breeze unnoticed except for that clean soft feel upon the skin, she is lost in the midst of the turning of eyes toward the front of the room...and then gone....
Sitting upon a chair, legs dangling a little, Krenin sits with arms crossed, eyes skimming the crowd silently as he awaits whatever may come.
The judges have deliberated and they call Thileithel down. There is a short whispered conversation and then Thileithel walks back up on stage and addresses the crowd. "Friends, the judges have spoken. In this second part of the 'Tragedy' contest, the winner is... Lothuial!"
Before the clapping begins in earnest, Thileithel raises and concludes, "The judges thank all three participants for their songs. A varied selection was pleasing to hear to start the day. Now, if you're all ready, we are concluded. Let us congratulate the winner from Lothlorien!"
And clap he does. As loud as the next observer. Finaly Kylin's applause trickles down to nothing and he gathers his wine, standing he begins to make his way from the hall.
Halamoth turns his gaze back towards the judges for a moment, then back around to the crowd. When the winner is announced he says, in a deep voice, "Congratulations, Lothuial!" and claps several times. He smiles softly, then stands and prepares to migrate towards the next festivity.
Snorting, Krenin scoots off his seat, hands coming together for three short claps. Then, as people begin to worm their way out of the Hall, Krenin makes his way none-too-gently along, pushing aside any who do not wish to move swiftly enough for his tastes.
A soft chuckle hails from Barafinnel where he stands quietly. Deep grey eyes dart around the others, both Men and Elves, inhabiting the room for a moment before he too applauds. Missed the tale or not, he'd may as well congratulate them.
Lothuial smiles slightly, quietly pleased. As Krenin passes, she stands and makes her way to his side. "Well done, Master Dwarf," she offers solemnly, as Ostiel moves to catch up.
"'N' t'thee, Elf." comes Krenin's curt reply, a nod of his head granted in congratulation to the winner.
Lothuial's brow furrows as she attempts to decipher the words, but it does not take long. Extending a final, polite nod to the dwarf, she falls back to Ostiel's side, and accepts a goblet of wine.
With the contest over, Thileithel waves to one and all and departs for the dining hall for rolls and other breakfast goodies.
