Hall of Fire
The flickering light of the fire illuminates this windowless room in a warm glow. The firelight plays along the polished wood of the walls, picking out highlights of the carvings of vines and flowers that decorate the Hall, and lining the many comfortable chairs in changing light. The fire burns always in this Hall, crackling from within a large hearth of marble at one end of the room. Songs in this Hall come to life, and dreams seem more real than the waking world.

The firelight gleams from the polished stone of the hearth, and glints of the metallic flecks running through the marble. Wide enough that a tall man couldn't span it with his arms outstretched, and tall enough that he could walk into it without bending. Wood, large and small, is stacked near at hand to feed the flames should the fire grow too low. Fire tools, cunningly wrought by the elven smiths in patterns of vines, are racked on the other side of the hearth. Among the tools are a number of iron mulling rods, meant for heating in the fire and then dunking into one's drink to heat it.

Flanking the great hearth are two pillars, one on either side of the fireplace. Made of the same marble as the fireplace the pillars are carved from base to crown with interlocking patterns of leaves, vines and flowers. Lit by the fire's living light, the flowers reflect back gold and orange and red. Even in deepest winter, the stone flowers bloom like living blossoms.

Contents:
Keldar
Haldir
Barafinnel
Thileithel
Service Cart
Obvious exits:
South leads to Entrance Hall, West.

Into the Hall of Fire slips none other than an Elf, though, presumably, this is to be expected. Silent, cat-like step carries Haldir into the oval, and then over to one of the chairs, where he sits. The marchwarden is less cloak, sword, and bow.

Out of the fox costume, for it was indeed Barafinnel, today is the red-haired Silvan. Dressed today in nothing but his ordinary clothing, the young elf finds himself a rather relaxed position in a seat. No words are given as he makes himself comfortable, leaning back and alertly watching the proceedings.

Probably also not unexpectedly, a man makes his way into the Hall of Fire, moving in with the crowd, his cloak hanging loosely off his shoulders, his body moving in that easy way of a man who's enjoyed a long, very relaxing day. Talbinor slips into the warm hall easily, pulling his cloak up around his shoulders somewhat and heading towards one of the many chairs scattered about the famous Hall of Fire.

Seeing that most of the chairs are filled and the food and drink has been served, Thileithel gets to his feet and looks around as he clears his throat for quiet. As the murmur dies down, he speaks clearly over the crackle of the fire. "Friends, we gather for the riddle contest of ancient heritage. The rules: I will give the first riddle. The one who solves it will give the next riddle and so on and so on. The one who solves five riddles first will be declared the winner. However!" At this, Thileithel smiles. "If the riddles become too imposing, I reserve the right as riddle master to declare the end of the proceedings. And now, the first riddle..."

        "Names give power.
        Magic to control.
        But what is broken,
        by naming it?"

A bemused laugh escapes the lips of the marchwarden of Lothlorien, into which are mingled words of answer: "The answer to this riddle is ever about us amongst the guard, and loved by those who sneak thither and hither: Silence." Nonetheless, Haldir raises a brow, as if questioning his own answer.

Thileithel nods to Haldir, passing the mantle to him.

Doubts briskly destroyed by nod, Haldir inclines his head in return to the riddle-master, before then speaking his own. Both mirth and solemnity ring in the tone of the Silvan, belying ambivalence:

        "The mighty will fall if my flight is not delayed. 
        Unfair is my use -- such is my foes belief.
        Sought once as relief by the betrayed,
        Until swift, keen-sighted eagle brought relief."

The other Silvan, younger of the two, seems to think closely over this for a while. Shoulders lifting in a shrug, he makes a tenative answer, sounding doubtful of it. "Time?"

"Nay," comes Haldir's reply, accompanied by a shake of head.

Talbinor just blinks from his chair, leaning back slightly, his hands folding into a pyramid over his chest. He opens his mouth thoughtfully, but then closes it again, eyes half-closing, lips pressing together tightly in silence.

A form which is both short and furry makes its way into the Hall of Fire and assumes the nearest empty seat. Some of those that remember this form in all of its bearded wonder might recall that its name is Keldar and that it might be crazy.

Thileithel glances at Haldir and raises a brow, noting the stumped looks generated thus far. "A fine riddle," he calls. The riddle master gives no indication he knows the answer or not.

Bormeldir comes into the Hall from the hallway. Bormeldir has arrived.

"Darkness," muses Barafinnel again, his flute-like voice ringing out in the ensuing silence again. Now he's just guessing, it's plain to see in the young elf's face.

And the reply is again the same: "Nay." Haldir casts a glance about the room, and the uncertainty of a'fore returns.

Bormeldir slips in as he moves to join the circle, alone this evening as he takes a seat, nodding to the others, murmering apologies for being late.

Thileithel looks towards Haldir and nods. "A hint is in order." He smiles.

The smile is mirrored upon the face of the Silvan, though swift is Halidr to break it:

        "Guided in flight by feather
        Sustained in death by tree
        Stored in life by leather
        Propelled to flight by tress."

"That must be an arrow!" declares Talbinor out of nowhere. Ah, that helped.

"'s a giant chicken!" declares the dwarf.

"And that answer is correct," replies Haldir, the smile returning, devoid of uncertainty.

Thileithel grins at the dwarf and coughs.

"A very good riddle!" laughs Barafinnel from his own seat, grinning widely at the other Silvan. He holds up both hands, tipping his head forwards. "Far beyond me, it would seem."

The dwarf's answer causes Talbinor to rather abruptly turn around, jumping up a bit and looking down at the short, bearded gentleman. Still, in accord with the lightness of the occasion, he's smiling. "You must be correct, good sir. I fail to see how I saw it before." He grins.

The grin fades a bit at Haldir's confirmation, of course, and he glances back at Haldir for a minute before apparently deciding that -he- was the correct one after all. "Yes. Well. Ahem." He clears his throat and looks down at his foot for a minute, drawing up a riddle.

        "Skin I have, but I cannot bleed.
        Limbs I have, but I cannot walk.
        Drink I must, though I cannot sweat.
        Stand I do, for I cannot sit."

Haldir remains in silence, allowing glance to wander about to the other competitors.

Another guess from Barafinnel it would seem, though this time he is more quick to answer: "A tree?" Phrased in a question, of course, as he turns his fiery-tressed head to regard the Dunadan.

Bormeldir chuckles and smiles, breaking his silence "It is a tree." he states finally, almost smugly.

Riddle masters only get the ball rolling and referee. Thileithel looks around as well, turning quick to Barafinnel as he answers.

Talbinor opens his mouth to answer Barafinnel, then glances at Bormeldir as he turns in his chair, then nods. "Yes, on both counts," he says with a nod. "I'm afraid that Rangers spend more time with sword and bow than with riddle and wordplay," he admits, although not in a voice suggesting he's too broke-up about it, as he leans back in his chair.

"And giant chickens." The dwarf seems insistent on this point.

Bormeldir nods at that "Although, trees can bleed, but it is a very good one." he adds, to perhaps remove sting from the correction.

"Am I to pose one next?" asks Barafinnel while he pulls himself more upright, one booted foot tucked beneath his chair. The question is posed to Thileithel, and it is to the older elf whom he turns his head, deep grey eyes inquisitive.

Thileithel nods. "That is the custom, yes."

A breath's hesitation then Barafinnel dips his chin in a nod, straightening up his lank form further. There is a light grin playing at the Silvan's lips before he speaks up, loud enough for all to hear his riddle this time.

I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will
And yet I am the confidence without in askance why Of all who live on earth beneath sky. Whether through storm or sun or wind free There is certainty that later I shall always be.

Bormeldir smiles at Barafinnel, then looks at the man, furrowing his brow consideringly "Tomorrow." he states then.

Though upon the last riddle he had sat silent, Haldir remains so no longer, for words pass through lips, questioning: "Tomorrow?"

"Riddle master I am not," laughs Barafinnel, giving a sort of mock bow in consent to Bormeldir. "Indeed, it is tomorrow."

Halbarad comes into the Hall from the hallway. Halbarad has arrived.

A hushed laugh, and Haldir nods to Bormeldir, mirth murmuring in glance.

Bormeldir chuckles "You have time to practice, Barafinnel." he states, standing to take his own turn as he dusts his clothes off, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he muses over one of his own

        "I am smaller than an eagle, but great trees can I bore;
        I am louder than a crow, but you would not notice me for sure.
        Up and down I go, more than side to side.
        Not even the mighty oak tree
        Can stop my beating pride."

Perhaps determined not to be bested in speed, this time, Haldir declares: "A woodpecker?"

"That's a good one," Talbinor says with a thoughtful nod, sticking his lip out, wrapping his hands up and resting his chin atop them. As Haldir gives his answer, the Ranger looks over in that Elf's direction, but he says nothing in particular in reply to his reply. "I shall say the rain, but only for lack of a better alternative," he answers.

Bormeldir waits a long moment, then glances to Haldir with a beaming smile "And I thought that one would be TOO clever." he chuckles, dipping his head to the man, his half-ear turned to the crowd for but an instant as he sidesteps to let Haldir stand and speak his. "The rain... I suppose that one could fit too, now that I think of it."

Talbinor grins and shrugs at Bormeldir. "Rain doesn't really go up," he replies, rather shooting down his own answer but, then, he came in second anyway. And he smiles too much to be upset about it, instead relaxing back in the chair and watching Haldir in anticipation.

Only grinning to himself now, Barafinnel is quiet within his chair. He leans forwards slightly, elbows against his knees, and turns his head to look at Haldir. There is expectancy in his expression as he evidently listens, brows arched gently upwards.

"One is not familiar with the woodpecker and not know the annoyance they are," replies Haldir with an inclination of head to Bormeldir, before glance strays to the riddle-master: question writ therein, but unvoiced.

Then, a murmur from the red-haired Silvan: "It splashes back up when it hits the ground."

Thileithel nods to Haldir. "It is your turn again. I trust your second riddle will be as clever as the first."

"'s hardly up," offers the dwarf. "It's more, down and sort of splash-ish."

"So be it," states Haldir, standing to offer, without further comment:

        "Help I offer to the weary:
        /All/ may gather 'neath me.
        Though sunlight I require,
        My darkness allies acquire."

"A tree again?" asks Talbinor, answering with a question, his voice lilting at the end in the classic 'I have no idea' manner.

Bormeldir smiles a little, nodding at Keldar as he guesses "Elronds' House? The Tree itself?"

Keldar scratches at his beard before offering, "A dead troll." No one said he was clever.

With the grace of the Dunedain marred only by a slight limp -- which he takes pains to hide with a quiet smile -- Halbarad slips into the hall. Grey eyes go first to an open chair in the back, and his figure follows suit.

"Sounds like a tree or a forest again," Barafinnel laughs merrily, shaking his head. "You are correct..." And then, a fresh round of laughter at the dwarf's comment.

Thileithel looks towards the door and nods to the Captain of the Dunedain as he enters. The Elf looks then to Haldir to declare if the answers are correct.

Haldir bends his head in a nod to the Dunadan, a smile gracing the lips of the Silvan. Lifting shoulders in a shrug, he answers, the uncertainty of the motion meandering into words: "I was afraid to give mine, after your riddle: for it is a tree."

Bormeldir hmms "I was half right, but you have it, Talbinor." he states.

Talbinor actually looks rather taken aback by the affirmative, looking at Haldir with open eyes and some surprise. "Really?" he asks, lifting a brown eyebrow slightly. "Well, let nobody say Talbinor, Ranger of the North was untouched by good fortune, then," he says, voice a little higher, his surprise in his own correctness evident as he gets up from the chair, lips pressed together.

"I wasn't particularly ready for -two- riddles," Talbinor admits, the fingers of his right hand opening and closing at his side. "Let me see... I can only hope I do you greater credit with my next than my last."

        "Forge a blade from me, and I shall not sing.
        Make an arrow from me, and I shall not pierce.
        Craft armour from me, and I shall not last.
        Yet I am worth more than iron or glass."

"Gold." Dwarves know gold.

"Gold!" shouts Barafinnel with a chuckle.

Bormeldir is about to speak, but then two others catch him to it and he settles back in his chair, nodding at the Dwarf as he puts a hand to his half-ear, as though self concious now.

Bested again, as the room bursts into a cacaphony of correct answers. "Gold it is," admits the Ranger with a shrug, turning towards the voice which has so often called of giant chickens and bowing slightly. "I commend myself to your speed, master dwarf," he says respectfully, straightening up and sitting down in his chair.

"Good day, Captain," Talbinor adds to Halbarad, upon noticing that the senior Ranger has also entered, nodding politely. "I hope your leg is doing better."

Amusement spreads across the face of the Elf of the Galadhrim as a smile, even as two provide answers. Haldir, however, is silent -- brows are slightly knit together, perhaps alluding to thought.

Thileithel looks at the dwarf and nods in salute. The Elf takes a long drink of his wine and relaxes as the proceedings are now nearly running themselves.

Halbarad offers a quiet smile and a cant of his head to those who greet him, and he settles finally -- and quite comfortably into the chair.

"The troll feels little pain," is his solemn reply.

"Hopefully the troll was well fed, even for his pains," says Barafinnel amiably, his voice soft now as he looks over towards the Captain with a smile. A soft inclination of his head, then the young (though he probably looks about the age as any other) elf looks back to the dwarf.

Bormeldir turns his head, swiveling it to stare at Halbarad in confusion a long moment, eyes suddenly intense, body rigid at mention of the troll. He stares a long moment, then turns to look away, as though forcing his gaze to the dwarf. The dwarf nods his head and frowns. "Gotta give a riddle, hmm?" He ponders, then leans back, stroking his ponderous beard. "It, er, hurts one feller, heals another, builds a sword and burns a house."

Doubt and hesitation yet remain as Haldir speaks his answer, clear voice easily discernable over the snap and murmur of the fire: "A hammer?"

"Though that only fits half of the requirements," adds the Galadhrim elf, as if on afterthought, with a shrug.

Barafinnel's broad shoulders (for an elf) roll upwards as he seems to drop into contemplation. deep grey eyes narrow and he purses his lips, seeming to think before he tilts his head to the side with a blink. "A forge..."

"The troll was, indeed, well fed," agrees the Dunedan with a quiet smile -- but he silences himself then with a nod toward the event, and settles back in his chair to listen.

"'s a forge." Keldar nods at Barafinnel with apparent approval. "First thing 'at sprung to mind, really." He sits back in his seat and continues stroking his beard, because that's what beards are for.

Bormeldir hurms "Forgive me, but how can a forge heal someone?" he asks curiously.

A mischievous gleam takes Barafinnel's deep eyes now as he straightens up again, dipping his head in acquiescence to the dwarf. This time he does not look to the riddle master, for he has gotten the gist of the game. Ringing out loud enough for the others to hear, his flute-like voice states another riddle:

        "Birds nest in it,
        children worship it,
        it can be woven into a fine blanket,
        men cannot compete with it,
        what in Arda is it?"

Bormeldir says, "Grass"

"Heat's good f'r a sick feller," responds the dwarf. "Anyway I feel better when I'm on me forge."

Bormeldir hmms after his response, nodding to keldar "You have a point." he agrees.

"Nay, not grass," answers Barafinnel, shaking his head and the grin growing wider.

Haldir remains in silence at this, gaze intently set upon the dancing fire.

Bormeldir hrms, and purses his lips "Hair?"

Talbinor's jaw just wags from left to right, his chest heaving as he lets out a slow, delayed breath, eyes looking off into the middle distance, narrowed in thought.

One of Barafinnel's slender fingers comes to rest on his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Not quite."

Bormeldir harums "This is a tricky one then Barafinnel. I would think Straw, but that is simply a form of grass." he states, falling silent once more "It could be cloth?" The dwarf snorts as he seems to make some sort of realisation, and turns his glance on Barafinnel. He twirls his beard pointedly.

"Not straw!" says Barafinnel, now unable to keep laughter from his voice. Purposefully he avoids Keldar's gaze, still grinning broadly in a not entirely innocent manner.

Thoughtfully the red-haired silvan speaks up again, lifting a bare hand. "Though really, I would suppose it could already function as a blanket in its rawest form. I wouldn't recommend attempting to sleep under it,t hough."

Bormeldir hmmms softly, smiling "Wool." he states.

"Again, not quite!" says Barafinnel. "I wouldn't recommend shearing the source, either."

Keldar mutters something about chickens, beards, and the words 'immaculately clean'. Bormeldir looks at Keldar curiously, then bcak again, being the only one TRYING any word "Silk."

"Not quite that soft."

"I would say sheep," offers Haldir, "but I know many a human who can best them." Bormeldir hurms, tilting his head a little "Cotton?"

"Elves cannot compete with it, either, though in Mithlond there is one who attempts," says Barafinnel with a chuckle, looking over towards the Dunedain. "Have the Men any thoughts? It is not cotton, nor even a conventional material."

Bormeldir states, voice al ittle dark "It cannot be spider's silk."

Thileithel clears his throat and says, "Perhaps a clearer hint is in order?"

Looking over at Barafinnel, Talbinor just shakes his head slowly. "I would not dare to even hazard a guess at the current stage, good sir," he admits, quite readily.

"Not spider's silk, though it does grow in places dark. And it would be more underground creatures to nest within it, rather than birds," Barafinnel admits thoughtfully, hazarding a glance at Keldar.

Dinaloss has arrived.

Bormeldir hmmms, and smiles "The most precious of metals?" he inquires softly "Mithril."

"The beard of a dwarf?" Haldir just shrugs, however.

"It is indeed the beard of a dwarf!" responds Barafinnel with a laugh, grinning widely. "Men cannot grow beards such as the dwarves, there is a man-child here who believes that dwarves' strength comes from their beards... My apologies for making it so vague."

"No mangy chickens gettin' near my beard," says Keldar.

"So it is not children who worship it," wonders Haldir, raising a brow in query: "but a single child?"

"Exceptionally vague!" Talbinor declares at once, straightening up in his chair with some explosiveness once he hears the answer, looking over towards Barafinnel. "Luckily, this -is- a riddle-game, so vagueness is a virtue. Regardless!" He sits back in his easy chair, just shaking his head and grinning a little bit.

Thileithel calls, "It will be allowed, but let us all try to be not so obscure." He looks to Haldir and says, "You have the lead, friend. It is your turn once more."

The dwarf frowns. "Could make others worship it if I wanted."

"Well there are many man-children who wish to grow beards when they are older," states Barafinnel with an absent shrug.

"I will attempt to be more precise with my riddle," offers Haldir in consolation, lapsing into a momentary silence: the fire laughs and snaps, a log splits in two, 'ere a riddle joins the room:

        "Through me kingdoms are built,
        Without me, nothing will pass,
        With me, Secondborn will wilt,
        Following me, the lad gains the lass."

Bormeldir goes silent at that. A long moment. Then he states softly "Love."

"Birth," says Barafinnel quietly, tilting his head to one side in a curious manner.

"Men and Dwarves are not the only ones," calls a voice from the doorway. "Lord Cirdan has been sporting a fine silver beard for many years. An affectation, I'm certain; were I male, I can't imagine that I'd want such itchy things upon my cheeks. Perhaps it's to keep his face warm; the winds off the sea can be quite cold in winter."

Dinaloss slips into the Hall of Fire, finding a vacant seat, though not joining into the ring of riddling elves, at least as yet.

"No proper appreesh-yation for a good beard," says Keldar, sadly, returning to his reflections.

"That is not the answer," denies Haldir.

"I suppose it might be time," Talbinor pipes up from his chair, "as I tend to hope that is the only thing which will lead to my wilting."

Bormeldir looks to keldar "I appreciate it. Though on dwarves, not myself."

Haldir laughs, lending glance and words to the Dunadan: "Once again, you have the answer. And that is my hope, as well."

Thileithel grins and takes the opportunity to call out, "Haldir has solved three, Talbinor three and Barafinnel, Bormeldir and our dwarf friend each one."

Bormeldir chuckles softly "I am losing my touch.'

"Two," says Barafinnel with a chuckle, holding up the number of fingers.

As opposed to last time, Talbinor does not seem particularly surprised when he gets this one - pleased, certainly, as he does smile slightly. "After the victory of my fellow Ranger in the sword-duelling competition, it is good to see that I can bring my people some honour in the lighter pursuits as well," he says, smiling a bit as he again puts his hand to his armrest and gets to his feet.

Letting things calm down from the score-calling and its aftermath, Talbinor patient looks about the hall of fire for a moment, and when things seem appropriately ready he launches into his riddle without further preamble:

        "No matter how high you climb,
        You shall never catch us.
        Yet if you wait long enough,
        We shall vanish on our own."

"Clouds?" asks Barafinnel curiously.

"Fog is a cloud, and it is quite easy to catch," Talbinor answers Barafinnel with a small shake of his head. "Not clouds."

Bormeldir states "Stars!"

Talbinor extends his hand towards Bormeldir rather formally, and nods. "Stars it is," he answers, taking a seat again with a small smile of satisfaction. "I do believe that was my most successful riddle yet," he states with a small smile. Nusiriel comes into the Hall from the hallway. Nusiriel has arrived.

Bormeldir smiles "IT was very poetic." he complements, standing now from his seat. The dark haired elf pauses a moment, pursing his lips in thought. His smile utterly vanishes, eyes narrowing a tad as he whispers, the sound carrying despite the tight tones, almost frightened ones, that he speaks:

"Things grow out of me, but too many tears, too much blood...

I suck you down, and smother you in my hug."

"Mud," answers Barafinnel in a nearly flat tone.

"The earth," says Haldir, another shrug lifting broad shoulders.

Wide eyes turning to Barafinnel, Bormeldir nods slowly "Yes, Mud. Good work, Barafinnel. Perhaps too easy." he admits, stepping back slowly now, utterly silent as he retakes his seat.

"Three for me, then," chuckles the Silvan with an almost sympathetic smile at Bormeldir. He waits for a moment before speaking up, posing the next riddle:

        "Only one color, but not one size,
        Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. 
        Present in sun, but not in rain,
        Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.
        What is it."

And, with his answer gone astray, Haldir turns gaze upon Barafinnel, and there it stays.

Bormeldir hrms a little bit, furrowing his brow at the riddle "This one is challenging."

Brows furrow and a frown crosses his face, but Haldir says: "Might I venture: A shadow?"

"A simple riddle to follow a simple riddle," conceeds Barafinnel with a chuckle, bowing his red-tressed head softly to Haldir. "It is indeed a shadow."

Thileithel waits for Haldir to deliver the next riddle. The ancient Sinda calls out, "Haldir has four. The next time he is allowed to answer, it is his to win. Talbinor has three, Barafinnel three, Bormeldir two and Keldar one. It is still anyone's contest however."

"All riddles are simple if one knows the answer, and all are difficult if one does not," replies Haldir, even as he stands to offer his last riddle:

        "Great, tiny, large, and small,
        I move earth and rock and all.
        I run along, both swift and slow,
        I refresh the weary, am fed by snow."

"A river or a stream," says Barafinnel, seeming sure of the answer. "Running water."

Thileithel coughs and grins. "One answer per answer, friend-Barafinnel."

Bormeldir chuckles "I think Barafinnel has it though." he notes "Water.

"Ai," says Barafinnel, seeming embarassed. "Perhaps Haldir should give another riddle then."

"It is as I said: the riddle is simple, if you but know the answer. You are correct, on all counts and one," acknowledges Haldir, mirth echoing in the fringes of voice. "As I would accept either of them." He sits.

Barafinnel turns to look at Thileithel questioningly, as though asking his Gweithir for a decision upon the next turn in the contest.

Kylin comes into the Hall from the hallway. Kylin has arrived.
Bormeldir looks to Thileithel, to see what may be it. Bormeldir says, "To challenge Barafinnels, I will say wind."

Thileithel looks back at Barafinnel while accepting another cup of wine. He smiles. "What, after all this time, you need my help still? If Barafinnel's first answer was ocrrect, the turn is his."

Nodding now and seeming satisfied with the answer, Barafinnel straightens up. His brow creases in thought for a moment before he begins to speak up the riddle:

"A black face have I, yet no eyes.
Yellow tresses hide this well.
Tall am I, sometimes moreso than man or elf."

Bormeldir hums "A sunflower?" he muses thoughtfully

"Perhaps too simple," says Barafinnel again and chuckles. "It is, indeed, a sunflower."

Bormeldir chuckles as he stands "You yourself are too clever." he notes to Barafinnel as he ponders, to think "I think this one is too easy; The blankets of mountains, the diamonds of the sky; Never staying long, but always stopping by."

"Snowflakes!" says Finn.
Haldir says, "Snow."

A laugh escapes the lips of the Silvan Galadhrim, Haldir looks over to Barafinnel, inclinging his head. "The same, and yet different, in answer."

Thileithel rises and waits for Bormeldir to confirm one over the other...

Bormeldir hmms "They are both right, and yet, the one I was going to is Haldirs." he notes, looking apologetically at Barafinnel "Though if you keep winning, we may have to give you wine until you fall asleep so others may have a turn!"

A cry of protest sounds from Haldir's lips: "How much must I win to be given wine?"

"Given the nearness of your victory already," Talbinor answers Haldir, turning in the chair in which he has so long been silent, "perhaps they think that it is futile to stifle your riddle-answering skills. Although that might not be such good news for you." He pauses, lifting his eyebrow, and turning back into his chair, leaning into the fabric and bracing for a riddle.

The Silvan frowns slightly and rests back into his chair, deep fiery-brown locks falling forwards over his shoulders. "Who has won this round, then?"

Bormeldir falls silent and guestures to Haldir silently.

Thileithel walks over to Haldir slowly and then he waves for Barafinnel to come over as well. "Friends, we have had a battle not often seen in contest such as this. Though there is a winner, the one coming in second is to be praised as well, as are all of our contestants."

Barafinnel chuckles easily as he conceeds to the request, no longer frowning in the least as it would appear more an expression of thought. Rising up he makes to join Thileithel and Haldir where they are, grinning towards the other Silvan. Nothing is said as yet, however.

Bormeldir moves to one side, taking his seat again.

"The difference between the snow and snowflake is a trifling matter," shrugs Haldir sheepishly as glance strays to the approaching Barafinnel, "If it is allowed, I would share the title, and gladly. Otherwise, none will know how the contest truly was."

Thileithel smiles and nods. "Then we have our two winners, Haldir and Barafinnel!"

Talbinor watches the winners quite politely, smiling a bit and leaning on the side of his chair. "It was a magnificent display," he says to nobody in particular, his left hand grasping onto his knee merely as a nervous reflex. "I doubt I shall often see a more formidable match than the one on this occasion."

Haldir's offer of a draw draws a nod from the Ranger. "For what my opinion is worth," he says after the referee gives his decision, "I think that an apt offer and a fine display of sportsmanship." He smiles.

Pleasant surprise crosses Barafinnel's face at the Galadhrim's words. "You are too kind, mellon," he states softly, though he seems rather happy with this turn of events, straightening up a bit. "And I am truly honored."

Standing near the back of those that have gathered in the Hall of Fire, Kylin nods "As do I."

"None too kind as my opponent -- whom I would rather have as a friend than foe in these days," replies Haldir, inclining his head to the Elf of fiery-tresses, before adding, with jest in voice: "It seems you have access to the wine-stores?"

"Indeed I do," agrees Barafinnel with a glint in his eye, and then a wink. "And I would think that you, mellon, have certainly earned a glass or five. Shall I show you the way, then?"

Bormeldir applauds lightly as the winners are announced.

"I will follow. And if you lead me astray," cautions Haldir, the jest readily evident in Silvan voice, "I will track you until you go there. Here is the true contest: does the wine of the Imladhrim best that of Dinlom?"

"I do not know," conceeds Barafinnel with a lowering of his head. Chuckling jovially however, he turns and waves a hand gently for the blond Silvan to follow him out of the Hall.

And Haldir follows: to wine.