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Counting the Stars
IC time is: Dusk < About 7:41 PM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 56 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
RL time: Fri Sep 21 08:33:45 2007
Top of the Bell Tower
The belfry of this tower is open to the air on all sides, each of which is in the shape of a wide arch. Each side is a platform, while the centre of the tower is open all the way to the ground. A small but sturdy railing surrounds the drop. One may look out in each direction, to see the surrounding countryside.
The bell itself is conspicuously absent; the pull hangs slack from the railing. Placed around the tower are small wicker benches with soft cushions to sit upon.
A brazier burns merrily in a corner, and a few bedrolls lie around it, neatly made. From a hook hangs an ornate horn, bound and inlaid with silver.
Tall and slender, of light frame and upright posture is this lady you look at. A silver clasp holds most of her dark braided hair away from the delicate line of neck and cheek, a face of ageless beauty, softly drawn features, though something indicates strength like steel behind the gentleness.
She is clad plainly, in a dress made from soft white cloth; a tight bodice that falls almost onto her soft leather boots in wide skirts. For all the simplicity of this attire, she wears it with almost regal dignity. But for a thin band of gold shimmering on her right hand, she does not appear to wear jewelery.
But more striking even than the beauty of her face and gracefulness of her movements are her deep green eyes. Ancient they are, though glinting with a hint of youth's mirth; piercing, yet gentle; sparkling with an energetic light mingling reflection and something that is entirely theirs at all times, like the reflection of stars in a deep pool.
Young she is and yet not so.
Thought and knowledge lie within this elleth's glance; her bright eyes as grey as a cloudless night and touched with the light of the stars. Raven hair cascades elegantly down her back reaching far past her waist; serving only to make her pale face seem softer still. Indeed each soft feature of the elleth's face blends delicately into the next giving the elf a flawless air, queenly even.
The elf-maid is clad in a gown of softest gray which trails upon the floor quietly whispering upon her passing. The raiment is unadorned save for a girdle of leaves wrought in silver which sits about her waist. A thin silver chain sits about the Evenstar's pale neck, providing home to a pendant of silver set with with lusterous white jewel.
Evening is falling silently over the Valley, all sounds of merriment and music faded away this far above. The world below the belltower is blanketed in white, a crystalline land shimmering in the soft fading light.
This is the valley a lone figure in white stands staring out at. One hand on the stone arch, Feandril is looking to the west with unseeing eyes. In her other hand is a dried flower, twirling around slowly, the only movement in her otherwise statuesque form. All about her is an air of infinite sadness quite unusual in the generally cheerful scholar.
The softest of footsteps fall upon the steps leading up to the bell tower, accompanied by the swish of cloth upon stone. It is the top of the Heryn Arwen's head that appears first as she alights to the top of the tower, shortly followed by her grey-clad figure; skirts hitched up slightly within her elegant hands.
The lady's star-lit glance is drawn first to the empty cavity of the roof where still the great tower bell is missing; Her lips purse in thought as a mental note is made to go and harry the smiths at first opportunity. This matter attended to the Evenstar's glance sweeps across the rest of the room, falling on the figure at the stone arch and she smiles slightly, offering a soft "Mae Govannen," to announce her presence.
It is only the matter of a moment for the overwhelming melancholy to fade and to be replaced, if not by cheerfulness, at least by composure. A faint smile is on Feandril's face as she turns around to face Elrond's daughter, though it conveys no happy thoughts. "Any meeting with you is well." A pause, then she adds, apparently at random, "A quiet night sees this one."
"Indeed it is," smiles Elrond's daughter softly, "Hence I thought I would take a moment to see if there are any stars to be seen."
Again Arwen's glance moves to the roof and her finger follows the motion of her eyes, pointing to the empty space. "Or perhaps it is so quiet because something so noisy is missing here. Have you heard of the bell recently mellon-nin? I think I may go and speak to the smiths when I have finished my star-spotting."
The librarian's eyes, rather than following Arwen's gesture, sink to her hands now clasped before her, cradling the dried golden elanor flower. There is a moment's silence, then she answers, in a slightly subdued voice, "No, I have not been in the forges of late. The smiths are unlikely to speak to me of this at present." Strange information, considering her husband's occupation, but when Feandril lifts her head again there is a small smile on her lips. "I will need to rely on your good information to hear when the voices of Bruinen and the bell will once again be joined in song. Did you think tonight would mark the occasion?"
Arwen shakes her head slowly, raven tresses dancing about her shoulders and waist. "No, I had in honesty forgotten about the bell for a while, it was merely glancing the space that brought it to my attention again," confesses the elleth as her gaze drops to the Elanor bloom.
"What have you done to upset the smiths?" asks the Hiril softly.
"Done?" There is a glint of humour in Feandril's eye at last. "Nothing. We do not quarrel over past actions, if we can find disagreement over the future, which is far more complex, for we do not yet know whose counsel will be true." There is a pause, then she asks, in a very different tone, "Do you not sometimes miss your mother's country, my Lady?"
"The future is complex?" chuckles Arwen with a wry glint in her grey gaze, before she answers her companions later question.
"Indeed I do, everyday," smiles the Evenstar sadly, "But then I would miss my fathers home and the people here were I at my mother's home. My father judges it best that I be here, and I trust in that judgement -- There -are- occasions when I listen to him, once in a while.
"No, disagreement on our future actions is more complex than on our actions from the past, for their consequences arenot yet known." Feandril corrects. There is a slight pause before she continues, almost as if to herself, "Your father judges rightly. You cannot cross the mountains again while this threat endures. But he judges for the journey, not the destination, I believe." Her hand closes over the flower, slipping it into her pocket. "I do not fear the journey, I have feared the destination. I have both feared it and longed for it, and at last, longing has defeated fear." There is a pause, then she adds, very softly, "And yet I should not be allowed yield."
There is another pause, then she smiles ruefully at Arwen. "Let me not dwell on these things, I may dull the twinkle of the stars you seek."
"So therefore it is the unknown that is to be feared more than the known? Past or present? Perhaps that is why the shadows hold so much dread, for we do not know what lurks within them," muses Arwen as she moves also to the archway and lays a hand upon the stone.
"My journey and indeed my destination seem likely to be somewhat shorter than yours, though I too both fear and long for their completion."
The fresh smile is warm, for the first time this night. "No, lady." Feandril says gently, one hand covering Arwen's placed on the arch. "I do not fear that which I do not know, but that which I know only too well, which is the greater cowardice. It is you who have the courage, for your journey's destination is in the dark, and whichever way you turn, it will end in loss. That is the measure of your strength, and, perhaps, the failure of mine."
Another gentle shake of her head precedes Arwen's answer.
"Not all in darkness," she whispers softly as she looks to the night sky, "Hope remains."
"Let us hope then that we both suceede upon our paths, for there is failure in neither."
"I was not speaking of hope." Feandril answers, equally softly, "But of the unknown." Then, she turns away to look out over the wintery valley again, her expression once more thoughtful with a touch of the bitter-sweet. "It is unlikely my strength in this will be tested yet. I shall therefore attempt to employ it to stay my path, and," here she laughs, suddenly, "to find more stars for you, for you are ever a source of courage to others, whether they know it or not, and you deserve the stars' dancing to your songs and ours in return."
At this Arwen laughs aloud, her tones are as bright as rain upon water, "Then let us see how many we can spot in the sky tonight, and we can save more dour conversations for when the rain is falling and there are no stars to be seen!"
Joyfully her finger points out a first diamond within the black sky, "Estel!" she begins with childish smile.
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