Kingsfoil or Kings?
IC time is: Early Morning < About 7:04 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 28 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
RL time: Tue Sep 11 14:41:27 2007
Imladris Greenhouse
A wondrous sight greets your eyes as you step inside this long glass structure. Though it is winter outside, within the season is full spring, or summer, and it is quite hot. Plants of every variety grow here, most in full flower, and there are even a few small trees; flowering cherry trees and apple blossoms fill the air with their scent. There is some kind of shelving or tablework here, for the plants grow not only on the floor but are somehow worked into layers, each spilling down toward the next in a green curtain. Rosebushes fill one corner of the structure, and their great blooms form an eye-dazzling rainbow of every colour.
Further on, past the splendour of the flowers and plants, is a small work area. There, shallow wooden trays of seedlings lie on flat tables, and rough benches and worktables are available for use by the gardeners. There are also racks filled with small ceramic jars, built along and above the benches. Closer inspection would reveal that these are filled with seeds for the spring replanting. One peculiar sight, though, is the small cabinet of glass that sits upon a shelf within the warmth of this botanical refuge. It contains - a snowball? The sunlight streams through the clear glass roof, bathing everything in a golden light. There are even a few songbirds here, robins filling the air with their sweet and joyous song. All is well, here within the greenhouse, on this day.
Elrond:
His face is ageless, neither old nor young; glad and elven-fair, yet carrying hints of the gravity and passion of the mortal race.
His hair is dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon his brow there gleams a circlet of silver.
His eyes are as grey as a clear evening, and shine like deep pools filled with the light of stars, pools whose highlights and shadows stir with the memory of many things both joyous and sorrowful.
His is the thoughtful assurance and majesty of a king crowned with many winters. Yet he moves with the easy precision of a warrior in the prime of his strength. It would be hard to mistake him for any other: this is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, mighty among Elves and Men.
Arwen:
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.
Awarthnur:
Eyes that alternate in color to mimic the blue-green or grey hues of the deep sea are striking, commanding attention as they stare out at you from a clear facade of lightly-toned skin, set deeply among thick eyelashes and below two carefully arched eyebrows. Full lips possess a natural, upward tilt, broadening when the mood is right or wilting into a severe frown when displeasure reigns. Thick, playful curls of amber-bronze gleam in hues of golden pomegranate when hit by unadulterated sunlight, their tips trimmed below the curve of her shoulder blades for comfort and convenience.
On any given day one would not be amiss to expect to find her in an egg-shell tunic with a square neckline embroidered with the peaks of mountain ranges and the waves of distant seas. A fitted, double-stitched umber vest gives form to her torso and accentuates her subtle feminine curves while a loosely draped leather girdle riding low on her hips serves well for holding spare pins or the occasional garden tool when both hands are otherwise engaged. Soft leather boots laced up the ankle make for soundless strides.
A pendant of polished heliodor on a long, thin chain of white gold paired with a small-but-sturdy band of silver wrought to look like encircling arms whose tiny hands open to reveal a colorless crystal are rarely ever off her person, the latter in particular.
Sidhel:
You look at a quite tall Sinda-Elf. He wears a simple dark grey tunic with a high collar and matching trousers. A light grey robe accomplishes his attire. The seams of the tunic and trousers are adorned with vines and the robe itself is embroidered with two different styles. The outer rim shows the waves of the Great Sea which surround a multitude of the same vines that are stitched on his shirt. On a closer look you can see that he also wears a pair of light and delicate auburn suede boots, obviously of Silvan origin - and where his right hand aught to be is but an empty sleeve. He has a serious look in his pale face, with a touch of nobility. The blong black hair contrasts his eyes with their indistinct mix of grey and blue. In these eyes you can see the pride of an ancient and noble house. Though he looks balanced and peaceful, he might get hot tempered and his name is not an omen...
The morning sky above the cliffs is clear except for a few thin wisps of high clouds. The Misty Mountains are visible in the east. A haze seems to hang around them. The last quarter moon is also in the sky.
The sky begins to turn from black to grey as the lazy winter sun begins his accesion into the sky -- late as always, for the days have grown longer as a mark of the season.
The valley is peaceful, even the birds are not up yet for it is chill without, beads of dew clinging delicately to leaf and grass. The Greenhouse is somewhat misted as well, it appears an early morning visitor is seeing to the plants contained within. If a passerby should peek in past the door hw or she would espy the Heryn sat at a high bench upon a wooden stool. Two pots are set before her, one smaller one larger as she transfers a growing plant to a spacier home -- her usually pristine hands caked with soil.
Elrond enters the greenhouse and looks at Arwen, then around. He comes closer, nodding to his daughter.
The elleths head turns, the loose braid swinging lightly across her back.
"Good morning, father," smiles the Evenstar as she breaks the old soil from the kingsfoil's roots.
Elrond inclines his head evenly. "Why tending the kingsfoil?" he asks. "We seldom need much of it."
Tenderly the elleths fingers place the small plant within its new home.
"Someone must champion those deemed less important, must they not? I think you taught me that," smiles Arwen softly as she brushes the soil from her hands.
Elrond laughs softly. "Ah, did I teach you that? But the question is who so deems them. Surely your father's opinion is of more worth than that!"
"My fathers opinion is one of most sought in all the elven-kingdoms!" returns the Evenstar in merry tones, "We may not need much of the Kingsfoil, but it still one of my favourites."
Elrond laughs quietly. "Aye, but there is no king to go with the foil."
"Aye," replies Arwen blandly, "But one day there will be, and I shall make a gift of these plants to him."
Elrond raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps," he replies in an even quieter voice. "Though you shall need them before that, if it ever comes to pass. Far more likely we shall all have to sail West, like ships running before a storm."
A small sigh slips past Arwen's lips, followed by an even smaller shake of her head.
"I have already told you father, that is not the road I follow. I shall not run from the storm."
Elrond looks at Arwen askance. "None of us run," he replies even more softly, "not while hope remains." As they are speaking in Sindarin, the too-obvious play on Estel is as obvious as ever.
The whisper of leaf against leaf alerts the attentive to the presence of another. Dressed in rich cinnamon hues hemmed in mossy green, Awarthnur is betrayed by her shock of copper curls contrasted against the midnight blue of a cluster of trumpet-shaped flowers spilling from their suspended pots. If she is aware of the conversation at hand she does not show it, but rather continues to trim away dead limbs with a pair of sturdy brass sheers...
"Then the Kingsfoil shall be born westward by one other than I, for as long as hope remains so will I. And meaning as it truly is hope - Then I do not plan to another end," returns the young elleth, her grey gaze dropping towards the floor momentarily.
A glance is cast to the nearby elleth, but little heed taken for the moment.
"Visions of things to come?" Silently, Sidhel muses quietly to himself while looking at the sapling of an apple tree in the opposite corner of the greenhouse. He casts a questioning glance to Awarthnur, then to the two, father and daughter from afar.
Elrond takes a deep breath, not looking too obviously at the others in the greenhouse, where not so long before it had seemed empty.
"Hope is an excellent thing," he agrees, "but contingency plans are also deemed wise. Have you thought that kingsfoil thrives better in a southern climate? The hothouse keeps it alive, but this is not its natural home."
A soft chuckle seemingly dispells the moment of tension as Arwen smiles and replies, "But we have no southern climate here, unless you intend to move your house for the sake of one herb?"
Elrond laughs, bending down toward the Kingsfoil. "Why should I do that? It seems inclined to remain, while you care for it so lovingly."
Awarthnur casts a careful glance at Sidhel. Though she returns to her task immediately, stooping out of sight to attend to a low-lying shrub, the almost perceptible crackle of tension alone speaks volumes.
Grey eyes search the Herdir's face as Elrond's daughter checks for double meanings within his words.
"Then I remain inclined to continue caring for it, for then both I and the Kingsfoil will be happy shall we not?"
Elrond smiles at that. "There are other plants in need of care," he observes. "How are they doing?"
"They are doing fine, I have checked on them as well -- besides you have some fine gardeners here father, my meddlings are merely for my own pleasure I daresay I am not needed here at all," Arwen smiles as she glances to the other quiet occupants of the greenhouse.
"Have Menelyth and Gilgurth approached you yet?" the raven-tressed elleth asks, trying to turn the subject.
Sidhel looks back and forth between the sapling and the others. He says nothing but there is a frown upon his brow.
Awarthnur reacts minutely to the mention of 'fine gardeners', a crooked smile stretching the rightmost edge of her broad lips. A moment later and her expression is carefully blank, devoid of expression and half-hidden in the shadow of a thick, groping vine.
Arwen shifts her leg, dropping her right hand behind it and out of the line of her fathers sight (hopefully) she begins waggling her fingers in "come hither" motions as she tries to catch Awarthnur's eye.
Although the gesture does not go unnoticed, Awarthnur hesitates for a full minute's time before rising from the plant bed. Wiping her hands gently on a small gardener's apron pinned to the front of her tunic, she makes a pointed effort to prolong her answer to the Hiril's summons.
Another stealthy glance is given to the gardner and then the Heryn phrases a harder to refuse invitation as she sees the elleth's relutance.
"Indeed I think Awarthnur might be doing some of the flowers for the ceremony, or am I mistaken in that?"
"I had not been formally asked to preside over the arrangements, my Lady," Awarthnur blushes, no option now other than to join Arwen and invade further on pair's privacy. "However," she continues, her chin tipping upward into something more like comfortable confidence, "I did perceive that the services of the garden might be called upon. Loathe would I be to have our bounty yield anything less than the best of its blooms for the union of Gilgurth and his bride"
"Menelyth has not been to see you? Ai Ai, but she just mentioned the other day...." begins the Evenstar with a shake of her head, "Distracted no doubt."
The so far sucessful change of subject, and the intigration of a third party brings a comfortable smile to Arwen's lips. "And I told her myself that you would be the best to arrange it."
"She must indeed be distracted then," wonders Sidhel amid a soft smile. "After all it is not often in their life that the Eldar choose to be betrothed to another. And long in fact have they waited for this very moment, Menelyth and Gilgurth."
"Not often at all," smiles Arwen softly, "Not often at all."
"You are far too generous, Lady," Awarthnur grins, though the light clap of her hands as they spring together in happy exclamation can hardly be misconstrued as the trappings of disappointment. To Sidhel she directs a smile of gratitude, happy to concentrate on the wedding of her fellow Istheryn and her Gweithir groom.
A wink Arwen casts in Awarthnurs direction.
"I shall find out what colours will be needed and let you know myself, meaning as Menelyth is walking around on the clouds at present," comments the Hiril as she makes a mental note to do so as soon as possible.
"A pity that flowers are so perishable," Elrond observes. "Yet it would not do to adorn the bride and groom with saphhires and emeralds: living things are better."
Sidhel chuckles merrily. "Well said, Herdir. I must admit I am looking forward to the celebration, it would nicely fit into the line of betrothals we have seen lately."
A deep smile curves about Arwen's lips, "At this rate there will be half a dozen children running around the Valley within the next hundred years, causing mischief in their wake."
"Oh, to be sure," Awarthnur beams. "And no matter the occasion, I am convinced that a spray of larkspur does more justice to a lovely elleth like Menelyth than any string of pearls or diamond brooch." At the mention of children she laughs aloud. "Oh, I do hope you're right! The Valley has been much too quiet."
Elrond raises an eyebrow just slightly.
"I do not know that it has been all that quiet," chuckles Arwen as she pauses to add water to the newly potted Kingsfoil. "But there is something unique about a childs laughter I find."
"Quiet? Do you think so?" Sidhel looks bemused at that. "I have heard music and the laughter of children as recently as this morning."
"Hardly the same thing," Awarthnur remarks, her smile wistful."There is nothing so charming as the pure joy of youth to brighten the spirits of the elders in these darkening times. But do not mistake me," she adds hastily, "Elflings we have abound, I suppose, but there is nothing to rival the birth and growth of a new fea under one's own eyes."
"You have a point Awarthnur," smiles the Heryn softly, "There is something new in each child."
Awarthnur considers. "I shall take into account Menelyth's preferences and any requests she and her groom may have. However, I will be sure to suggest the amaryllis. We have a thriving culture here, and winter finds them at their best." Counting off on her fingers the different blooms she has commited to memory, she continues. "Peonies and geraniums too, I think, for though they are out of season, our greenhouse keeps them quite comfortable throughout the chill."
Elrond smiles as Awarthnur enthusiastically ticks off names of flowers. He glances sidelong at the greenhouse as if estimating how many flowers will be left after the betrothal.
As Awarthnur lists off the flowers at her disposal, Arwen uses the flat of her hand to sweep away the soil from the bench, leaving it clean for the next user. Gracefully she alights from the stool and cupping the potted Kingsfoil between her hands she goes and sets it on a sun dappled shelf amongst its brethren afording it a pleased look before she turns back to the conversation at hand.
"Pretty flowers, all. I'm sure Menelyth will be overjoyed at your recommendations."
"But what about food?" Elrond asks. "Who is handling that?"
Flowers would seem the likely charge of all this morning-- the sunlight of early dawn, included.
Dressed in a simple set of leggings, and a loose tunic, the betrothed-to-be elleth of the Havens ventures into the Greenhouse. It would seem the Loremistress has left everything until the last minute, flowers included.
Perhaps in an effort to avoid looking like an idiot, Menelyth seems to be making a dawn raid on Imladris' gardens in search of her trove.
"Good... morning; my, you are up early," she murmurs, inclining her suprised mien to Arwen, Elrond and Awarthnur.
"Yes who -is- handling food Menelyth?" chuckles Arwen as her grey gaze turns towards the surprised looking elleth.
"Awarthnur here is kindly seeing to your flowers, though she needs some guidance on which blooms you favour -- the cooks I have yet to rally."
"Good morning, mellon." Sidhel addresses the newly arrived elleth as he walks around a fig tree. "Have you come to seek flowers or fruit perhaps?"
Sheepish, at best, Menelyth blanches at the mention of food.
"Eru help me," the Mithlondhrim wheezes under he breath-- apparently she forgot that also. "I have uh, yet to see who might..." The Loremistress sighs deep, grinning wide. "I will not fib; I surmise no one shall eat should I be left to conduct such arrangements on my own."
"Good morning, Sidhel," entones the elleth, a welcome distraction. "Both, if you please. I have left certain... requirements, to the last minute."
Elrond frowns. "So which of the cooks should take charge?"
Arwen chuckles beneath her breath as well.
"Indeed. Remind me not to let you organise my wedding when the day comes," grins Elrond's daughter as she looks to her father, "A good question, and a Miruvorthaer to hand out wine? Perhaps Giliath would oblige?"
Elrond nods. "Giliath must be notified at once. I swear he has a secret cellar that he lets no one else know about. How else to explain some of the wines he comes up with on special occasions?"
"If that is the case, have we perhaps uncovered one of Giliath's secret wine crates when we rescued Thenengel from the swamp? I have still not heard what was inside that box," wonders Sidhel.
"Box?" asks Arwen with a raise of her brow.
"What box?"
"His wines were always spectacular when I visited the Valley," the Mithlondhrim tries to add, helpfully.
"As for fruits, I am partial to stone fruits. But, that should not restrict anything. Flowers..." Menelyth trails off-- her attention also suddenly hitched to mention of said box. Her eyes rest now on Sidhel.
Awarthnur chuckles at Menelyth's predicament, but is distracted at this talk of the 'box'. Coloring slightly, she shakes her head. "Surely the box is of no real importance, Sidhel," she says, her tone far too serious for the topic. In an effort to redeem the mood, she adds brightly: "though it would be a lark should Giliath be found out through Thenengel's unfortunate predicament!"
Elrond turns, looking curious, as if he too has not been so informed.
"The box which trapped poor Thenengel in the woods of Imladris for several days. A quite... peculiar incident, I must say." Sidhel shakes his head. "Thenengel was riding through the woods when his horse shied and threw him. And thus the unlucky ellon was cast into a hole of mud - and got stuck at something with his foot. When we finally found him and Rochwen," he explains, "we also uncovered a crate from the bog. Arglin has been presenting this news ever since, so you surely must have heard of it?"
"Arglin is always babbling about one thing or another-- this, however, I did not hear," Menelyth says, her interest definitely piqued.
"Where is the box now?"
Arwen shakes her head swiftly, the loose braid swinging against her back once again.
"No, not a thing of it had I heard! And how peculiar, I passed Arglin in the hallway just this morning and he said naught of any boxes or elves stuck in swamps. Not a word. How ever odd."
Another glance she casts towards her father and then one towards Menelyth, "I will go and check on this later."
"Yes, where is the box now?" Sidhel looks lost. "That is what I would like to know as well. Have you seen it, Awarthnur? I think we should ask Thenengel himself."
Elrond nods. "I think I shall go ask about that," Elrond says, and turns to go.
"I am suprised Arglin doesn't have the box in his robes," Menelyth quips, looking bemused. "Though, I would be terribly interested in finding out what is in that box. If it is of scholastic merit, especially."
"Perhaps it can plan my betrothal," the Sea-Elf adds.
"I highly doubt it," grins Arwen brightly with a shake of her head, "But we have a few days left to get things sorted, that will be ample time enough if we plan things right."
"For all this excitment perhaps the box is just that, an empty box," adds the Heryn, "And that is why we have heard so little of it."
FADE
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