Strawberry Meadow
Gently sloped and slightly rolling, is this enchanting field. All year its carpet of green is speckled with the bright red merry dapple of wild ground berries and tiny white flowers coming to fruit about a standing stone in the center of the field - Hundreds, thousands of them everywhere. About the field, many woodland creatures come to the daily harvest.
There are squirrels; birds and rabbits about in such a congregation that one might imagine reservations are required. In the top of a tree, the maitre d' - a hawk, at times calls forlorn against the sky, but the woodland creatures pay him no heed. There is peace and safety here in the hearts of the innocent.
In the center of the meadow is a collection of seven dogwood trees, forever in bloom, even in snow. They sway gently in the breeze and provide gentle shadow to the ground beneath them. Upon the branches orange crested finches, silver swallows, bright yellow breasted warblers and the bright blue indigo bunting - Their amazing colors flash as they all hop and flit about the branches.
The birds chime and sing their timeless song, ancient and innocently it fills the air with mirth and carefree wonder. Some, the most attentive, can hear their voices.
It is night, an autumn evening crisp and chill: the stars are out, and the moon is a waning crescent in the sky. A perfect night for merriment, even for gathering strawberries if you are an elf, for what is a little darkness to such as they?
And indeed, quite a crowd has gathered, young and not-so-young, singers and Tirith, healers and foresters, Sinda and Silvan and Noldo. But the event is being organized by Nos Fithurin, and the few members of that house are being kept busy distributing baskets: wonderfully economical baskets, containing a picnic dinner for now, but large enough to carry strawberries back to the House when empty. Economy: not usually thought of as an elven virtue, but it is.
Martion makes an oddly domestic sight as he urges picnic baskets on all and sundry. Though he is dressed as he usually is, the sight of a warrior with several baskets slung over a single arm is not the most military of visions.
Wandering about quite contentedly with a picnic basket of her own is one of the house's tiniest occupants: little Mallenfaigliel has claimed a basket, and totes it quite proudly as she searches for a place to settle herself near a fine strawberry-picking spot. Bright eyes scan the area curiously. . . .
Two ellith step onto the scene. Their heads are close together as they talk to each other, giggling occassionally. They move toward the warrior. "Mae govannen, mellon," Curanolas and Ilfwen chorus to Martion as they take a basket. "Thank you," the Glirieth says as the two ellith move off to claim a spot.
Basket in hand, even Tirloth has shown up to help. The hirvaethor swings it lightly, smirking merrily at Martion as she passes by: "Good evening, Gweithir."
Annunalagos walks into the meadow carefree and lighthearted. He walks around the gathering, nodding his head at some, speaking briefly to others. He avoids Martion, however, content to pick a few strawberries here and there as he just walks around pleasantly.
Martion gives Tirloth a jaunty grin. "Good evening!" he replies, to her and to the other ellith. "Check out the contents of the baskets!"
Curanolas picks through her basket once seated, looking up at Ilfwen. "I wonder what goodies they've put in here for us?" she asks with a smile. She pulls out a napkin. "Well, I'm glad they thought of that," she says with a teasing gleam in her eyes.
The artellenistron Gwartad arrives on the scene, but he looks different than most of those gathered here know him - his attire is nothing like what he wears when performing his duties in the forest. This is not the expert tracker, but the Silvan Elf from Nos Ruiganno.
He bows and nods courteously to the hosts of Fithurin, and especially to Martion, accepting a basket.
Another thing: a broad smile lights up his dark features.
Ilfwen settles herself in the grass facing Curanolas. The Feredis eagerly delves into her basket. The first thing she pulls out is a pastry, and it goes straight into her mouth. As she munches, she notes Gwartad's arrival, and waves merrily. Then she puts her napkin to good use.
Tirloth seats herself, narrowly missing a few of the riper red berries sitting about. From within the basket she finds a dried apple: this she eats, glancing around aimlessly.
Annunalagos notices others taking very interesting objects out of the baskets, and makes his rounds again, but this time stops in front of Martion, saying, "What a merry night, Mellon. Thank you for the basket" he says as he takes a basket from Martion. He notices curanolas and ilfwen, and walks over to them, standing a bit away and asks, "Would you two mind if I sat with you?" He pauses for their reply.
Curanolas picks out a small pouch of nuts and dumps them in her lap for her little squirrel. Pigenmellon scampers to her knee and begins munching. Curanolas looks up to see to whom Ilfwen's waving. She smiles at Gwartad and waves, before delving into her basket for cheese and soft bread which she saw while looking for nuts.
She looks up when she sees Annunalagos and nods, mouth full of food. She eyes Ilfwen for her approval as well.
Ilfwen is delighted to see Pigenmellon. She grins at the little squirrel. When she sees Curanolas produces cheese from her basket, she searches through her own- nothing is better than cheese at a picnic. As she munches contentedly on it, Annunalagos approaches, and after Curanolas nods her consent, the Feredis does the same.
Annunalagos smiles and nods, sitting down next to Ilfwen and Curanolas. He opens his basket and finds a nice little bottle of apple cider. He smiles wider, taking the top off and taking a nice sip of it.
Gwartad waves to Ilfwen and then squats, and empties his basket. Is this his? What's in there is food. Sweet food., Too sweet . . . at least for him. The last thing he pulls out is a tiny wooden figure, with bright colours, resembling a horse. Attached to the legs and the head of the horse are strings, that come together in a wooden ring that can be held in the hand. The Silvan grins, but is slightly confused.
Martion laughs. "Do you have Penniavas' basket, Gwartad?" he asks. "I'd swear we only had three or four of those!"
Gwartad now laughs, understanding. "Ah, but I have never had a horse of my own!"
He starts playing with the horse, galloping it around with expert, lithe fingers.
Martion puts some extra baskets down, and starts digging into his own. He produces a large roll and sausage. Nothing fancy. He starts to eat it with gusto.
Dabbing her lips with her napkin, Curanolas finds a small pouch of candied nuts. She smiles and stows those for Pigenmellon for later. She looks up as Martion calls out to Gwartad. Giggling, she watches her friend play with the horse. She grins and begins perusing her basket. Stumbling on a wrapped sweet pastry filled with fruit, she begins eating it, as daintily as possible, hard though it may be with fruit trying to ooze out at both ends. She also stumbles on a small cantene of water, which she opens and sips gently.
Ilfwen, too, laughs when she sees what's in Gwartad's basket. She calls out to him, "Mellon, would you mind sharing your sweets, then?" She flashes Curanolas a grin. Then she finishes eating her bread and cheese, wiping her hands and searching for another napkin. When the strawberry picking begins, she's sure she'll be in desperate need of one.
The horse gallops around freely, until one of the strings tangles up, and the horse falls in a colourful heap to the ground. It probably wonders where those strings came from.
"Well, mellon, I do!" Gwartad calls out. "I think this should be for Penniavas and Mallenfaigliel. But I am sure we will have our fill of sweet strawberries, soon!"
Tirloth reaches into her basket again... a fork. Another try brings up fresh bread and soft cheese. Excellent.
Mallenfaigliel reaches into her basket. . .and produces a rose-sugar cupcake, much to her evident delight. And then. . .a strawberries-and-cream cupcake follows. . .accompanied by a a small doll, the perfect size to be cuddled by a small elleth. What's more, there appears to be a tiny book included - a *real* book, as proven by a distinct squeal of joy from Faigli as she continues to sift through the contents of her basket.
Annunalagos reaches into his basket and finds a cinammon bun or two. He eats both of them slowly, savoring their aroma and taste for several moments. After, he takes another sip of his cider to wash it down. He reaches inside of his basket to find three wooden balls. He smiles in delight, forgetting the foods and drink. He starts juggling the balls slowly, then as he finds his groove, he moves them quick, almost blindingly fast.
Martion reaches into his own basket. "What?" he says. "What have I here?"
He produces something ... silky. It is ... he shakes it out. An ellith's dress?
Once done with her pastry, Curanolas reaches in and pulls out...a small, Pigenmellon-sized green cape. "Now, I wonder who put that in here," she says as she fits on the squirrel-prince. Pigenmellon stands straighter, admiring himself in the cape as the linnor holds up her spoon for him to look. He squeaks approvingly and continues to nibble, careful not to get crums on his new cape.
Smiling, the linnor reaches back into the basket and produces...a bundle of cloth. She shakes it out, a small book (pages empty and waiting to be filled) falls from the simple green riding cape with hood (the same color as the squirrel-prince's). She smiles. "I shall have to thank whomever put this basket together," she says.
Martion frowns. "I don't think that was my basket," he says dubiously. "I know I didn't pack it in here!"
Ilfwen is glancing around, eating another sweet pastry as she does so. When she sees Martion produce a dress from his basket, her eyes grow wide. "What have you got there?" She calls out to him, grinning broadly, eyes dancing.
"I am sure it will come into use, Gweithir," comments Tirloth amiably through a mouthful of bread and cheese. She reaches again into her own basket: what is this? a handful of ribbons? "The cooks of Fithurin are talented, I see."
Curanolas looks up at Martion and giggles. "You can wear it to the next Bardic Congress," she teases, grinning.
Martion grimaces. "Ahhh ..." he says, blushing. "It isn't my size. More like ..." and here he pauses, as if sensing a trap.
Ilfwen, still watching Martion, arches a brow high as he speaks. "More like /whose/ size, mellon?" She pushes, a wicked grin curving her lips.
Martion blushes even more.
Curanolas grins. "Uh-oh," she says, noting Martion's blush. "Please, enlighten us," she begs playfully.
Idly weaving the multicolored ribbons into the braid of her hair, Tirloth watches Martion intently with a growing smirk.
Martion thrusts the dress back into the basket, and produces an apple instead. "I'd rather not say," he adds hastily.
Curanolas shakes her head mumbling something about chickens and getting off easily...for now. She eyes Ilfwen and the others, wondering if anyone will say something. She looks in her basket and pulls out a nice mint cookie. She munches it quietly as she watches and waits.
Ilfwen, too, watches the others, wondering who will speak. When no one does, she gets up from her seat, setting her basket in her place, and strides over to Martion. "Give it here, mellon. I'll try it on, if you won't just say who it's meant for." She folds her arms across her chest, waiting, extremely amused.
Martion gets the look of a deer in a trap, most unpantherlike of him. "Meant for?" he says ingenuously. "It's like the toy in Gwartad's basket. Out of order. Somebody must have put them out of order!"
Curanolas giggles, almost choking on a piece of cookie. She coughs a couple times. "Out of place, my foot," she mumbles loudly enough for Martion and others to hear.
Martion says, "Actually," Martion says hastily, "Why don't we finish eating? It's nearly time to pick strawberries!""
"Are you sure?" asks Tirloth with a mischievous chuckle, tossing brown braid, now alight with red and yellow and green, over her shoulder.
Curanolas removes Pigenmellon from her skirts and moves over to Martion. "A dress is no toy," she says. "And the food in the basket was meant for you, if I'm not mistaken." She says no more, but merely goes back to her place, puts on her new cape, gathers her basket, and puts away her napkin. Pigenmellon scampers up onto her shoulder and eyes Martion, chittering sclodingly at the ellon.
Martion laughs, and reaches into the basket, producing a glazed tart. "Sweet things in here," he observes, his face suddenly sly.
Ilfwen sticks out her lower lip, imitating a child. "Wont you please let Curanolas or myself try on the dress, mellon? The color would go so nicely with our eyes!" She tries not to laugh. "If it doesn't fit one of us, we most certainly can start picking those strawberries!" The Feredis has her gaze firmly set.#
Curanolas looks up and chuckles lightly at her friend's attempt to get the ellon to speak. She waits, eyeing Martion watchfully.
Tirloth is already busy, deftly tossing ripe berries into the now-empty basket. Leave the racking to another, says the beribboned braid, fluttering out behind the elleth as she wanders about the meadow.
Martion gives a ragged sigh. "Oh, very well," he says, offering them the basket. "We do need to pick them soon!"
Curanolas shakes her head once more and begins filling her empty basket with plump strawberries, more than occassionally putting one in her mouth and enjoying it. She turns to Martion. "You know," she says after swallowing. "It would be simpler to just tell us than to cause yourself extra grief." She smiles slyly at this, popping another strawberry in her mouth.
Martion gets a martyred expression. "Ailiell, of course," he says with a wry grin. "But I swear, she MUST have switched the baskets."
"There now, that saves Curanolas and I trying on the pretty dress and ruining it for Ailiell!" Ilfwen laughs, breathless with the anticipation of what she's really come for- the strawberry picking. As she thinks about this, though, a certain memory of a younger huntress spearing her tongue while eating strawberries off of a dagger comes to mind.
Curanolas chuckles. "Now, that was painless, wasn't it?" She teases Martion with a smile. She pops another strawberry into her mouth and notices she's eaten more than she's plucked for her basket.
Martion shrugs and grins.
Martion shrugs, and finds an empty basket. "Time for strawberries!" he announces. "Show them no mercy!"
And like all the others, he says nothing of the presence of trolls on the moors.
Curanolas attacks one particularly juicy looking bunch, most of which end up in her mouth.
None of Ilfwen's strawberries are making their way into her basket...not a one. However, her lips and pale face are stained bright red, as are her fingertips, as she proceeds to eat her fill from a patch of strawberries.
Martion is, by contrast, picking strawberries, filling a basket with a strange determination.
Curanolas, finally, begins filling her basket. When Pigenmellon eyes her, she simply says, "I got full."
Ilfwen, however, will not be deterred by how full she is. She keeps eating the strawberries, happily oblivious to all activity around her.
Martion says, "You know, Ilfwen," Martion says wryly, "leave some strawberries to make into jam.""
Curanolas chuckles and silently agrees, nodding gently. She passes candied nuts to her little squirrel, in between picking strawberries.
Ilfwen sighs. "Very well...first the dress, now this...spoilsport." She shakes her head, but smiles as she goes about attempting to fill her basket, with all the energy she usually reserves for chasing down a deer.
Martion chuckles softly, and keeps gathering strawberries.
Curanolas looks at her nearly-full basket. "Time flies when you're picking strawberries," she says. "Well, if I put another strawberry in here, I fear I shall have to eat it for my basket might begin to overflow." She looks about to see how the others are doing.
At this point, it seems, most of the baskets are full.
"Let's get them back to the house," Martion agrees.
Curanolas nods and heads toward the house.
Entering Nos Fithurin, Curanolas looks for a place to set her basket. She waits for Martion to show her where to stash the strawberries. Glancing about, she quickly pops one particularly plump one in her mouth and savors it with a smile.
Two - one tall, one short - follow close behind Curanolas. Giliath looks around with interest; his son looks at the strawberries and tugs at his father's clothes. "Ada, can I have some?" he whispers.
Martion suddenly pauses, seeing something unexpected.
"All right," he says, "baskets out of order is one thing. A painting out of place is another!"
Curanolas looks up and blinks. She turns toward Martion. "What?"
"What is out of place?" Giliath wonders quietly, glancing up.
Martion raises an arm, pointing out the painting. "That was not there when we brought out the baskets."
"Are you sure?" Curanolas asks. "Are you sure it wasnt there and you just didn't notice it?"
Martion shakes his head. "I would know." He looks curiously around at the crowd. "I wonder who put it there!"
"Ada, can I have...?"
"Later."
Giliath looks at the picture, stepping forward to examine it better. "It is beautiful," he says and hoists Abanangel up to see. "Look," he says. "See the butterfly?"
Curanolas inspects it back aways. "There was another painting in the Shelter at Tumladen," she says softly. Eyeing her basket, she looks to Martion. "Where do you want this?" she asks.
Martion laughs. "Ailiell's room," he suggests suddenly.
"What about mine?" pipes up Abanangel.
Curanolas places her basket in Ailiell's room, chuckling.
Martion laughs. "If no one claims the painting," he replies, "put it there!"
Curanolas looks horrified for a moment. "Um...I don't think any of the artists of the Valley would appreciate that."
The vintner sets his son down and the boy darts over towards the picture. Carefully, he lifts his basket up, then stops and looks back at Curanolas. "I shouldn't put them there?" he asks, uncertainly.
Curanolas shakes her head at Abanangel. She turns to Martion a question on her face.
Confused, the boy backs away until he bumps into Giliath's legs and can scurry behind them. "I think," the vintner explains, "that he thought you were telling him to put his basket of berries on the picture."
Martion chuckles softly. "HArdly that. We shall put the baskets in the kitchen. The painting in Ailiell's room!"
Curanolas nods, but says nothing further. Her expression is nigh unreadable.
Standing off to the side, another elf speaks, "DOn't you think, perhaps, the artist selected such a place so as to display his or her talents for all and not just one.”
The Galadhrim crouches and murmurs something into the child's ear. And a gentle hand propels him forwards. "Where - where is the kitchen?" Abanangel asks bravely, eyes darting between Martion and Curanolas.
Martion looks askance, "I would know if anyone had placed it here with the consent of the house," he replies. "Without consent? I shall place it somewhere until it is claimed."
The same elf, standing to the side, hrrumphs. "I know if it were /my/ painting, I'd rather have it out where all could see."
Martion chuckles. "I am sure that is true," he says, looking at her then toward the other elves. "But whoever painted it, should sign it!"
Thoughtfully, Curanolas looks at Martion. She nods (barely visible though it may be) and feeds another candied nut to her squirrel.
Abashed and embarressed at being ignored, Abanangel retreats once more behind his father's legs. A slight frown pulls at Giliath's eyebrows and he begins to move along the wall of the room, looking intently at each door as he passes it. Abanangel does his best to remain entirely hidden, though he must take two steps for each one of the elder's.
Curanolas smiles gently at all. "I must be off, I'm afraid." She looks at Abanangel and her smile brightens. Taking a leftover cookie from her pouch, she offers it to him. "You have not been forgotten, little one." With that she exits quietly.
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