Elrond at Alqualonde

This RP occurred at the Alqualonde, during the Bardic Congress. Arehir suddenly found himself in the company of a few notable guests from far-off Imladris.

Alqualonde
You are standing by a small lake whose water is blue and clear as crystal. The surface sparkles like sapphire where the sun shines on it near the center. White swans sail gracefully over the surface of the ailin, as it is called in elvish. It is for them that Galadriel christened this place Alqualonde, Swan-Haven, a memento of her days in Valinor when the world was young and untainted. The lake is surrounded by leafless trees with a snowy white bark. There is a feeling of utter peace and tranquility here, almost as if time were standing completely still. The fragrant scent of exotic flowers fills you with cheer as you rest here. Even now, just inside your reach, a single water lily floats idly by...

Arehir strolls languidly along the thin but well kept pathway that leads up to and follows the edge of the swan-mere, dark eyes mostly tilted skyward as the sun begins his descent for the day.

Orindis follows some lengths behind the elf of Lorien. She wraps her cloak around her, the deep-blue garment shrouding her form, but her head is bare and her cheeks are pale as the feathers of the swans drifting on the pool. She gazes upon that pool, and stops short.

Elrond glances up from his seat on the edge of the small lake, smiling faintly as Arehir approaches, though clearly the Half-Elf's attention is elsewhere. "Good evening, sir Knight... I did not know if there would be anyone else here as the seasons turned so close to winter... It seems this place has not lost its appeal, even after so long... It leads me to wonder what the true harbour is like, in the West..." As he finishes, he adds a nod to the lady, and a murmured, "Orindis..."

Elladan parts the embrace of the surrounding wood noiselessly. A bow and quiver are slung over his shoulder, and his boots are muddied. He draws upon the trail and slackens his swift stride, gathering his cloak in one hand to make a single bow in greeting to each of the assembled.

Clearly not expecting to see others with so much activity in the city, certainly not the Lord of the Guarded Valley, the silver-maned silvan flees compact earth of the path, and steps lightly toward the other. Pulling the heavy white cowl from his head, Arehir bows somewhat formally from the waist, and smiles a smile of unexpected greeting, "A pleasant even' to you, Heron. I am surprised to see you thus, with such happenings occuring in the Lady's city. And yet," he spares a moment to gaze across the mere and the golden-leaved trees standing with mighty grandeur, "and yet this is a place befitting one such as yourself." At Elrond's address to another, the Elder steps to the side, and cocks his head toward Orindis. "My Lady," he intones pleasantly.

Elrond's gaze is drawn inexorably to his son, and for a moment it is nothing more nor less than the gaze of a father, and is echoed in his words. "Elladan... What will your grandmother think if she calls us to sup with your grandfather and her tonight? Unless Celeborn comes just behind you, and you both face her amused wrath." Laughing softly and shaking his head, Elrond becomes more somber again, and answers, "It is indeed a most pleasant place... The events in the city beckon, but this place reserves a special place in my heart, even in such a land as this."

Color only slowly returns to the cheeks of the Noldo Lady. The words of Elrond seem to wash over her, and she is silent for longer than is polite in the company of the knight, and Elrond and his son. At last, she speaks, in a tone less mellifluous than she is wont, and no polite greeting is forthcoming, "The harbor in the West is no more, Hir Elrond. It is no more. And this reflection carries more pain to me than if it were a semblance of Tirion. I see that the lady Galadriel has come to terms better with the past than some of her kin." Recovering herself somewhat, she looks upon the Silvan knight, and smiles, but is clearly not herself in this place.

Elladan, formalities done, casts aside quiver and bow and procedes to the lake shore with a hastening stride. There he crouches, and his voice spills flecked with bright laughter over his shoulder at his father's admonitions. "I presume she would thank me for contribution to the wood's vigilance, and commend my dedication." And with that he cups his white hands and dips them into the cool, clear water, splashing it vigorously upon his face. Orindis' words fall on the company, and his head dips noticably, gaze drawn upon the still surface of the pond.

Elrond murmurs, "She would not, and you know it, son. Grandmothers the world over are protective... Though any chiding would be light." Still, even Earendil's son seems uncertain in speaking of Galadriel. His response to Orindis is, certainly, more certain in contrast. "The ships have gone, Orindis... That which is done cannot be undone, and that chapter of history is written. And yet the harbour does indeed remain. I have heard naught to suggest that it will not await my final passage to the West, and for certain, I will walk its storied shores, and listen to the call of the pipes of the Teleri with my wife."

Loosening the silver clasp at his throat, Arehir makes a small smile of understanding to Elrond, and nods once, "Many are the beautiful places within the the great walls of the mellyrn, Lord, and yet little could I begrudge your preference for this one." To the pale lady then, the guard raises a brow curiously, and offers with serenity, perhaps born of his relative youth, "Of those places I know little, lady, and can only offer you the welcome of the simple folk of Lothlorien to this place which need not be a reminder of the past. Perhaps it may offer you some peace, yet."

Orindis nods, and with a quiet smile for Elrond and his stalwart son, she stands before Arehir. "I thank you for your words. I think that I must look for that, rather than seek out in my mind that which is best remembered only in lamentation." She adds, "I beg pardon, I have not spoken my name, sir, nor have I asked for yours. I am Orindis, residing now in the house of Elrond." she says, her voice humble and quiet.

*swoosh* A resounding splash as Elladan casts another handful of water upon his face. He stands and turns to regard the assembled, silver-flecked droplets of water spilling from his bright face, a few wayward strands of black hair pressed wet upon his white brow. "Everything is a remembrance to the Imladhrim, Arehir, in lamentation or otherwise. No moment is its own." His voice spills laced with sadness of a distant, reluctantly resigned sort. But here he glances to his father, and deferent hushed falls his tone as his head lowers. "Or so it seems to me."

A silent figure carves his way through the darkness of twilight. His steps are as soundless as the movement of a field mouse who slowly crawls through a wheat field, hiding from an owl of the night. Silver hair gleams as Tilion's pale beams reflecting from the placid surface of Aqualonde's lake. Sea-blue eyes glitter in the evening shadows, easily visible to the superior vision of the first-born. In the haven of Galadriel and Celeborn, the figure, who is obviously a warrior given his stance, walks unhidden and easily identifiable, as Celebbilin, Captain of the Tirith Imladhrim and Lord of Nos Hrivelosse.

Elrond adds to Orindis' words, "Orindis, daughter of Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountains of Gondolin... And a more welcome guest in my home there could not be." Eyeing his son curiously, Elrond simply says, "Perhaps, Elladan. Perhaps not. It is important to remember the past. But, as Orindis and I were discussing not long ago, it is important to face the future as well, and dwell not overmuch in memory. Or so say I."

"Your own wisdom serves greater than any words that I might offer, lady," responds Arehir with a peaceful smile. To her introduction then, the guard inclines his head deeply, and replies with near-pain, "It is my pardon which must be begged, lady, for I am the host - less gracious than is required in such company, I am remiss to realize. I am Arehir Eredilwion, Elder Knight in service the Lady Galadriel. I am at your service." He raises a hand to the son of Elrond then, the brightness in his eyes not easily dimmed by such fateful talk, "Hail, son of Elrond. It is long since I have strung my bow with yours. You have my welcome, little though it means in comparison to that of your kin."

Elladan straightens and raises his hand in similar fashion, summoning what he might of formality on this moment. "It means a great deal, Knight Protector of my mother's folk, and gladly received." And at Celebbilin's approach he turns and nods more curtly, more familiarly, but not less warmly.

Orindis curtsies to Arehir. She looks also to Elrond. "You are gracious, Hir Elrond." Then, the approach of Celebbilin puts a smile of delight on Orindis's face. "Hir Celebbilin, I am glad to see you. I was seeking you earlier."

Elrond smiles, and settles back on his hands as he watches the others. A nod to Celebillin, but otherwise unmoving, he seems content to remain silent as the others enjoy their reunions and new acquaintanceships.

The reaction of the Noldo lady toward the arrival of the Caun is not lost on the Elder Knight of Lothlorien, and he smiles with little restraint as he approaches. "Mae govennen, Caun. I too am glad of this meeting, though less so, if you'll forgive me, than fair Orindis." He arches a brow quizzically, and glances toward Elrond and Elladan before adding with an apologetic nod, "Or so it would seem to me."

Celebbilin inclines his head to Elladan, "Good evening, Herion." As the Caun looks around, his eyes sparkle, as sea-blue crystals touched by a glowing hue of crimson brought on by the flames of the campfire and pale moon-lit beams. The Noldo warrior glances at the quiet Lord of the valley, and he inclines his head politely in greeting. No words come from his mouth, however, for instead, he respects Elrond's silence. Then the warrior turns to Orindis, and he grins, "I see a smile on your face, Lady. I find it a welcome sight. I feared a you were caught in a somber mood when I approached, I am glad to see it is not so."

The Captain glances to Arehir, after, with a soft laugh. He explains. "She gave me a promise, and she seems to be keeping it remarkably well, at least in my presence." The Noldo glances at Orindis and grins wryly. After this, he turns back to Arehir and greets the esteemed protector of Lorien, "Good evening to you, Elder-Knight."

Elrond looks up, eyes darting 'tween Celebbilin and Orindis, and after a moment his gaze darts out over the water, and he almost seems to be stifling laughter with a hand raised to his lips.

Whatever plays between the faces of these two Noldor is lost wholly on Elladan, who raises what spare portion of his cloak might be called 'clean' to his face, wiping the water from it. "And what promise was that, Caun, that we might better observe its adherence in your absence." And at this he laughs brightly, and draws beside the two, glance playing alternately on each face.

Orindis's glance flicks over to see Elrond's amusement, and she responds, in a mock-severe tone to all. "I find that my change of demeanor has less to do with my keeping a promise, Hir Hrivelosse. For then I would but pretend to gaiety. I smile because I am glad to see you, my friend. But I think that these quendi" and she gestures to Elladan, Elrond, and Arehir, "would have it otherwise."

Without truly looking back at the cluster of elves, Elrond quotes softly, "It matters little what others think; what we ourselves know is the only truth." Rising, Elrond offers a smile to Orindis, and says, "Be easy. Though I am not certain whether 'tis jest or no."

Celebbilin laughs lightly and inclines his head. "You praise me too highly, Hiril. I cannot refuse such words, however." He glances in Orindis's direction, then in Elladan's, and Elrond's after, "I sense that the Hir, at least is chuckling at our expense does it not seem, Lady Ecthelion?"

Smiling even broader at the freely offered explanation, Arehir once again inclines his head deeply to the pair of Noldo. He casts his dark gaze lightly about, then, taking in the light banter between the Imladhrim with a merry glitter in his eyes, but says nothing for the moment.

Elladan withdraws a step and inclines his head. His voice falls to a mock hush, but laughter is clearly woven about his words, and furtive glances upon his father, eyes twinkling, betray jest. "Be glad that he is but chuckling. Soon he will be wrathful at my expense, if I do not better attire myself. This wood is ever smaller than I think, and he ever nearer, it seems, when I am at mischief. I beg my leave."

Elrond
An aura of composure and serenity is almost immediately discernable about this figure, as though the world slows itself around him. His frame is that of a soldier, lean and full of vigour, but something of him speaks of an ages-old wisdom. Solemnity mingles with delight upon his face, a lifetime mixing of the bittersweet and the glad, and neither are solely present in his expression. His hair is black as jet, and his skin is a contrasting pale hue; his face is without line yet he seems neither old or young, or perhaps both at once. But it is his eyes that catch and hold the attention of most. They are a light grey, glimmering slightly, and have a well-like depth which reflect the pensive nature of his soul. He is dressed in a doublet of dark navy, interlaced with silver threadwork, and black trousers, above a pair of soft, black boots. A small circlet sits in his hair, for this is Elrond Half Elven, one of the Wise, Son of Earendil.

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Orindis
Tall, slender as a knife, this lady is fair as the light of the Trees which shines in her glance. Her storm-grey eyes whisper of long years in Arda, of sorrow and joy intertwined. Dark hair streams behind her as a cloud, a mantle of radiance resting on the shoulders of her fine raiment. She is dressed in deep blue, with silver and white embroidery worked through the bodice of her gown. She wears light slippers of leather the color of her gown, laced up with silver twine. On her breast is a pendant, a tremendous opal gleaming as a fruit on a sprig of silver. The setting is fashioned as leaves, with tiny diamond buds and smaller opals set in the cunningly wrought silver.

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