Fearandir and Gillhach in the Mar

A Flagged Terrace
Here, midway up the hill, the main stairway path running from hill foot to hill crest levels off and joins a narrow terrace before continuing upwards. Wider than it is deep and flagged with marble, the terrace serves as a rendezvous point where many smaller paths converge. Large mallorn trees, whose golden leaves fill their boughs as they sleep the winter away, border this piazza with each containing sizable flets. >>From one of the largest of such flets, perhaps a tavern or common room of sorts, clear sounds of elvish singing and mirth drift pleasantly to your ears. It is night, and the tree tops of Caras Galadhon twinkle from a multitude of lamps. 

A tall and slender elf slowly makes his ascending way up the stairs, a gentle smile resting on his lips as he waves greetings to those on his way. He is not from Lothlorien, nor a citizen of Caras Galadon, but it seems like he is quite familiar with the place and many local citizens. A soft and worn boot meets the terrace with almost no noise, and folding his arms about himself Fearandir sniffs the air, a grin curving his lips as his gaze is drawn towards the entrance of the what seems to be a tavern, or dining hall.

Making the long descent of the great stair, and with her bare, dainty feet resounding a merry pit-pat upon the marble underfoot; a tall maid, all clad in white, and with a wealth of flame-red hair. Out alone, and before the dawn (as are many others, for the terrace is all abustle) she knows the way, it seems; heading directly for the clamour and noise of the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva up above. 

The foreigner man crosses the terrace with smooth steps, almost lazily, a non-elf could say. A cool winter breeze blows through the hill, and Fearandir wraps himself with his cloak, slowly approaching the Mar Vanwa Tyalieva. Spotting yet another familiar face on his way, a slender hand comes out from within his fluttering cloak, to wave a greeting to red-haired maid. A soft voice comes next, emited by the Imladhrim, "Good eve', Gillhach. It is good to see you again." smiling to her, Fearandir eyes the entrance of the tavern, and his complexion gains a reddish tone as the inner lights of the establishment are cast upon him. 

From the base of the railed-ladder that leads up into the tavern high aloft; Gillhach turns about, looking to that one whom adresses her; given a moment, and with narrowed eyes, the huntress recalls the face (which she saw only in passing before) "Ah, our guest... g'mornin' to ye." The clamour of laughter draws her attention aloft once more, "But come..." She offers a hand, "Join me for a drink?" 

Fearandir steps forth, offering Gillhach a bow of his head and a genuine smile. Clasping his own hand to hers as it is offered, the Randir nods, "That is exactly what I came here for. It would be my pleasure. Shall we?" and motioning to the entrance he starts to make his way inside. 

You climb up the ladder onto the walkway surrounding the large structure, and then push aside the curtain to enter ... 

Mar Vanwa Tyalieva 
A large talan about the bole of the tree with a hardwood floor and sturdy walls (unlike most talan construction) that sport shuttered fenestrations to let air in. The branches of the mallorn support the lofty, thatched ceiling and have been hung with many lamps as well as white banners to denote the season. The tables are packed but you can spot a free table so those lights that are still burn give off a faint glow as dawn breaks over The Wood. 

As the pair walks into the room, the cool winter breeze is replaced by the warmth of the burning torches and lamps. That, added with the dawning sun, gives more than enough illumination. Fearandir gestures to an empty table in the corner, and walks through the room, approaching it. 

Siniathweg travels to your tableside and smiles, "May I get you something to drink, m'lady?"

With a passing wave t'wards Siniathweg behind the bar, a smile curling her rosy lips. "Friend Siniathweg," Gillhach calls out over the noise of the crowd, "Some wine, if you please."; and following her companion to the table indicated, she sits; waiting for the drinks to arrive. 

Fearandir nods in agreement with Gillhach's order, smiling to the bartendar as he walks into the kitchen to fetch the request. The tall elf unclasps his cloak, leaving it over a nearby chair while he settles himself down on another one. His hands are idly rested on the table, while his gaze falls upon the huntress, "Tell me mellon, any luck in spotting fresh game? With a winter such as this, a good hunt can become a rare happening." he grins. 

Siniathweg hurries behind the bar to make a drink. 

"Game?" Gillhach stifles a laugh, "Lord, no... that buck I took for it's pelt, as 'twas needed. But food is far from lacking, even in winter. And in the city, I'll not hunt." And she sighs, her breast heaving. Showing her discomfort, not at the conversation. But perhaps at conversation in general. "Drinks!" She breaks her own silence as a maid draws near with a wineskin and some glasses... 

Fearandir chuckles, shaking his head slightly as he nods to her, "I saw the agility and skill with which you shot the buck. I assumed you hunted the bigger preys as well." but shifting on his seat, Fearandir seems to notice the discomfort of the woman, but he leans back on his seat and makes no comment about that. At this point Siniathweg returns from the bar with a silver tray and two goblets of red wine. Placing them on the table, before the pair, he smiles and turns on his back to get the order of a newly arrived patron. Fearandir gets his own goblet, raising it in a silent toast before drinking from the crimson liquid. 

Gillhach mirrors the toast, raising the goblet to her lips, sipping therefrom and savouring the bouquet. "Bigger prey?" A frown creases her brow, "I've hunted many things... from rabbits to yrch. What is't that you referr to?" 

"Nothing in particular." Fearandir says calmly, glancing across the room as the day is fully revealed now, and more patrons can be seen walking in. Sipping from his wine, he continues, "One can notice your skill though. I only wish all my experience with hunting and tracking were of any use to me now." he sighs, and his mood darkens considerably. With a lower tone of voice, Fearandir adds, "I have talked to many old friends. None of them saw the person I look for during these last solar centuries. I feel like conducting a hopeless search, but I dream about Faheria... As if she was trying to find me as well. I feel like she is lost... And I must find her." at this point, the Randir lowers his gaze, his goblet forgotten in his hands. 

"Faheria..." Gillhach mouths the name, as if at once trawling through memory; "A name I never heard. Perhaps she is gone westwards. Many of your kin did so... when Nimrodel left us." She sighs, "The lady, has she said ought? Or Lord Celeborn?" 

Fearandir shakes his head, slowly raising his head, "I am still to talk to the Lord and Lady. I will try to parley with them about the matter as soon as possible though." 

Gillhach inclines her head to a nod, "Very good, if anyone would know..." She leaves the sentance hanging, "Who is this woman that you seek? A friend?" 

At first, no reply comes from Fearandir, and his gaze is focused on the wall beyond. Slowly he turns to regard Gillhach, but his voice echoes as a faint whisper, "She was... My beloved one." clearing his throat, the Imladhrim places his half-full goblet on the table, raising from his seat, "I am sorry for the terrible company for a drink that I am, m'lady. But I must be alone for awhile. Please forgive my rudeness." with that he collects his cloak and turns to go. 

Standing to watch the other leave; refraining from comment, for lack of ought to say, no doubt. Gillhach raises a hand, waving in parting, before seating herself once more, something of a concerned look to her fair visage.