Gandaf, Haldir, Gillhach and Daragwai

Naith of Lorien
You stand riverside, in Dwimordene, amidst the grey bowls of the mallyrn and the conceiling underbrush on the eastern banks of the river Celebrant. It is here in these golden woods where the rolling foothills of the Misties come to an end and in the Elven realm of Lothlorien, often called Dwimordene or Dreamland by men, begins. It's springtime, and the mallyrn's green leaves burst forth while their fallen ones create a golden carpet upon the forest floor. Presently, the early afternoon sun casts lengthening shadows across the Wood as it begins its descent.

Across the Celebrant, Sitting upon the giant root of an ancient mallorn, an old man in grey robes puffs quietly on a short clay pipe, lost in thought and gazing at the river Celebrant.

Across the Celebrant, Overhead, darkly gold against the noonday sky, a great avian shape spirals ever downward, casting its winged shadow over the great golden forest.

Across the Celebrant, Gandalf tips back the brim of his blue hat, his keen eyes catching movement in the sky above. He produces a beautiful green smoke ring, sending it upward toward the approaching shape, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Striding forth from the forest, towards the river, Haldir is greeted by several identically-dressed elves, all donning the unique cloak of the Galadhrim and who whisper to the Protector, before building the rope bridge that leads across the great river. On that does Haldir start to walk across, stopping to watch the sun's light be momentarily drowned out by the arriving eagle.

Across the Celebrant, The giant bird swoops lower over the Celebrant, scything the air with elegant arcs of wing and talon, curving ever lower in its flight. Its path intersects almost randomly with a large green ring of haze, and in sudden whimsical turn, the Eagle tucks its wings sleekly against its body, threading the ring like a needle. The dive takes it nearly into the river itself, but at the last moment the bird pulls up hard, landing feather-light on the western bank.

Awaiting the eagle's arrival before proceeding forward, Haldir cups his hands behind his back and waits, widening smile intact. Once the eagle has indeed settled, only then does the elven guard walk forward, the day's sunlight sparkling off a silver helmet that be bears. This, however, is taken off as he steps onto the western bank and regards the visitors with a welcoming nod.

Haldir heads down to the riverbank and starts wading across.

And there by the Silverlode, which, flowing southwards, more tumultuous from it's union a ways of, is nonetheless musical; it's icy waters, bettered by the nimrodel are pure and wholesome as the land through which they flow; a maid is stood. And clad in like rainment to those others there (guardsmen though they be) and yet not cowled in the same; espying the Protector, follows him to the makeshift bridge, then over; though she's not the speed to catch him, nor makes the effort to call out.

Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant
You stand amidst a springtime forest. The trees here are of mixed varieties - oaks and elms and even quite a few enormous mallyrn. To the northeast, the Celebrant river rushes by noisily, swift and cold. The underbrush here is fairly light, and you can easily make out a trail following along the river's edge. However, the brush gets really thick in the direction of the river, where more sunlight reaches down to the ground, at least during parts of the day. Across the river you can also see a golden forest, comprised almost exclusively of mighty mallyrn. Your sharp eyes also detect a faint trail going through the brush to the river's edge, and you surmise that this might be a good spot to `cross' the river. As one of the Galadhrim, you also easily spot the concealed lookout talan within the boughs of a leafy tree, and a hithlain rope ladder dangling below it. You realize you could climb up here.

The old grey-clad man allows his gaze to stray from the eagle as Haldir and then a maid cross the river. Strangely he remains silent, offering no greeting as he simply puffs on his pipe, tendrils of smoke drifting away from the clay bowl.

The eagle inclines her head to the old man, some faint light flickering in her dark eyes. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" she replies. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" She glances at the approaching elves, offering them a slight bow as well.

Haldir awaits the maiden, before proceeding forth toward the two visitors. After Gillhach arrives at his side, the Protector walks one stride forward before halting again, remarking, "An eagle and an istari, arriving at the same time, or close enough to cause rumors to float over the wood faster an eagle itself itself. A strange spring day, Gillhach, I should say." He winks at the huntress before eyeing the newly arrived again.

Gandalf nods to the eagle's words, pulling the stem of his pipe from his mouth to reply. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" He does not continue, but his gaze now locks on Haldir once the elf has spoken.

Using the common tongue now, Gandald peers at Haldir under his great bushy eyebrows. "Rumor-mongering has never been the habit of Rumil or Orophin, so I would neither suspect it from their brother."

Both fleet and light of foot, so without effort the maid negotiates the single rope that is the elven way o'er the rushing waters of the Silverlode. And, approaching the Protector, whom preceded her; and was waiting there 'pon the bank, so the huntress smiles her greeting. "Indeed," Says she, "Strange... yet not unwelcome, I should think?" She falls short of further comment, though seemingly quite amused by the old man's words; for her smile widens at that.

"Unwelcome?" answers Haldir, casting a gaze at the huntress. "Of course not. If I could walk in the trollshaws with the old man ..." at this a bedeviling, grin appears, "... then I would of course welcome him and the eagle ..." a respectful nod is sent toward Daragwai. Then, upon hearing Gandalf, the bedeviling grin widens into a full smile, "There is much you would not suspect of me, mellon, that you would of my brothers."

Daragwai cocks her head at the old man's exchange the elf, her eyes glittering, but replies to him in her own tongue only: "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

Gandalf smiles the barest of smiles, but it is lost with a gruff reply to the elf, "Loose tongues are a dangerous thing, mellon, and that which waggles may one day fall off." With that he launches a quivering smoke ring that shoots straight out for several feet, wobbling at the end of its tragectory and suddenly crashing to the ground, disappearing in a small puff of orange smoke.

Considering the eagle's speech for a moment, Gandalf seems to register vague disappointment.

Amused yet further by said exchange, and greatly at that; such that decorum were secondary, Gillhach stifles a laugh, saying (aside to the protector), "Mithrandir speaks the truth," She plants a playful elbow gently in Haldir's ribs, speaking now more openly, "Only the protector would bandy words with such auspicious company. Might it not seem fitting that his tongue should fall off for't?"

Daragwai's voice is low as she speaks. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" here her voice falters, and she uses instead the Quenya word, 'the Ulairi.'

Brow rising, Haldir watches the spectacle with no loss of joy, which he bears with a still present smile. "Your theatrics haven't been dulled by the years I see, Mithrandir." He then nods at Gillhach's words, before asking, "What brings you to the Lady's forest, mellyn?" At this he looks upon both Gandalf and the eagle.

Gandalf stirs slightly where he sits at the eagle's reply, perhaps about to rise, but he does not. Lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his ancient face betrays little expression other than thoughtfulness. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"
Pipe back in his mouth, Gandalf smokes without comment until at last he looks up again, looking from eagle to elves.Gandalf says, "You three had best introduce yourselves."

Daragwai nods gravely. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" she remarks, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

A faint nod is the only sign Gandalf give that he has heard the eagle's words, though a frown settles on his face as he puffs on his pipe. Perhaps he awaits the others to introduce themselves to each other, perhaps not. Either way, he is silent and looks none-too-pleased

Haldir doesn't let the eagle, nor Gandalf's expressions go unnoticed. Still standing, he shuffles his feet slightly, then asks in a pleasant tone, with an undercurrent of impatience, "Would the topic at hand be one for discussion, or do you sit beneath our boughs just for rest?"

Daragwai glances at Gandalf before looking to Haldir. "My apologies. I am Daragwai, of Gwaihir's folk, and indeed I have come here for rest, but the conversation is of darker things, and ill goings-on--a battle near Gondor, some months back. But I would talk of brighter things...how fare the people of the Golden Wood?" she asks in the Common Tongue.

"Patience," remarks Gandalf dryly, "is another virtue espoused by your brothers, Knight-Protector Haldir of House Cultasare. Rest is something I get little of, and silent contemplation even less." The old wizard looks up, his black eyes glittering. "Evil stirs in places where it was long thought banished, mellyn, in ways even I did not suspect."

Waving a hand, dismissively as it were, at the notion of naming names; mayhap the eagle is well known to the wood. And to be sure, one cannot doubt that the huntress and protector each know the other; Yet she presumes to speak, and in something of a berating tone; "Come now," Says she, "Such speak... of evil, and matters of the world beyond." She gestures roundabout, "You are come to Lorien, are you not? Shadows from outside fall not on these lands..."

"We are well, Daragwai, whose name and flight I know and welcome, as the Lady and Lord do," says Haldir. Here he again respectfully nods to the eagle before turning to Gandalf. "Well, may your lack of rest and thought be undone by the peacefulness of the Lady's forest, Mithrandir. Evil tidings, however near or far, can wait until rest is brought. Come." He motions the old man toward the rope bridge, where he himself strides for.

The old man does not rise to follow, but answers to Haldir as the other turns toward the bridge, "I will tarry here awhile, then follow in good time, Protector."

"As you wish," says Haldir, who departs with a wave.

Daragwai bows her farewell and hops down to the water's edge to drink of the Celebrant's clear streams.

Watching the protector leave by the bridge whereby he came, Gillhach looks back towards the Istar, sat there upon some ancient, gnarled root. Inclining her head slightly, and partaking of a moments silent scrutiny of the equally ancient, and particularly gnarled-seeming man, she smiles. Raising a hand in parting, before following Haldir's route back o'er the river.

Gandalf remains seated on the great root of a mallorn tree, pipe in hand as the gathering disperses for the most part. He looks to Gillhach for a moment, shaking his head. "May the shadow never fall here, lady, but I may never rest on that hope." As a new arrival greets him, the old man's gaze falls on Althea. "The rumours have flown indeed, it seems. Well met, lady, and my thanks for your welcome." Yet his face is troubled, and his craggy brows crease his forehead.

Gandalf
Before you is an old man, long grey and as gnarled as the ancient staff upon which he leans. Great bushy brows peek out from beneath a wide-brimmed and pointed blue hat. His eyes are as dark as coal, and glittering black. A sweeping silver beard, ornament of untold years, extends past his waist. Yet his movements are at odds with his age, for he is quick and steady. He is clad in ash-grey robes and a winding silver scarf, both frayed along the edges from time and wear. The gleaming hilt of a sword occasionaly peeks out from within his robes, and his feet are shod in great black leather boots.

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Gillhach
A tall woman, and fair, even in the reckoning of her own kind. She seems youthful, as do all her kin, even when come to full growth, she has perhaps some eighteen years by the reckoning of men.A wealth of coppery hair frames her fair visage; her elegant, sculpted features, the emerald eyes glistening 'neath her high brow, 'bout which is set a silver circlet, a single stone of adamant set therein.With skin like alabaster, milky white. And the figure of a dancer, lithe of limb and fleet of foot. She is cloaked all in grey, beneath: Close-fit leather breeches, simple leather boots. A loose, armless silk vest, clipped at the shoulder with a brooch; the likeness of a crescent moon emblazoned on a star of six points.She wears a swordbelt, e'en in the abscence of a blade, besides the long knife sheathed there in some bejewelled, ancient scabbard, and the quiver of grey-fletched arrows hung thereof.

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