Post by Tallaith on Apr 25, 2009 17:19:29 GMT -5
Some of the Kin has gathered at the Prancing Pony to relax and enjoy the company. Ceallian asks Ealdread to tell a story. This is the log of his EPIC tale.
Ealdread nods knowingly, and grins. "I hope that most of them have taken to it kindly?"
Baeregar laughs, "Indeed."
Ceallian looks up from her daydreaming, smiling a bit.
Baeregar sips from his ale again, and taps out his boot. Somehow, a few feathers float out.
Ealdread quirks a brow, and chuckles. "Kicking chickens, are we?"
Baeregar simply looks to the others, "Ahh, don't ask."
Ceallian blinks, watching as the feathers float on a draft. She catches a bit of fluff from the air and looks to him curiously.
Ealdread shrugs, and rises. "I am in need of ale. Would any of you care for a fresh one?"
Ceallian bites her lip and glances to Ealdread, then takes up her drink once more. 'Aye, that would be lovely.'
Baeregar says, 'Aye, good sir!'
Ealdread nods, looking to Dolen, and arches a brow questioningly.
Dolen shakes his head and lifts his near full mug, taking the offer as a reminder to start in on the fresh mug of ale.
Ealdread nods, and sets out into the din of the common room.
Ceallian says, 'Master Dolen, have you found good hunting of late?'
Dolen says, 'Same as yesterday. I haven't left the city yet.'
Ceallian looks to be at a loss to this. "You have not left?"
Dolen shakes his head, "The hides haven't sold."
Ceallian bites her lower lip.
Baeregar takes a mug from Ealdread, thanking him.
Ceallian says, 'That is a pity, sir.'
Baeregar now holds two ales at once. He looks between them, deciding to sip from the full one.
Ealdread nods, draining a goodly amount of his ale. He looks to Dolen with a frown. "Why do you think that might be?"
Ceallian takes the fresh drink with a smile. Nearly half of it dumps onto her gown as she attempts a delicate sip. She sighs and clutches the cup in her lap.
Dolen shakes his head at the mishandling of the ale and averts his eys, clearing his throat and taking another drink of ale.
Ealdread stifles a laugh behind his hand, disguising it as a cough, and hides his face in his beer.
Ceallian blinks, struggling not to blush, as she drinks with excrutiating carefulness. She clears her throat as she rises, taking her harp from her traveling bag.
Baeregar finishes one of his two ales with a deep gulp, and starts in on the second. His eyes light up as Cay brings out her harp.
Ceallian smiles, tapping her foot in time with the tune.
Ealdread smiles and leans back in his chair, drinking more slowly now as he takes in the music.
Dolen takes another drink of ale and sets the mug on the table beside him, drawing his belt knife and rooting around in the pouch at his side for his worn whetstone.
Ceallian smiles as she plays, her fingers strumming the strings mindlessly. She smiles politely to Ealdread. "It has been some time since I have heard a tale. Do you know any?"
Baeregar appears interested at the mention of a story.
Ealdread chuckles, and shakes his head. "I do, aye, but I am no grand teller of tales, gehola, despite what you may insist!"
Dolen rediscovers the worn, near useless, whetstone and sits back down, beginning the tedious process of working it along the notched and worn blade.
Ceallian smiles to him sweetly. "You tell them better than any I have met. Please?"
Ealdread pulls back the hood of his cloak, and grins. Grudgingly, he rises and nods. "Aye, but you will have to endure another telling of one of the stories of old, as have been handed down in my Homeland for so long."
Ceallian nods with a small smile. "Of course."
Ealdread clears his throat and raises his voice to High Chant, so as to intone clearly over the plucking of the harp. "Lo, and listen clearly, friends, for I know the tale of Iorwaith, and the melting of the snows on the plain!"
Ceallian arches a brow to this, her expression softening. She taps her foot in time, seeming to daydream.
Ealdread says, 'It was he, who's blade felled the trees and made our lands into rolling oceans of green, he who's breath rustled the leaves and made sky clear between the branches, who made those frozen waters melt in his time.'
Dolen looks up at the beginning of the vaguely familiar tale, listening with a genuine curiosity.
Ceallian nods, hearing his words but seeming to see them as well.
Ealdread says, 'Aye, it was Iorwaith, in his last act of giving to his people, that made the longest winter into summer, and bade the rivers flow once more! It was many years, and years upon years, that the snows did fall in unending showers that blanketed the earth. The crops froze; animals died; and the people on the plain suffered as they never had, for always had their land been bountiful and the waters of their rivers sweet and cool.
'Lo! Mourn for those that could not make it, and for those who's Fathers' lines died with them in those days! Weep, for it is good and well to do so!' Ealdread lets the words hang clear in the air, his own face contorting into a mask of pain for a moment.
Baeregar nods solemnly.
Ceallian bites her lip, turning to her harp's strings for a long moment.
Ealdread says, 'Alas, it was Iorwaith once more who bade the goodliness of all things to come to him, and for the message of she who is most known for her beauty: the Green Maiden, Cerniwen, Daughter of the Woods and the Waters.'
Dolen appears to feel rather little for the aforementioned individuals, simply listening with interest and working the sharpening stone along his blade.
Ealdread says, 'For years upon years did he take fast, and sat silently in the dark confines of his home, the snows piling hard and fast outside his door. Only then, in his state of purity did She come to him, and bade him stand and hear her words: 'Come', she said, 'Come, my love, and be with me in my own House now, lest ye want this pain to continue!''
And listen he did, and he rose to his feet and found them steady. And he went for his spear and shield, and found his hands strong and true.'
Ceallian smiles to this warmly.
Ealdread says, 'And he opened his door, then, and found the snows moved from his way, and a path through the drifts cut for his feet.'
Baeregar lets a heartened smile creep onto his face.
Ealdread says, 'Follow this path did he, Iorwaith, he who had come to save those who would become the Sons of Eorl so oft before! His feet were light and his heart was bursting, then, for he could feel the pull of the Goddess as though she had a firm grip on his own heart!
'Iorwaith smiled, then, and his spear and shield he threw down where he walked, for he knew in his heart of hearts that he would raise it naer'more. And Iorwaith smiled again, and he threw down his armored shirt where he walked, for he knew that no arrow or steel could pierce his flesh where he walked.'
Ceallian smiles to this, her eyes nearly closing now as she sways in time with her playing, enchanted by the tale.
Ealdread says, 'And his feet took him there, and there again, and he threw down his boots of leather for he knew he would trod no path that would require their comfort.'
Baeregar listens intently, his ale unsipped and growing warm.
Ealdread says, 'And he felt not the whipping of the winds, nor the bitter bite of the cold that had turned so many young hearts cold in the days before Iorwaith made his walk.'
Ceallian rests her hands and her mind with an easier song, intent now on the story.
Ealdread says, 'To a great clump of trees did he come, and knew he that this was the house of Cerniwen herself, and so did he then step inside the boughs of those trees and find comfort there.'
Ceallian smiles, gazing into the hearth.
Ealdread says, 'For lo, and alas! The air there was warm, and the water flowed freely, and the flowers bloomed and let forth their fragrance! And lo, did Iorwatih weep at this, for he could see then the rememberance of his own memories, and so did he remember what the Seas of Grass looked like not long before the coming of those snows.
'To his feet he did fall, and let the tears flow from his face like a healing rain upon the rich grass at his feet. Then, he rose, for he knew he had been summoned not to weep, or to revel in memory, but to hold fast and seek the Goddess herself!
Down he went, into a hole cut from rock that lead into darkness. There he could hear the dripping of water, and the breath on his lips, and the beating of his own great heart. Soon it was too dark to see, so he did find his way with his hands along the damp stone, and pressed ever onward.
'Then, alas, there was a light in the distance, like some shining beacon of hope on a horizon of a thousand winter nights!
'To that light did he come, and so did he find Her that Guards the Goddess: Lylath, the Crone, the Keeper of the Old Blood. Wrinkled and broken was her body, her skin stretched like so much dried paper over broken, crumbling bones. Her eyes did not shine, but were black like empty holes. Her mouth was empty too of teeth, and only a handful of hairs remained on her most ancient brow. From her chair of stone did she rise, and look upon Iorwaith then with a look of ancient mistrust and misgiving. When she spoke, her voice was like the rustling of leaves on a dry ground: 'Who comes here that might ask of the Goddess, then? What right have you, -Man-, to defile this holy place with your feet which bleed from the fallen snow?''
Baeregar winces at the description of the crone.
Ealdread says, 'Iorwaith did not despair then, for he knew he had been called, and could feel his heart overflowing with love and emotion. To her, he spoke, his voice like the crack of thunder in a summer sky: 'Know you my name, Lylath! I come now to give blood to the Goddess, as it is right and good to do!'
Ceallian now watches Ealdread's every minute gesture curiously. She waits for his every word.
Ealdread says, 'To this she spoke, a curl of a smile twisting onto her ancient lips: 'Do you give that blood freely? Know you the Way when the blood has been kept?''
Ciaphias walks hesitantly in, unsure on how well his presence would be greeted.
Ealdread says, 'Iorwaith did nod at this, and then did he walk to the Sharpest Stone, and drew the flesh of his arm down upon that rock. He let the blood flow into the Basin, as it was known for him to do, and raised the bowl from off the table.'
Ciaphias quietly pulls the helm from his head, keeping his eyes on Ealdread as he listened.
Dolen glances over his shoulder at the presence of an armored figure, nodding slightly after a long moment of consideration, remembering the face eventually.
Ealdread says, 'He handed the bowl to Lyleth then, and bowed deeply before her and kissed her feet. 'Freely given, Good Lady of this House. Freely given and gone."'
Baeregar shakes his head, looking into his ale.
Ealdread says, 'To that did Lyleth smile, and nod. She took the bowl to her lips and drank of Iorwaith's blood, and, as if the blood filled her own body, so too did her age melt away and her features become youthful!'
Ceallian looks on, her brow furrowing. She arches a brow, gazing now into the embers once more.
Ealdread says, 'Where once stood a broken, crumpled crone, there then stood a beautiful woman, slender of wrist and with hair that shone like the gold of the Oldest House! Lyleth touched him shoulder, then, and bade him rose. He did; and then did she kiss him on the lips as she would an old friend. "Freely given, and gone; go you now to that place to which you have been called!' Lyleth, the Old Crone, Protector of the Old House, went out of that place then, and into the air of the world that had forgotten her face.
'Iorwaith watched her go, and turned to face his fate; the chasm that showed its maw of black. He felt a pull there, strong and fast, and walked to the edge of that precipice. There he could clearly see the form of the Goddess herself, floating as if held by some magic over that great and deep pit.
'He could feel her pull him, could feel the strength of his own heart begin to burst; he could feel the tears begin to fall anew down his cheeks, and could feel the blood flowing down his still-bleeding arm.'
Ceallian glances to Ealdread with a small smile, then to her feet.
Ealdread says, 'She could hear his voice in his head, then, like a the sky calling out to a winter star: "Oh, come, my love! Come!"
'And so then, did Iorwaith go to her, and leap into the arms of the Goddess. He could feel their fall, could feel the wind rushing as they plummeted; he could feel her embrace, and how wholly she did take him in.
'Lo, did they fall like that for an eternity of the mind; for Iorwaith could feel his spirit awakened as it had never been! Gone was that lingering emptiness, that question of worth or doing. Alas, there was only the knowledge of this, that he would make right all that which had come to plague those lands, and which had come to harm his people!'
Baeregar smiles with a contented nod, and sips at last from his ale.
Ealdread says, 'So then, did Iorwaith, whose Blade felled the Trees on the plain, and who's breath caused the Sky part between the Branches, fall to meet his own demise, enwrapped in the arms of the Goddess Cerniwen.'
Ceallian frowns slightly to this, then smiles to herself.
Ealdread says, 'And lo, did the people weep when the snows began to melt, and winter became spring anew! Lo, did they weep, and fully, for they knew the price that had been paid: Freely given, and gone.'
Ciaphias furrows his brow slightly.
Ealdread says, 'Weep now, Sons and Daughters! Weep, and do so fully, for he who gave all for us!'
Ceallian looks to her playing, biting her lower lip but smiling quietly.
Dolen nods slightly at that, the whetstone still rasping along the blade.
Ealdread says, 'Weep, for it is right and good to do so, for those tears will quench the soil as did the spring rains that came then, and the waters that bathed the grass in its melting.'
Baeregar bows his head slightly, raising his mug halfway.
Ealdread nods, and smiles.
Ceallian sniffles almost silently, then smiles to Ealdread brightly.
Ealdread retakes his seat, sweat beaded on his brow, and takes a long, thoughtful draught of his ale.
Ceallian says, 'Well told, eie leof.'
Ciaphias speaks up quietly.
Ceallian says, 'As always, a lovely tale.'
Ciaphias says, 'Well said, Ealdread.'
Baeregar says, 'Aye. A tale for the ages.'
Ceallian looks to Ciaphias, a bit surprised. She smiles to him, tilting her head.
Ealdread nods to the Hobbit with a grin. "My thanks, old friend. It is good to see your face once more."
Ciaphias smiles a bit, nodding to Ealdread.
Ceallian clears her throat gently and settles down her harp. Her fingers are nearly raw from playing.
Ciaphias says, 'Yours is a pleasant sight as well.'
Ceallian says, 'Can you excuse me, friends? I am very weary now.'
Ealdread finishes the contents of his mug, and rises. 'I should like to see you out, then.'
Baeregar bows deeply before Ceallian.
Ceallian curtseys politely. 'Thank you, eie leof.'
Baeregar says, 'Lovely playing as ever, Cay.'
Ceallian says, 'Travel well, friends. Brem holca. My thanks to you, sir.'
Baeregar bows deeply before Ealdread.
Ealdread offers a nod to both Men, and then to Ciaphias.
((Cay and Ealdread leave the Pony and step outside.))
Ceallian smiles to Ealdread. She blinks as the sun shines brilliantly on his armour.
Ealdread smiles at this, and looks down upon his breastplate. "It is of Elven make."
Ceallian, 'It is lovely, though I wish you did not have to wear it.'
Ealdread grins, and loops his thumbs between the straps that hold it fast. "I know no other way of living, eie leof. I fear this shall be part of me until I am laid to rest upon the grass."
Ceallian taps her lower lip with her forefinger, thoughtful for a moment. "That is a matter I wish to talk over with you soon, eie leof. But for now, my house calls to me, and my own bed."
Ealdread nods, smiling. "Go there, and rest well!"
Ceallian smiles and steps to him, brushing his lips with a kiss. "Travel well and safe until I can see you again, aye?"
Ealdread pulls his cloak back over his face, and appraises her for a moment. Then, he smiles, nods, and bows deeply before her. 'I shall do my best, eie leof.'
Ceallian gives Ealdread a polite curtsey.
Ealdread nods knowingly, and grins. "I hope that most of them have taken to it kindly?"
Baeregar laughs, "Indeed."
Ceallian looks up from her daydreaming, smiling a bit.
Baeregar sips from his ale again, and taps out his boot. Somehow, a few feathers float out.
Ealdread quirks a brow, and chuckles. "Kicking chickens, are we?"
Baeregar simply looks to the others, "Ahh, don't ask."
Ceallian blinks, watching as the feathers float on a draft. She catches a bit of fluff from the air and looks to him curiously.
Ealdread shrugs, and rises. "I am in need of ale. Would any of you care for a fresh one?"
Ceallian bites her lip and glances to Ealdread, then takes up her drink once more. 'Aye, that would be lovely.'
Baeregar says, 'Aye, good sir!'
Ealdread nods, looking to Dolen, and arches a brow questioningly.
Dolen shakes his head and lifts his near full mug, taking the offer as a reminder to start in on the fresh mug of ale.
Ealdread nods, and sets out into the din of the common room.
Ceallian says, 'Master Dolen, have you found good hunting of late?'
Dolen says, 'Same as yesterday. I haven't left the city yet.'
Ceallian looks to be at a loss to this. "You have not left?"
Dolen shakes his head, "The hides haven't sold."
Ceallian bites her lower lip.
Baeregar takes a mug from Ealdread, thanking him.
Ceallian says, 'That is a pity, sir.'
Baeregar now holds two ales at once. He looks between them, deciding to sip from the full one.
Ealdread nods, draining a goodly amount of his ale. He looks to Dolen with a frown. "Why do you think that might be?"
Ceallian takes the fresh drink with a smile. Nearly half of it dumps onto her gown as she attempts a delicate sip. She sighs and clutches the cup in her lap.
Dolen shakes his head at the mishandling of the ale and averts his eys, clearing his throat and taking another drink of ale.
Ealdread stifles a laugh behind his hand, disguising it as a cough, and hides his face in his beer.
Ceallian blinks, struggling not to blush, as she drinks with excrutiating carefulness. She clears her throat as she rises, taking her harp from her traveling bag.
Baeregar finishes one of his two ales with a deep gulp, and starts in on the second. His eyes light up as Cay brings out her harp.
Ceallian smiles, tapping her foot in time with the tune.
Ealdread smiles and leans back in his chair, drinking more slowly now as he takes in the music.
Dolen takes another drink of ale and sets the mug on the table beside him, drawing his belt knife and rooting around in the pouch at his side for his worn whetstone.
Ceallian smiles as she plays, her fingers strumming the strings mindlessly. She smiles politely to Ealdread. "It has been some time since I have heard a tale. Do you know any?"
Baeregar appears interested at the mention of a story.
Ealdread chuckles, and shakes his head. "I do, aye, but I am no grand teller of tales, gehola, despite what you may insist!"
Dolen rediscovers the worn, near useless, whetstone and sits back down, beginning the tedious process of working it along the notched and worn blade.
Ceallian smiles to him sweetly. "You tell them better than any I have met. Please?"
Ealdread pulls back the hood of his cloak, and grins. Grudgingly, he rises and nods. "Aye, but you will have to endure another telling of one of the stories of old, as have been handed down in my Homeland for so long."
Ceallian nods with a small smile. "Of course."
Ealdread clears his throat and raises his voice to High Chant, so as to intone clearly over the plucking of the harp. "Lo, and listen clearly, friends, for I know the tale of Iorwaith, and the melting of the snows on the plain!"
Ceallian arches a brow to this, her expression softening. She taps her foot in time, seeming to daydream.
Ealdread says, 'It was he, who's blade felled the trees and made our lands into rolling oceans of green, he who's breath rustled the leaves and made sky clear between the branches, who made those frozen waters melt in his time.'
Dolen looks up at the beginning of the vaguely familiar tale, listening with a genuine curiosity.
Ceallian nods, hearing his words but seeming to see them as well.
Ealdread says, 'Aye, it was Iorwaith, in his last act of giving to his people, that made the longest winter into summer, and bade the rivers flow once more! It was many years, and years upon years, that the snows did fall in unending showers that blanketed the earth. The crops froze; animals died; and the people on the plain suffered as they never had, for always had their land been bountiful and the waters of their rivers sweet and cool.
'Lo! Mourn for those that could not make it, and for those who's Fathers' lines died with them in those days! Weep, for it is good and well to do so!' Ealdread lets the words hang clear in the air, his own face contorting into a mask of pain for a moment.
Baeregar nods solemnly.
Ceallian bites her lip, turning to her harp's strings for a long moment.
Ealdread says, 'Alas, it was Iorwaith once more who bade the goodliness of all things to come to him, and for the message of she who is most known for her beauty: the Green Maiden, Cerniwen, Daughter of the Woods and the Waters.'
Dolen appears to feel rather little for the aforementioned individuals, simply listening with interest and working the sharpening stone along his blade.
Ealdread says, 'For years upon years did he take fast, and sat silently in the dark confines of his home, the snows piling hard and fast outside his door. Only then, in his state of purity did She come to him, and bade him stand and hear her words: 'Come', she said, 'Come, my love, and be with me in my own House now, lest ye want this pain to continue!''
And listen he did, and he rose to his feet and found them steady. And he went for his spear and shield, and found his hands strong and true.'
Ceallian smiles to this warmly.
Ealdread says, 'And he opened his door, then, and found the snows moved from his way, and a path through the drifts cut for his feet.'
Baeregar lets a heartened smile creep onto his face.
Ealdread says, 'Follow this path did he, Iorwaith, he who had come to save those who would become the Sons of Eorl so oft before! His feet were light and his heart was bursting, then, for he could feel the pull of the Goddess as though she had a firm grip on his own heart!
'Iorwaith smiled, then, and his spear and shield he threw down where he walked, for he knew in his heart of hearts that he would raise it naer'more. And Iorwaith smiled again, and he threw down his armored shirt where he walked, for he knew that no arrow or steel could pierce his flesh where he walked.'
Ceallian smiles to this, her eyes nearly closing now as she sways in time with her playing, enchanted by the tale.
Ealdread says, 'And his feet took him there, and there again, and he threw down his boots of leather for he knew he would trod no path that would require their comfort.'
Baeregar listens intently, his ale unsipped and growing warm.
Ealdread says, 'And he felt not the whipping of the winds, nor the bitter bite of the cold that had turned so many young hearts cold in the days before Iorwaith made his walk.'
Ceallian rests her hands and her mind with an easier song, intent now on the story.
Ealdread says, 'To a great clump of trees did he come, and knew he that this was the house of Cerniwen herself, and so did he then step inside the boughs of those trees and find comfort there.'
Ceallian smiles, gazing into the hearth.
Ealdread says, 'For lo, and alas! The air there was warm, and the water flowed freely, and the flowers bloomed and let forth their fragrance! And lo, did Iorwatih weep at this, for he could see then the rememberance of his own memories, and so did he remember what the Seas of Grass looked like not long before the coming of those snows.
'To his feet he did fall, and let the tears flow from his face like a healing rain upon the rich grass at his feet. Then, he rose, for he knew he had been summoned not to weep, or to revel in memory, but to hold fast and seek the Goddess herself!
Down he went, into a hole cut from rock that lead into darkness. There he could hear the dripping of water, and the breath on his lips, and the beating of his own great heart. Soon it was too dark to see, so he did find his way with his hands along the damp stone, and pressed ever onward.
'Then, alas, there was a light in the distance, like some shining beacon of hope on a horizon of a thousand winter nights!
'To that light did he come, and so did he find Her that Guards the Goddess: Lylath, the Crone, the Keeper of the Old Blood. Wrinkled and broken was her body, her skin stretched like so much dried paper over broken, crumbling bones. Her eyes did not shine, but were black like empty holes. Her mouth was empty too of teeth, and only a handful of hairs remained on her most ancient brow. From her chair of stone did she rise, and look upon Iorwaith then with a look of ancient mistrust and misgiving. When she spoke, her voice was like the rustling of leaves on a dry ground: 'Who comes here that might ask of the Goddess, then? What right have you, -Man-, to defile this holy place with your feet which bleed from the fallen snow?''
Baeregar winces at the description of the crone.
Ealdread says, 'Iorwaith did not despair then, for he knew he had been called, and could feel his heart overflowing with love and emotion. To her, he spoke, his voice like the crack of thunder in a summer sky: 'Know you my name, Lylath! I come now to give blood to the Goddess, as it is right and good to do!'
Ceallian now watches Ealdread's every minute gesture curiously. She waits for his every word.
Ealdread says, 'To this she spoke, a curl of a smile twisting onto her ancient lips: 'Do you give that blood freely? Know you the Way when the blood has been kept?''
Ciaphias walks hesitantly in, unsure on how well his presence would be greeted.
Ealdread says, 'Iorwaith did nod at this, and then did he walk to the Sharpest Stone, and drew the flesh of his arm down upon that rock. He let the blood flow into the Basin, as it was known for him to do, and raised the bowl from off the table.'
Ciaphias quietly pulls the helm from his head, keeping his eyes on Ealdread as he listened.
Dolen glances over his shoulder at the presence of an armored figure, nodding slightly after a long moment of consideration, remembering the face eventually.
Ealdread says, 'He handed the bowl to Lyleth then, and bowed deeply before her and kissed her feet. 'Freely given, Good Lady of this House. Freely given and gone."'
Baeregar shakes his head, looking into his ale.
Ealdread says, 'To that did Lyleth smile, and nod. She took the bowl to her lips and drank of Iorwaith's blood, and, as if the blood filled her own body, so too did her age melt away and her features become youthful!'
Ceallian looks on, her brow furrowing. She arches a brow, gazing now into the embers once more.
Ealdread says, 'Where once stood a broken, crumpled crone, there then stood a beautiful woman, slender of wrist and with hair that shone like the gold of the Oldest House! Lyleth touched him shoulder, then, and bade him rose. He did; and then did she kiss him on the lips as she would an old friend. "Freely given, and gone; go you now to that place to which you have been called!' Lyleth, the Old Crone, Protector of the Old House, went out of that place then, and into the air of the world that had forgotten her face.
'Iorwaith watched her go, and turned to face his fate; the chasm that showed its maw of black. He felt a pull there, strong and fast, and walked to the edge of that precipice. There he could clearly see the form of the Goddess herself, floating as if held by some magic over that great and deep pit.
'He could feel her pull him, could feel the strength of his own heart begin to burst; he could feel the tears begin to fall anew down his cheeks, and could feel the blood flowing down his still-bleeding arm.'
Ceallian glances to Ealdread with a small smile, then to her feet.
Ealdread says, 'She could hear his voice in his head, then, like a the sky calling out to a winter star: "Oh, come, my love! Come!"
'And so then, did Iorwaith go to her, and leap into the arms of the Goddess. He could feel their fall, could feel the wind rushing as they plummeted; he could feel her embrace, and how wholly she did take him in.
'Lo, did they fall like that for an eternity of the mind; for Iorwaith could feel his spirit awakened as it had never been! Gone was that lingering emptiness, that question of worth or doing. Alas, there was only the knowledge of this, that he would make right all that which had come to plague those lands, and which had come to harm his people!'
Baeregar smiles with a contented nod, and sips at last from his ale.
Ealdread says, 'So then, did Iorwaith, whose Blade felled the Trees on the plain, and who's breath caused the Sky part between the Branches, fall to meet his own demise, enwrapped in the arms of the Goddess Cerniwen.'
Ceallian frowns slightly to this, then smiles to herself.
Ealdread says, 'And lo, did the people weep when the snows began to melt, and winter became spring anew! Lo, did they weep, and fully, for they knew the price that had been paid: Freely given, and gone.'
Ciaphias furrows his brow slightly.
Ealdread says, 'Weep now, Sons and Daughters! Weep, and do so fully, for he who gave all for us!'
Ceallian looks to her playing, biting her lower lip but smiling quietly.
Dolen nods slightly at that, the whetstone still rasping along the blade.
Ealdread says, 'Weep, for it is right and good to do so, for those tears will quench the soil as did the spring rains that came then, and the waters that bathed the grass in its melting.'
Baeregar bows his head slightly, raising his mug halfway.
Ealdread nods, and smiles.
Ceallian sniffles almost silently, then smiles to Ealdread brightly.
Ealdread retakes his seat, sweat beaded on his brow, and takes a long, thoughtful draught of his ale.
Ceallian says, 'Well told, eie leof.'
Ciaphias speaks up quietly.
Ceallian says, 'As always, a lovely tale.'
Ciaphias says, 'Well said, Ealdread.'
Baeregar says, 'Aye. A tale for the ages.'
Ceallian looks to Ciaphias, a bit surprised. She smiles to him, tilting her head.
Ealdread nods to the Hobbit with a grin. "My thanks, old friend. It is good to see your face once more."
Ciaphias smiles a bit, nodding to Ealdread.
Ceallian clears her throat gently and settles down her harp. Her fingers are nearly raw from playing.
Ciaphias says, 'Yours is a pleasant sight as well.'
Ceallian says, 'Can you excuse me, friends? I am very weary now.'
Ealdread finishes the contents of his mug, and rises. 'I should like to see you out, then.'
Baeregar bows deeply before Ceallian.
Ceallian curtseys politely. 'Thank you, eie leof.'
Baeregar says, 'Lovely playing as ever, Cay.'
Ceallian says, 'Travel well, friends. Brem holca. My thanks to you, sir.'
Baeregar bows deeply before Ealdread.
Ealdread offers a nod to both Men, and then to Ciaphias.
((Cay and Ealdread leave the Pony and step outside.))
Ceallian smiles to Ealdread. She blinks as the sun shines brilliantly on his armour.
Ealdread smiles at this, and looks down upon his breastplate. "It is of Elven make."
Ceallian, 'It is lovely, though I wish you did not have to wear it.'
Ealdread grins, and loops his thumbs between the straps that hold it fast. "I know no other way of living, eie leof. I fear this shall be part of me until I am laid to rest upon the grass."
Ceallian taps her lower lip with her forefinger, thoughtful for a moment. "That is a matter I wish to talk over with you soon, eie leof. But for now, my house calls to me, and my own bed."
Ealdread nods, smiling. "Go there, and rest well!"
Ceallian smiles and steps to him, brushing his lips with a kiss. "Travel well and safe until I can see you again, aye?"
Ealdread pulls his cloak back over his face, and appraises her for a moment. Then, he smiles, nods, and bows deeply before her. 'I shall do my best, eie leof.'
Ceallian gives Ealdread a polite curtsey.