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Three Blind Mice (Three Horses and an Ass TP)

Tags: Menelglir,  Nurenhir,  Sulgirion

Short Summary: In which Sulgirion disrupts a "mouse's" nap, both avian and rodent become confused with the mention of cakes, and the elven baker comes brandishing his cooking knife.
Date (real-life): 2010-01-05
Scene Location: Open Meadow, Imladris

Open Meadow - Valley Path
This broad, open meadow continues off to the west, where it ends in forests. Toward the
north the meadow gives way to the stables and the horse pastures, while to the south Elrond's House can be seen. Many of the House's windows face this way, and there is one door
with a comfortable porch. Away to the west a huge old oak stands as a solitary sentinel
against the sky. Beyond it, more forest, a birch wood, closes in at the foot of the cliffs.The browns of late fall dominate the meadow, as the grasses and trees go dormant for the
coming winter. Leaves are scattered thickly around the edge of the meadow, and blow across
it, lofted to swirl around by the breezes.




Obvious exits:
 South leads to Herunnur's Porch.
 West leads to Open Meadow - Crossroads.
 East leads to Crossroads: Valley Path and Forest Path.

============== Lord of the Rings Calendar <in English> ==============
IC time is:    Early Afternoon < About 3:58 PM >
IC day is:     Sunday
IC date is:    November 14
Moon phase:    Waning Gibbous <VISIBLE>
Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is:    Third Age 3048
RL time:        Tue Jan 05 20:19:28 2010

The sleeping grasses of the meadow are stirred this afternoon by a wind greater than the chilly breeze of oncoming winter. A great Eagle soars above, close to the ground which is cast into a brief shadow beneath his passing. From the direction of the northern pastures Sulgirion comes, and his current course is slow, almost serene as it bears him westward where the mighty form of the huge oak tree can be seen. The bronze wings beat rarely, the sky-creature gliding low over the fields of the meadow. From above, the sun flares the tips of the feathers into a fiery gold.



The greens, browns and golds of the meadow stir lazily in the breeze, as if already settling in for winter's long slumber, unwilling to stir further. But, alas, the serenity and pre-winter peace of the meadow is suddenly and rudely broken.

"Aiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" It is as if one of the sections of green, brown and gold grass has
suddenly jumped to life. Or in this case, a certain Squire of Dol Amroth, dressed in those colors and sleeping amidst like-colored grasses here, has woken suddenly to find a huge shadow of a besat seemingly descending on him. Arm flung up over his face--though he is still supine on his back--Menelglir screams.

 [Sulgirion(#16643)]And the 'peacebreaker' continues his path, which still stays ironically peaceful despite his buffeting of the grasses below. The hazel eyes are directed forward toward the distant oak, and their gaze is abruptly averted downward at the unexpected shout. Sulgirion pulls sharply up, his motion ceasing to a hover as he peers beneath, the great head turning sideways to scrutinize the grasses of the meadow.

The startlement changes quickly to an odd avian chuckle however, as the large bird's keen sight descries the lad laying in the flurry of colors. "Hark!" he calls. "I hear your voice, fields of the Valley. What say you?" It is a good thing his kind cannot display emotion on their beaks, for even now the avian is forcing back a laugh.

He lowers himself to land, though safely enough away from the Gondorian.

And the youth of Gondor, sleep still heavy on his eyes, scrambles to his knees first, hand grasping for the customary sword he wears, which of course is not at his belt here in this elven valley. It is then that Menelglir blinks once more, looks up and--rubbing the sleep from his eyes--slowly gets to his feet, hands now at his side.

"Lord Sulgirion!" he calls, the name as a sigh of resignation and recognition all at once. "Have the magics of the elves so deceived your eyes that you mistake me for a mouse?"


[Nurenhir(#14756)]  It is a blessing (or perhaps a pity) that the kitchen is so near to this peaceful place, for a commotion erupts therein. From the same direction comes Nurenhir, probably interrupted in the making of a delicacy. There is an apron over his robe, and a kitchen knife in his hand, brandished in the face of this ... intruder.

"Um," he says delicately, flattening with his back against a tree. "Have I interrupted something?"


[Sulgirion(#16643)]"Young squire," the chuckle comes freely now as the eagle settles down to the earth, folding his massive wings on either side. There is a pause as he turns his head the other way to watch the boy's rising. "If I had mistaken you for a mouse, surely you would not be napping in the meadow, but rather between my beak," he assures, though perhaps not very comfortingly.

The eyes uplift an instant to regard the approaching elf, and the cooking utensil he wields rather threateningly for a passing second. Sulgirion looks curiously from Nurenhir, to the
knife, to the bird's own knife-like talons, and then back again. "No, you do not intrude, my friend," answers the eagle at last, cocking a feathered brow as if in amusement. "It appears that I am disturbing a little mouse."


[Menelglir(#17324)] "Still, the magics of this valley are strong, and who knows...perhaps the elven kind -do- transform me to a mouse," Menelglir says, warily eyeing the eagle's beak and talons. "Though I am glad that they do not affect your vision, sky lord. I've no wish to be your morsel this day."

"Though..." he sighs unhappily, "Menelglir the Mouse. I am no mouse!" This protest, with a bow, is directed toward the elf. "And Menelglir the Mouse is even worse than being named Menelglir the Mouth." Another look of unhappiness colors this. "But you do not intrude and the eagle, despite tearing into my pleasant dreams, brings no ill. But this does bring to mind a question that troubles me here, which is, surely there must be magic in this place?"


[Nurenhir(#14756)]  Nurenhir smiles, tucking the knife into his belt with a sigh. "Many who have come here have commented on such," he says gently, looking up to the sky. "Perhaps it is the hidden nature of our valley, protected from those with ill intentions. I hope the hospitality has found
you well? I was preparing a cake."

 [Sulgirion(#16643)]"The Mouse and the Bunny," Sulgirion seems to say to himself, thougtful as though recalling something. But then he quiets as the mouse in question seems to take offense at the title.

The raptor nods as the steward speaks. "A safety and joy lives here, when it cannot be as readily found elsewhere in more evil-filled lands," he adds, but then the curious look returns. "A cake? What is that? I have never heard of it before...is it one of the dances or songs I heard so much about the other day?"


Said mouse turns very deeply red at the eagle's mutterings. "Bunny, she uh..." Mouse-Squire
stutters, coughing into his hand and then trying to settle a calm and mature look on his face as he gazes back to the eagle, attempting a serious nod at the mention of safety in the
valley and evil elsewhere. "Indeed...tis so," Menelglir offers, stumbling a little on that phrase even before he again gains composure. "But more, it seems another world, even. A dream of long ago and far away. As if I am here and yet it is also all a dream somehow."

With a hopeless sigh, he turns to the elf again. "I cannot find the words for it. Sir Gwendion feels so, as well, but we are mystified." And then the boy's eyes widen as he looks from elf to knife.

"But what kind of cakes are made in this land if they require a knife of those proportions? Do you transform rocks into flour and eggs?"


[Nurenhir(#14756)]  "A cake?" Nurenhir starts in surprise, then smiles, as if reminded of something dear. "It is a treat of sorts, which is consumed after dinner. Sometimes it is made to be rich and sweet, other times light and flaky. Shall I bring some to you later, sir guests?"

"The knife is used on mutton," he assures Menelglir. "I borrowed it from another cook when I
heard your noisemaking."

"Cakes are made of boulders, then?" asks the avian, evidently now terribly confused. "They are a type of food, I understand it, by the mention of knives and flour; but if they are so hard, would that not break all cutting blades and teeth of those who eat it?"

But then Nurenhir explains, and the golden-crowned head nods. "Ah! I see," says Sulgirion.
"Yes, I shall very much like to look upon this thing you call a treat. I will try a bite; perhaps it is as tasty as a mou--rodent," he cuts short,  deciding to likewise avoid mentioning the word 'bunny' as well.


[Menelglir(#17324)] "Mutton?" Menelglir can't quite disguise his relief at the reply. "As long as it is not used on avians and..." he grins at Sulgirion, "mice." Then of course, the eagle mentions 'Mouse' once more, or starts to, and Menelglir's ears color red.

"Cake, yes sir," he replies to the elf. "I would like to try any cake that you bake, indeed. But..." Here he yawns and looks longingly toward the oak tree. "I think that a safer spot for the continuation of my nap should be in order. Lest Sir Gwendion find me too soon adn order me to trainign once more."


"I would recommend the oak tree west of this meadow," replies Nurenhir furtively. "As for me, I will bring you a slice, Squire, when the cake is ready, and to you, Sulgirion, perhaps that might not be sufficient... excuse me."



"Indeed, the tree is a most comfortable spot to roost in, though of course you are not a bird, or a bat; but I am sure the shade at its base it just as pleasant. I will probably join you from above in its branches soon enough. This time I shall try not to disturb your napping." The eagle's eyes seem to grin.

"I have never seen a cake," he turns toward the Firstborn then, "so I cannot judge how large one of its slices must be. I will take your word for it if you think it too small, though I will be happy enough to try a bite, no matter how meager, of elven-cooking."


"You mean to say that you have spent your stay in the Valley without yet tasting elven cooking?" The steward seems taken aback, though he takes this with a smile. "The quality of our sheep is much improved by a blend of spices and hearty roasting."



The avian shakes his head slightly in response. "I have tried it once upon a time when I last came to this haven, but that was long ago. I do not recall as well as I wish, and it was most certainly not cake." The hooked mouth clacks open and closed for a second at the mention of sheep, and he looks interested. "Spices? That is what one uses to improve tastes, I believe. Roasting sounds exceptionally good, though the previous time I had heard it uttered was not as good-fortuned as mentioning sheep." The unpleasant memory of the troll incident is quickly pushed away, and Sulgirion nods again. "Can you perhaps arrange for a cook to make some of that for me?"


"Of course. It shall be prepared in time for the evening meal. I shall notify them immediately." With a bow, the steward retreats towards the porch, calling out names in a sharp, clear voice already.



"I thank you, Master Elf," says the eagle, watching as th steward moves off in the direction
of the porch. With the young squire now retired for the eve, Sulgirion too prepares to take leave. A mighty flapping of his wings sends him airborne, and the sky-dweller surfs the air currents to bring him in passing over Nurenhir below. "I will settle in the great oak yonder for a while, but I shall come again as the dinner-bells beckon. Farewell for now."

And with that, the enormous bird flies overhead, gliding smoothly for the towering tree to the west.

Date added: 2010-01-06 09:14:48    Hits: 60
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