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Will You Stay?

Tags: Ivrennin,  Sulgirion

Short Summary: The elleth Ivrennin convinces a large feathered visitor to stay for the bakery festival.
Date (real-life): 2010-07-30
Scene Location: Meadow, Imladris

============== Lord of the Rings Calendar <in English> ==============
IC time is:    Late Morning < About 12:57 AM >
IC day is:     Friday
IC date is:    July 20
Moon phase:    Full  <HIDDEN>
Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is:    Third Age 3050
RL time:        Fri Jul 30 09:39:08 2010

Open Meadow - Crossroads
This is a broad meadow, carpeted with grass. A huge oak stands in the midst of the meadow, a path passing close under its branches. The old oak looks like a pleasant place to pause and rest. The path itself is hard packed earth, clear of stones.

Off to the north the meadow merges into fertile fields and pastures, and to there a path branches off from the east-west way. To the south is the House, and southwest is the bridge. In the west a stand of birches grow on the slopes before the cliffs. The buzz of summer fills the air, warmth hanging over the meadow like a comfortable blanket. Summer flowers dot the meadow grass, adding other colours to the rich green of the grass. The huge oak in the center of the field offers pleasant shade during the heat of the day, while at night, fireflies flicker about it, blinking on and off like sparks whirled along by the breeze.

Huge Oak
Obvious exits:
 North leads to Pasture.
 East leads to Open Meadow - Valley Path.
 South leads to Front Yard.
 West leads to Meadow Path.

It is another warm summer night, and the meadows to the north of the House are bathed in grey under the inky sky. Flowers speckle the grass, and above little firelies float like glowing dots in the dark.

A fresh wind blows through the blades of grass, and tosses the branches of the enormous tree that sits in the middle of the field. A great shadow passes overhead, darker than the night, and as it moves, pale starlight catches on brown-gold feathers. The Great Eagle turns a slow circle in the sky, and then with a last flap, begins to settle itself in the large branches of the Great Oak.

There is a figure emerging from the shadows of the valley path: it is an elleth, her slender silhouette swift against the darkness. Her gait and posture are familiar; she is once again carrying a basket to this meadow, though it is not as large as before. As she passes under the first branches of the oak, the rustling catches her attention and she looks up... to find the Great Eagle landing right above her. Her shock and surprise register: a soft gasp!

The rustling of leaves and creaking of limbs hides the elf-maid's small gasp, and it seems that the nighttime visitor is hitherto unaware of her presence. Sulgirion is already fluffing out his wings, and lowering his head to run his curved beak along the unkempt feathers. He shifts himself on the branch, and a sprinkling of leaves rain down toward Ivrennin.

As the leaves fall in her face, Ivrennin tries valiantly to fend them off with one hand, as the other is very occupied with holding the basket. But one hand cannot stop all of them; and some, inevitably, tangle in her hair. Frustrated, she lets out a small huff, and steps out from under the Eagle. She squints, and as the moonlight falls on the Eagle's countenance, recognition kicks in - "Sulgirion??" she asks, almost certain that it is he.

As the voice comes out of the darkness, the avian startles slightly -- a motion that, unfortunately, yet again sends another collection of leaves fluttering groundward. The preening stops, and bright amber eyes raise as he cocks his head to look with one keen eye in the direction of the speaker. "Ah, well met," the wild-edged voice says as the black-tipped beak clacks open and shut. "I had not noticed you...Iv..rennin, was it not? Correct me if my memory fails me," Sulgirion dips his head, almost apologetically at the sight of the hair-tangled leaves.

Luckily, as she has moved out of the way, the second stream of leaves misses her, save one that lands on her shoulder. Ivrennin sets the basket down on the grassy floor, and reaches with both hands to pluck the leaves out of her hair. "Yes, well met," she replies, smiling slightly now that her hair is on its way to recovery. "How have you been, mellon? And what brings you here this evening?"

"I have fared well," the eagle answers, turning his neck to peek at the darkling sky for a moment. "From the West I come, and as the hour drew late I thought this King of Oaks offered a welcoming place to rest." The piercing gaze returns, and Sulgirion observes the basket, tilting his head now the other way in curiosity. "Have you come to pick berries? Collect herbs, perhaps?"

[Ivrennin(#31621)] "Nay, this basket contains what remains of the bread I had a hand in," says Ivrennin, looking down at the basket fondly. "I thought this would be the perfect time to try my fledgling bakery skills, what with the festival and all. Would you like to try some?"

"Indeed, I shall be glad to try some, friend," the avian nods again, peering into the basket more closely. "I will try not to create such a mess this time," he gives a curious bird-sound that resembles laughter, and with a steady flap of his gold-rimmed wings, Sulgirion leaps off his perch. He gives a careful spiral in descent, and with a softer beating of his feathered arms, lands himself nigh the elleth. "You spoke of a festive," he says once he has stooped his neck a little. "What can you tell me of it? Is it here, in the Valley?"

Bending down, Ivrennin picks up her basket and being unearthing a loaf, offering it to the Eagle as far as her hand can stretch. "Indeed, it is here in Imladris. Mirodhel and I - we thought it would be fun to have a food festival. Often we have the Bardic Congresses to showcase our singers' and artisans' works, but not so for our bakers. And food is such delightful artistry, for it not only has to look good, but taste good as well!"

"Ah, I see. It is true; of the elven food I have tasted thus far, I have never been disappointed. Your steward, Nurenhir, bakes wonderful cakes. I admit I had never heard of such a treat until I first met him." Sulgirion lowers his head further, but then stops, peering at the delicate hand that holds the bread. "Would you mind tossing it, and I shall catch it? I fear of catching your fingers in my beak."

"I can, but I make no guarantees for my aim," says Ivrennin with a lopsided smile. She pulls her arm down and tosses the loaf in the air... and, yes, it flies to the left side of the Eagle's head. "Nurenhir's cakes, ah! You should not have spoken of them, for the mere mention makes me desire to taste them again. Will you stay for our food festival, then?"

The great amber eyes seem to smile. "I have caught a squire from a rushing river. I do not think bread will elude me." The raptor raises his neck, turns it to the left, and stretches wide his hooked mouth. The loaf soars closer, and closer... and vanishes in a single rapid bite. "I must say it once more: I have never been disappointed with elvish cooking. It is delicious." Sulgirion bobs his head again in an avian nod. "Yes, I think I shall linger for this festival...I only hope I can still fly away after all these cakes." There is the noise of another raspy laugh.

A stream of giggles erupts from Ivrennin, as the thought of an overweight Eagle unable to take off roots itself in her mind. "I fear you have permanently burnt an image into my imagination," she says. "And thank you for your compliment; though I must attribute the ingredients in the dough to the professional bakers. Would you like another?" She retrieves another loaf, holding it out.

Just then she pauses. "Wait - did you say, you caught a squire from a rushing river..."

The eagle watches the second piece of bread for a moment, than shakes his head at last. "No, I think I had better not. Perhaps tomorrow, if there is more left."

"Indeed, you heard rightly. That young lad, the one who came with the Knight from Gondor. 'Menelglir the Mouse.' I pulled him from the Mitheithel when their group had been beset by a troll in the Shaws. It was the least I could do -- they had helped me escape after I had been trapped by a different troll...I am not too fond of being stuffed into a cave," he pauses. "Nor being dinner."

"Ah, the Gondorians... I remember that boy. He was rather small-built and lanky; rather unlike what you would expect of a Knight-in-training." She stows the loaf back in her basket, and covers it with pattern fabric that she smooths out with her hand. "I suppose being dinner would be rather unpleasant," she says, the master of understatement.

Then she sighs. "Alas, though I would enjoy the pleasure of your company even longer, my duties call. I am to head back to the house." A hand gestures towards the front entrance of the Last Homely House; her features betray just a tinge of disappointment.

"Unlike the expected, may be, but the boy proved his bravery during my rescue. It seems the outside may belie the true worth."

Sulgirion follows the elleth's gesture, and he inclines his gold-crowned head. "It was a pleasant seeing you again, and I thank you for the bread. I think I shall rest for a while more. If you wish to find me, look to the skies, if I am not to be found in the branches."

"I will," Ivrennin says, "and I shall be sky-gazing especially frequently in just over a month." She smiles and waves, turning to move towards the House. "Until we meet again!"

"Until we meet again," echoes the eagle, moving backward a set of bird-steps, and leaping airborne. Soon, he is reseated upon the thick branch, tucking his head under one large bronze wing.

Date added: 2010-07-30 20:26:11    Hits: 56
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