Elendor

Words of the Wise

Thorgil and Aluirwen meet on the Lawn.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Lawn
Game Date: Unknown
IC Time: Evening
Weather: Clear
Description:

The evening is newly come to the Wood, and yet the darkness is not unwelcome. The stars shine brightly in the velvet-black sky, and the flickering of lamps can be glimpsed throughout the mallorn boughs, lights that might even seem to dance in celebration of the night.
The lawn is relatively calm, a breeze, a touch cool as if noting the changing of the seasons, brushing through the grass. And to the lawn arrive the linguist Aluirwen, her lithe, slippered steps whispering through the grasses as she emerges from the great mallorn, a tome balanced in the crook of one arm.

Thorgil rushes across the lawn, barely noticing Aluirwen at first. He carries many herbs in his hands, and only when he feels the presence of another does he turn. He smiles and gathers the herbs into one arm. "Good day Master," the Healer says with a small bow of his head and a smile.

The once-fluid steps of the linguist come to a halt, the hem of her green gown falling to brush at the blades of grass about her feet. She dips in a little curtsey then, Aluirwen does, and a gentle, kindly smile finds itself at her lips.
"Good evening to you as well," come her lilting words, accompanied with a nod of her dark-tressed head. "Oh, have you heard?" continues Aluirwen, grey eyes widening, expression turned to one of query.

The Adept shifts his position and smiles. "Am I missing something?" he asks, also extending a free hand. "I am Thorgil by the way. I believe my son Thorhur studies with you?" he asks with a grin.

"Ah, yes..." replies Aluirwen, extending her own hand to meet that of Thorgil. "Thorhur is indeed one of my students. And it is, in fact, news of him that I have come to receive of late."
The linguist gives a nod, perhaps almost seeming one resolute, as her greyed gaze strays toward the Great Mallorn for a moment, as if the thing of which she is about to speak somehow reminds her of it. "A great Eagle came to this very lawn and brought us glad tidings. Lady Gilhonien said that she had seen those of the Wood, and that it seemed that no ill had befallen them in their journey home."

Thorgil lets forth a sigh of relief and smiles. "That is good news indeed. I hope their trip to Mithlond was memorable. I made the same trip long ago..." he sighs and closes his eyes. "I went with my father to the Grey Havens. I was still young then, and watched him leave at sunset. I still remember the smell of the sea, but I dare not go back to the Havens...not now anyway..."
He smiles suddenly. "I suppose that is all in the past now. Let us be glad they are safe. How are you dear Aluirwen?" he asks with a weak smile.

"I have never seen the Sea myself..." begins the linguist after having listened to the story of Thorgil, her words softened yet still holding a note of their previous melody. "But I suppose I have heard the sound of it in the words of visitors to our Wood who have lived near it.
"But, aye, I am glad to hear that all those who travel are safe. And for that, I fare well." A wash of relief touches her own features anew, and she smiles toward Thorgil. "And how fare you?"

Thorgil smiles as Aluirwen speaks, seeming comforted by her words. He gives her question a moment of thought before answering. "I am as well as I can be. Without many injured ellon to tend to, the Healing talan is quiet. I have given much time lately to music though."
The Healer places his plants gently on the ground, and then removes a flute from his cloak. It is long and gold, the holes set at equal distances. He smiles proudly. "I have been learning hwo to play the flute."

"Ah, 'tis well to hear that the telain of the Cuigrithweg are not filled," begins Aluirwen, and a touch of idle amusement touches her expression, sparkles in her eye, "even if it means that your skills are not being put to use. It is fair tidings that little evil lurks about the borders at present."
But the healer produces his flute and the grey eyes of the linguist widen a touch, as she clasps her hands in delight, yet balancing her tome in her arm. "Has your son been teaching you, then? Or have you sought out another teacher among the Glirdain?"

"Thorhur taught me a bit before he left," Thorgil explains with a beam, "However, since he is gone now I have been learning under the Scholar Luirelor. She is such a patient flutist. However," the Healer blushes, "Do you have any tips for me?"

"I see," says Aluirwen, a gentle, perhaps knowing, smile at her lips. "I am sure that Luirelor would be one of the best teachers to consult where the flute is concerned." Then, however, the barest shadow of disappointment crosses her expression.
"I am afraid that the flute is not an instrument that I oft play," admits the linguist, a tracing of the same disappointment colouring her words, "though I would fain help you if I am able. Where are you having trouble?"

"I'm not having much trouble," The Healer explains lightly with a soft grin, "I was just hoping for some advice on how to improve. Here, I'll play for you. Then perhaps you can critique me?"
The Healer sighs, then begins a soft tune. He starts out softly, and a bit airy, but soon finds his place and begins the soft song. As the melody progresses, the flute slowly cresecendos, and Thorgil begins tapping his foot.

Wordless is the linguist, but it is not due to a genuine lack of words Aluirwen nods her head to the words of Thorgil, surely a gesture to show that she accepts his request of her.
And as he plays, she remains thus: silent and attentive, perhaps even unconsciously swaying a bit with the cool breeze and the rhythm of the flute-tune.

For several moments, the song continues, a beautiful tune, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes soft, sometimes loud. The Healer plays with a smile as he settles into the rhythm of the song and taps his foot. Finally, the song comes to an end, a single long note that fades.
Thorgil takes a deep breath and turns to Aluirwen expectantly. "What did you think, dear elleth? Your comments are most welcome, for I consider you to be a great master.

The grey eyes of the linguist stray upward, and then there is a time where they do not look about, for her eyes fall closed and she sways lightly with the notes of the flute-music. Yet, as the song comes to an end and the healer asks her opinion of it, the eyes of Aluirwen fly open once more settling upon Thorgil.
"Very well done!" she calls, a smile at her lips, a pleased look upon her face. "You have learned much, that I can most easily hear. Luirelor and Thorhur have taught you well. Perhaps..." Here she pauses a moment, a touch of thoughtfulness washing over her mien, and for a moment she presses a finger to her lips as yet another indication of her thought. "Perhaps do not feel so restrained by the rhythm," she says finally. "Let the music carry you where it will. That is perhaps a word that I would offer to any musician."

Thorgil smiles, relieved to find his playing held in such high favor. He puts the flute back into the folds of his cloak and bows his head. "Thank you for your words, Aluirwen. I am very proud of my son for teaching me all that I know."
The Healer gathers his herbs off the ground and turns back to the Master. "I better get these to the Healing Talan, or else face the wrath of my wife. She'll want to know where I am." He winks, then disappears down the stairs away from the lawn.

Players: Thorgil,Aluirwen
Located in: Galadhrim