Seeking Seeker - Arrival in Imladris

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Late Afternoon on Monday, Day 12 of August, 3044.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:24:44 MDT on Tue Aug 05 2008.

Garden Porch

 This is a covered porch running the whole length of the east side of the house. There are several comfortable places to sit and look out at the garden. Outside, you can see the gardens in the east and south, and catch a glimpse of the Bruinen over the garden walls. In the north, a trail heads out through an arch in the garden wall.

Contents:
Muirgheal

Obvious exits:
  West leads to East Entrance Hall.
  East leads to Garden.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] It's a bleary-eyed and pale young woman who slams open the door to the house and steps out onto the garden porch. Her black eyes look dazed as she takes everything in, this new, short-haired Muirgheal. This isn't what she had expected at all she thought there would be blood to shed, some revenge that could be had, not to find the one she sought in such a peaceful setting. Her beautiful handmade skirt is torn and dirty, and her left arm has been secured to her side in a sling. Her curls aren't pinned back, loose gold flyaways all around her face that have grown all the way back down to her chin. When she finally sees her husband, she looks as though she might cry. But all she manages to do is stay standing where she is and announce, loudly and overbright, "So...I bought a puppy. From a child."

Rhifaroth>

 Rhifaroth is indeed out here on the porch, seated in a chair. He is washed, his dark hair trimmed, dressed in clothes very simular to what he worn here in the Valley before. His posture is vaguely relaxed but not slouching. He looks as though he were looking out into the garden, hands resting lightly upon the arms of the comfortable chair.

 But, oddly enough, as Muirgheal steps out banging the door and speaks up loudly to announce herself...

 There is no response whatsoever in the seated man. He doesn't glance up, doesn't flinch, doesn't blink. Rhifaroth just sits there as if nothing had happened.

[Rochwen(#30925)] There is another figure to appear through the door, this one petite and dusty. The elleth Rochwen comes lightly onto the porch, unclasping the horse brooch at her throat. The silvery gray cloak is pulled from her shoulders, and she leaves it on the ground by the door as she comes forward. As her eyes settle upon the man she's called a friend since wintertime, her blue eyes fill with concern and worry. She whispers something in Sindarin, but chooses to let Muirgheal have her time with Rhifaroth. Eyes move in attention to the Healer who seems to have taken up a post as watchman, and she moves forward, her hair falling in her face. She tucks it back, speaking low and swiftly with the elleth in further Elvish, her eyes flickering back to Rhifaroth quite often.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal doesn't really know what to do, then. For a moment, she plays with a strand of hair. She doesn't repeat her cheerful news. Instead, she walks over to where Rhifaroth sits, each step slow as if she were walking through thick mud, cautious. Finally, she is standing in front of him, blocking the beautiful garden view. She kneels, then, and looks up at him, and manages not to let her dark eyes spill over though she feels like crying. She raises her good hand in a little wave. "Hi, love." This spoken softer than her earlier words.

Rhifaroth>

 The elleth standing quiet watch over the man seems first a little alarmed by the arrival of the strange, fey, blonde. But at Rochwen's arrival and approach, the healer relaxes and looks relieved.

 Muirgheal blocking Rhifaroth's view of the garden still gets no response. His eyes are unfocused and do not focus upon her at all. His breathing is slow and relaxed, almost as if he were sleeping. But he is too thin, a very faint touch of silvering in his dark hair that maybe wasn't there before. And other things about his person, more obvious to the eye... new flesh around his throat, a missing finger on his right hand.

[Rochwen(#30925)] A frown deepens upon Rochwen's brow, even as the small elleth watches Muirgheal moves before her husband. Blue-gold eyes return to the elleth, a young healer that she knows from the healing halls. "Tell me, mellon..." she pauses, another glance toward Rhifaroth, "How is he fairing? What has been done so far?" All this is said in Sindarin, so as not to alarm Muirgheal.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal is perhaps trying hard not to look too closely at her husband. She doesn't seem to want her spirits crushed more when she is already so tired. But she is nothing if not persistent. "Don't you know me?" She says this louder, but gently. She is sometimes a foolish girl, and it might be a foolish gesture when she reaches forward to touch Rhifaroth's hand.

Rhifaroth>

 The elleth tries to smile at Rochwen, but her hazel eyes slip back to watch that strange blonde human woman with the man she's warding, " He's ... unchanging. Very quiet. A pair of the Dunedain brought him in and asked us to look after him. But he is to be watched, and not allowed to leave. He apparently killed a man in cold blood and they do not know if he might harm himself, or others."

 " Who is this woman, Rochwen?" asks the young elleth.

 Rhifaroth's hand feels normal. Calloused, maybe very slightly on the cool side. But Muirgheal's fingers touching his don't get any more response than anything else she has done, so far. The man's eyes are open but it is as though he sees right through her.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen nods slowly. " Thank you, mellon," she says, before pausing. " She is Rhifaroth's wife, Muirgheal they sheltered here last winter, when their twin children were born. Perhaps you might remember the day?" Another glance, before she moves a touch closer to the younger Healer. Rochwen looks almost...pained, now, her worry deepening. " Are his injuries...merely of the body, or, also of others?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal gives his hand a squeeze, though nothing happens. She sits back, still trying to remain very composed in front of the elves, though she's slipping. "He's dead." She finally pronounces, with quiet shock. "Dead, but breathing. Dead as any man I ever ki- saw. Saw." Muirgheal has to hide her face in her good hand for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then she slams her fist into the floor of the porch. "Dead! After we came all this way, and after all I hoped..." She stares down at a big spot of mud on her pale ankle.

Rhifaroth>

 The elleth's attention returns to Rochwen, " No, he's healed... maybe some ribs still mending, but nothing more. But his fae... " She frowns, hands absently twisting her garment, " Hir Elrond needs to look at him but there was something more pressing that came up."

 Hearing the distraught in the human woman's voice, the young, very slender healer elleth turns her attention to Muirgheal. Speaking in Westron, she says, "No, he is not dead, mellon. Do not grieve. Sometimes, briefly, he knows we are here. You must be very patient."

[Rochwen(#30925)] Something crosses through Rochwen's eyes as she listens, disturbing the flecks of gold nestled in the blue. She gives a slow nod. " None have tried to...call him, then?" she asks gently, nodding toward Rhifaroth. She glances toward the elleth, her expression a grateful one, even as she slowly moves to stand beside the chair Rhifaroth sits in.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Finally, there's something Muirgheal can do, something to feel other than despair. Her anger is always strong, when she feels it, and now is no exception. She gets to her feet and walks to where the young healer is. "Oh, so you want to talk to me about patience? Do you know how many years I'll probably live? I might well die tomorrow. You have...how many centuries to live? I'd love to be like you, but I'm made of weaker stuff, see? I've been riding for days without sleeping because of the nightmares, and now I've broken my damn arm. And my husband is the walking dead. They told stories like this in Dunland...but I thought they were to scare little girls like me..." Muirgheal walks to the edge of the porch and rests her head against one of the wooden support beams. She mutters a constant stream of a dark language to herself, a prayer to a war god, the only god she's ever known.

Rhifaroth>

 There is a glance back to Rochwen, " Not that I know of... but I only tend to him a few hours now and then. We rotate. There are others you should speak to for further details, Rochwen."

 Muirhgeal's anger though, the very young elf - she doesn't know what to make of it except to step back from such vehemance. The healer, she pales, and looks like she'd like very much to leave and go back into the house.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen, beginning kneel so she might get a better look at the man, halts. She rises gracefully again, slowly, turning to face Muirgheal and the young elleth. " Please, you may return inside if you wish. I apologize for her words she has not been well the past few weeks," Rochwen offers the elleth, her voice apologetic. She then turns to Muirgheal, moving to stand beside the woman, and catching her gaze. "Muirgheal," she says, now in Westron, "I do not wish to speak harshly, but...this will not help. The Healers here have done their utmost to help your husband." Without pausing, she firmly takes the woman's good hand, giving it a sharp tug as she leads her to stand beside Rhifaroth once more.
 When Rochwen speaks again, her eyes have softened, along with her voice. "His wounds, mellon...they are many," she says, carefully, "The ones of the hroa - body - will heal with time. But..." she pauses, struggling for the words. A pale hand comes to rest barely a fingertip in the air above his heart. "His fea, spirit...something is...amiss there."

Rhifaroth>

 The younger elleth nods and slips around behind the man, heading for the door that leads back into the House. In a moment, she has fled, leaving her charge to Rochwen's capible care.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal turns to look at Rochwen. She frowns. "Yes, I know. I believe they have, and I'm grateful. But...I'm so angry, Rochwen. I'm angry at everything. I don't know -who- to yell at. I'm useless at fixing anything." At that last, she looks down at Rhifaroth again. "He doesn't see me. I'm not magic like you. I can't heal his- fea?" She looks out at the garden, staring very hard at a purplish flower as though she resents its existence. She turns in time to see the healer go. "What's her name? I ought to apologize later. I'm sure she did a good job at whatever she was doing." Then the golden haired young woman tries to free her hand from Rochwen's, to pull an empty chair up beside the one Rhifaroth is in.

Rhifaroth>
look Rhifaroth

 At about 6'4" in height, this man is under weight, overly thin. Windblown black hair, with the barest hint of silvering at his temples, has been washed and trimmed. Pale grey eyes tend to focus on nothing at all, withdrawn. Faded line and dot tattoos that resemble writing mark his cheeks and down the sides of his throat, and a scar bisecs the right side of his face. New, pink skin has regrown around his throat, up beneath his jaw and over his windpipe from having been repeatedly strangled with a coarse rope.

 He is now dressed in a pale blue velvet tunic with silver knotwork detailing within black trim. A black leather belt with knotwork pattern is settled over the waist of the tunic. Darker blue pants are tucked into plain black boots of soft leather. The man's arms are bare in the summer heat except for more of the faded tattooing pattern. Scars, both old and new, encircle his wrists and all of the smallest finger on his right hand has been removed.

Rhifaroth>
 As Muirgheal drags an empty chair over the porch closer to Rhifaroth, there is the barest movement from the man. Just a faint shift of his head, the barest flicker of his eyes.

 At that moment, an entirely different elf arrives. The ellon is older and carries a tray. But at the sight of Rochwen and the beragled blonde woman, he pauses. Upon the tray is a bowl of fruit cut into small pieces, a plate with a bit of sliced meat and vegetables. A very small portion. And a cup of what may be wine or water.

 " Where is Celairaew?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal isn't a patient girl. She settles into the chair, with only a brief nod to the ellon who arrives with a tray. She doesn't say anything about Rhifaroth moving. That might have been the wind, or a trick of her tired eyes. She looks at her friend. "Rochwen, if you can find some of that Elvish wine, I am going to get more drunk than I've ever been whilst I rethink my existence. And of course, I invite you to join me." She finally gives a longer look to the elf who has brought some food. "If that's for my husband...I'll give it to him. And please forgive my rudeness, but, he eats more than that."

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen releases her friend's hand so she might sit, and brings over a chair of her own to sit on Rhifaroth's other side. "You are not usually, Muirgheal, never think that," she says, pushing her hair out of her face again. "There is much you can do here, even though...it is a small thing." She pauses, looking up at the ellon. " I apologize, she...I bid her go back inside. I can watch him for a few hours," she says. Then, in Westron, "Please, let her see to the food?" She nods to Muirgheal, then looks as well. "I can find you wine, but first...I have something I need to ask of you, a way you might help Rhifaroth."

Rhifaroth>
 The older elleon does not seem so easily put off. In crisp Westron he gives answer first to the human woman, "Mellon, if you can get him to eat even this much, you will do much better than most have been able."

 Pale blue eyes glance at Rochwen, and Maerlathron nods, " As you wish, elleth Rochwen. But do either of you know how to feed him? Are you not just arrived?"

[Rochwen(#30925)] A slow nod to the ellon. "Just a moment, Noruiwen," Rochwen requests of Muirgheal, as she looks to the ellon. " I fear we are fresh from travel, and I forget myself. Please, anything I might need to know, tell me?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal narrows her black eyes and gives a skeptical look to Rochwen. "I only hurt things." She grumbles. "But go on. What is it?" It's the older elf who gets her attention with what he says. It just makes her paler she listens quietly to Rochwen and the ellon babbling in Sindarin.

Rhifaroth>

 Undaunted, the ellon nods to Rochwen and then steps over to place the tray on Muirgheal's chair arms - since she is the one who wishes to feed the Dunadan. Standing to his considerable height, the ellon says, "My name is Maerlathron. If you wish to feed this man, I will show you how. And gladly. Then you may try."

 So saying, a bit of the fruit is speared with a fork and Maerlathron bends over Rhifaroth to put his face in the Dunadan's line of sight. Then using his free hand, the ellon gently, but firmly taps the side of the man's face, "Rhifaroth! Food! Open your mouth." That hand moves to touch Rhifaroth's chin.

 For his part, Muigheal's husband blinks, and for an instant, looks as though he focuses upon Maerlathron, breath shifting. There is a faint frown, then he accepts the fruit. Almost at once that fleating focus is lost and the ellon has to tap Rhifaroth's chin, "Chew it! Then swallow it."

 Standing back up, the ellon looks to Muirgheal, "You have to be firm. Or he'll take it and not chew it." A glance then to Rochwen, " Is this his wife?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal is a bit surprised to have the tray places in her hands, and so she doesn't argue, yet. Watching Maerlathron, she shouts suddenly, "No! Don't! Stop it! He's a person, not a puppet! He deserves more respect...ohhh..." She shudders, and looks like she'd gladly flee into the garden, if not for the fact that she's holding the tray. "Is that what Uannve will become, when the wilds have done with her?" This is asked of Rochwen. "I... and I didn't go to help her, either." She stares down at the tray, looking at it so hard that she's presumably studying the fibers in the fruit.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen stands carefully, moving to set a hand on Muirgheal's shoulder. "Muirgheal," she says, her voice firm, "Uannve will be fine she is capable of taking care of herself, that much I have learned in traveling with her." She kneels, so the woman might see her face. "We must not worry about what might be happening elsewhere, but instead what is before us," she continues. "Now, I'm going to request something of you - mellon, I need you to hope. I need you to help me, and the other Healers, to care for your husband. We have traveled this far to find him, and we have, but there is a little more finding to do. It will take time, and I need you here. I...fear without your aid, the finding will be hard."

[Rochwen(#30925)] A nod is given to the ellon. " Yes, she is his wife."

Rhifaroth>

 Maerlathron gives Muirgheal a stern look. Elves may be famous for their patience, but not all of them put up with foolishness equally. Not if it will keep this ellon from his duties.

 A nod then to Rochwen. Maerlathron waits until Rochwen is finished speaking to the blonde, then he says, "Then you must be Muir. He has asked for you, several times." A frown then, studying Muirgheal, "Pull yourself together, mellon. This man is fading. But you may well be what he needs. If you are determined to try." And then Maerlathron adds as he hands Muirgheal the eating utensil, "Do not raise your voice at him. He will retreat and you shall not be able to reach him for a time. When you are finished, he may well need to be taken to void his blatter."

 All said very matter of factly. The ellon's eyes and voice takes on a softer demenor as he moves to depart the porch, "I will check back shortly. I had hoped that you would come."

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal raises one brow at the man, trying not to let her anger return. "Yeah, I'm Muirgheal. From Rohan. But you must've heard it from someone else, because he," here she looks at Rhifaroth, "Can't talk any better than this bowl of fruit can." This ellon is rather stern, which makes Muirgheal even pricklier, yet somehow, she just listens to him. "I don't shout at my husband, ever," she finally retorts. She feels like a scolded child, and acts like one, pouting. "I want Uannve to be here." She picks up a piece of fruit, but doesn't offer it to Rhifaroth yet, instead looking at Rochwen.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen offers a nod to the ellon once more. "Thank you, mellon," she offers, turning her gaze to study Rhifaroth for a long moment. Finally, she stands, turning her attention to Muirgheal. "Well, shall we try?" she asks her friend.

Rhifaroth>

 Maerlathron lingers a moment more, watching. His voice is kinder as he says, "Sometimes he does not wish to eat. You will have to be firm with him. But the more you are in his face, the more you make him focus on you, the easier it will get. Until you go away and come back later." With that parting advice, the tall ellon adds to Rochwen, " He sleeps in the Arnorian Quarters. She is not to be taken there, only him." A thoughtful consideration, " If she quarters in one of the guest rooms, it may be that we can move him there too. If we can get him up the stairs safely." With that bit of advice, the ellon departs to return to his duties.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Well then I just won't go away." Muirgheal says stubbornly, without thinking about it. SHe picks up a piece of fruit, and then she moves closer, to face Rhifaroth. Her dark eyes are wide as she swallows her pain and begins. "Hello there. I'm Muirgheal. That's Myur-ee-..forget it. It's too hard. You can think of me as M. That'll do fine. This is fruit. It's for your stomach, so you don't waste away." She holds it up to his mouth, waiting.

Rhifaroth>

 Words, flowing together unnoticed, like the distant babbling of a brook. Something faint, in the background of the mind. There is no response to Muirgheal from her husband. Rhifaroth doesn't so much as bat an eye.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] Muirgheal looks frustrated, but tries not to let it show. She pushes it up to his lips insistently. "Eat it, please." She says firmly. "Look, I know you don't remember me at all, but-" here her voice breaks, and she stops talking for a moment. "I'll tell you again. I'm from Dunland, which is a very terrible place.." Still, she holds out the fruit. "I won't go away 'til you eat it." She tells him.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Blue-gold eyes widen a touch at the ellons words, but Rochwen nods in understanding. He leaves before she can reply, though, so she turns to attention to helping Muirgheal. When Rhifaroth does not move, the petite elleth moves closer. "Rhifaroth," she says, her voice light, but asking for his attention nonetheless. An apologetic glance to Muirgheal, before she taps the man's hand gently with a finger. "Take it, chew, and swallow please."

Rhifaroth>
 There is still no response to Muirgheal, not but for the barest turning of his head away from the food that touches his lips, in refusal. Rochwen's touching his hand though, tapping it a few times gets a flicker of focus in the man's eyes, glancing towards his hand.

 There is a brief pause, then Rhifaroth opens his mouth a little for the food. For just a moment though, his gaze rests on Rochwen, studying briefly a new face before his focus slips back to not caring.

[Muirgheal(#32535)] "Kiern it!" Muirgheal swears under her breath. She puts the fruit aside and puts a hand up on Rhifaroth's cheek, her palm lying flat against it. "Look at me. Please. You have to know me." She rests her forehead against his for a moment, not fearing any of the first healer's warnings about how Rhifaroth has killed someone in cold blood. In fact, given how much she hates the world right now, she feels like they probably deserved it, whomever it was.

[Rochwen(#30925)] Rochwen lets out a breath of surprise at Muirgheal's suddenly movement, the healer in her fighting over what to do with the part of her that considers Muirgheal a good friend. She does not move for a moment, before she taps Rhifaroth's hand again, setting her other hand on Muirgheal's shoulder at the time. "Muir is here, Rhifaroth," she says simply, before she falls silent again.

Rhifaroth>

 There is someone here. Persistantly bothering him. Someone touches him. For a moment, grey eyes focus vaguely upon Muirgheal's face. But the face is dirty and worn, with short cropped pale hair - does he know this person? No.

 Muirgheal puts her head against Rhifaroth's and nothing happens. The man doesn't jump or try to strangle her or anything. But there is a small shift in his breathing to a little deeper, faster breath. Something vaguely has disturbed him. But try as they might, the two of them can get little more response than a barely there, all too brief focus. Getting him to eat, and not forget to chew and swallow, is ... nerve wracking. And takes firm persistance, as Maerlathron said.

 But, the man is not totally unaware that someone is bothering him. Someone perhaps he wishes would go away, but... there is a dim awareness, just barely. Perhaps time can coax more.