(Archive) Dwarf and Elf meet in Imladris

Front Yard
A few trees stand here, just in front of the Last Homely House. A pleasant meadow stretches off to the north and west, but the grasses and plants are only just starting to stir again. Not far behind the house the trees close in to form a pleasant wood. The grass closer to the house is also stirring again, and flowering plants are stretching themselves beneath nearby trees. Two paths lead away from the house, one southwest and one north. Down the steep bank to the south is the shore of the Bruinen.

Obvious exits:
 North leads to Open Meadow - Crossroads.
 Front Porch leads to Front Porch.
 Southwest leads to The Valley Shore.

         Balor steps down off the front porch carrying a huge, rolled up pack of trading gear. The massive load doesn't seem to bother the dwarf in the slightest, even though he is slightly bent over with the effort. He hummms a sullen dwarven tune as he walks down the path toward the riverside. He is oblivious to everything around him, obviously intent on getting his job done. As he walks along, several jewel-encrusted, carved wooden pieces fall from the rolled bundle and settle in the grass without Balor's knowledge.

        Ivrennin sits in a grove nestled beneath the trees, the same spot she was introduced to a week ago. It is late morning and she is weaving a light elven melody on the small flute she holds, to the rhythm of the flow of water nearby. But just as she finishes, the soft thuds of the wooden pieces provide a strange, strong finale to the end of the piece, and she looks up. Finding that the dwarf appears not to have noticed the fallen pieces, she strides quickly to them and picks one up, calling to Balor with a greeting, "Hail, Master Dwarf!"

         The dark tune humming from Balor's throat is interrupted by the elf maiden's melodic voice. Balor's stride immediately halts and his eyes find her. His load was becoming unstowed, he lowers his burden and holds out his thick hand. "Thank you my lady," he says, his cheecks blushing as his eyes catch full sight of her. "Such delicate items cannot be forgotten," he says. After catching initial sight of her, Balor does not make eye contact or even look upon the elf. It is clear the sight of her as illicited an unaccustomed reaction.

        "Of course," Ivrennin agrees heartily, even as her gaze is drawn to the sparkling jewels on the wooden pieces, her eyes alight with appreciation for the beauty of dwarf-work: different from the craft of the elves which she is more familiar with, but beautiful nevertheless. Balor's reaction does not go unnoticed by her. Handing him the piece in her hand, she bends down to pick up yet another one, bringing her to eye level with the dwarf. "If I may ask, Master Dwarf: what mission brings you out of the house, with such a fine load on your back?"

         The dwarf is a bit confused by her question, then the nature of Imaldris drifts back into his mind. He had forgotten it was a refuge harboring many travellers. "We are concluding a trade mission my lady," he says quite bashfully. He chances a look at her briefly as she hands him the other trinkets. "We have done fairly well from what I was told. I am not a craftsman or merchant so I cannot tell for sure." He stows the pieces into his pack and straps it down more tightly this time. "My name is Balor, son of Dalor of Eredor. I have not spoken with your kind until this instance....forgive my hinderance of tongue. I am unaccustomed to such beauty."

        A small laugh comes from the elf as she shakes her head ever so slightly. "Nay, what beauty I may possess pales much in comparison to the beauty of the stars, the halls, this valley, and also that of the trinkets you hold." Fingering the silver band on her finger, she looks into his youthful face, and continues. "I am Ivrennin, daughter of Curunar, of Nos Narthanaer. Neither have I spoken with any dwarf during this present trade mission, though I have heard your voices in the house, and met those of your kindred in previous year. Yet you seem different from the dwarves I am acquainted with."

         Balor doesn't know how to take her comments at first. IT takes him a while to glean her meaning. In the meantime, he continues to tighten the straps of his pack until they are literally forcing fabric from between them with tension. "I think you are humble..." He manages a partial smile. When she comments about him being different, he seems darken as though insulted. "I am no different than other dwarves my lady," he says, his voice coming more harshly. "I am an apprentice Warder, that may explain what you are meaning..."
         He hoists the pack upon his shoulder and back and bends over under the weight. "Ivrennin," he says. "It is a musical name."

        Taken aback by Balor's reaction, Ivrennin replies, "No, no, Master Dwarf! I merely meant that you seem younger than any dwarf I have been acquainted with." Her brows furrow at his next comment. "A Warder?" she states, curiosity evident in her tone.
        But at his words about her name, a smile graces her face once again. "Indeed it is," she remarks. "My mother, foreseeing my love for music, gave me this name in accordance to what she saw for me."

         Balor's expression softens more as she explains herself, losing that offended appearance. "A Warder is a warrior, we specialize in fighting as a craft. Although I am just an apprentice." He lingers, obviously appreciating the conversation. "I would like to talk with you more before I go," he says a bit bashfully. "Will you be around this area? I must get this load to the caravan."

        "I see," Ivrennin nods as Balor speaks, and laughs quietly once again, when she hears his question. "I would like to learn more about your work, too," she says. "I have always been curious about other cultures, and I have not spoken to a dwarf for quite a time. I have much to learn from you, I think." She shades her eyes as the sun shifts to pour its radiance directly onto the yard. "I am often here, for it is a wonderful place to make music, and I will linger here this afternoon. But if you do not find me here when you return, I will be in the Halls of the Istfariath. Have you been there?" she queries, as she straightens her body and lets her hand fall.

         "No my lady," he says. "I will look for you here first, before we go." He turns and begins walking down the path toward the river. He glances over his shoulder at her and smiles beneath his beard and then turns, trodding with his thick dwarven boots toward the caravan.

        Glancing towards the caravan that her eyes can yet see from this distance, Ivrennin whispers in Sindarin, "Farewell, Master Dwarf, until we meet again." Even as Balor's figure disappears and his footsteps fade, she once again begins to play, this time a stately piece reminiscent of great halls and great deeds.