You see a rather petite female elf, her jet black hair flowing freely in the breeze, with a silver circlet around her head. She is adorned in a dark blue cloak and outfit trimmed with black, with black boots. Her turquoise eyes are both piercing and demure. She holds a thin white staff with a brilliant blue jewel affixed at the top. The deep shade of jewel matches her eyes perfectly.
“Well met, Thoroncir, I welcome thee to the Grey Havens. I believe you know Mirëgol; when she mentioned to me that Queen Arwen herself has sent thee and thy party on a rather urgent errand, she asked me if I was willing to assist thee in thy endeavors. And to that I am more than willing.”
“Please, disembark; we have some refreshments available in the shop.”
Thoroncir gestures politely for Gilraen to disembark from the Míriel first, if she wishes.
After she has done so, or if she indicates that he should go first, he will go ashore and say to the two there, “Thank you, my lady, for your welcome. We had a smooth and swift voyage, and I am glad we have now been met by Elven-women of such distinction as yourselves. I am indeed Thoroncir, a knight-errant of Gondor, at your service.” He bows.
He is a tall, solid-looking young man. You would not call him handsome, as such, but he has a friendly, open face, brown eyes and a warm smile, with brownish-black hair and beard, both worn short. He is armored in the distinctive silvery-gray chainmail, breastplate, greaves, gauntlets and helm of a captain of the Sea-knights of Linhir. He also wears a clasp bearing what you know at once must be a leaf of the fabled White Tree of Gondor. At his side hangs a longsword of ancient design, in a worn but apparently still serviceable scabbard; a small white silken cloth is tied around it, near his belt.
It is not long before you notice his attentiveness to the beautiful Princess Gilraen, whose favor the cloth is (and who seems equally drawn to him, although they strive to be discreet).
He will then briefly introduce the Elves of the Grey Havens to the others in his party, knowing that some, at least, may wish to say something themselves.
Ceol nods to his comrade Thoroncir as he finishes his introduction, then bows to the two elven women.
“Thank you for the kind welcome, miladies. I am Ceol, son of Wulfstan, Knight of the Mark. We appreciate your willingness to assist us in our mission for the Queen.”
Ceol is tall, and muscular, with the blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes common to the Rohirrim. He’s a handsome man in his mid 20s, and his smile is genuine as he meets the elves. The rings of a suit of fine dwarven-made chainmail can be seen under his green surcoat, which is embroidered with a Rohirric horse design. He bears a greatsword on his back, and a well-crafted horn on a strap over his shoulder.
Ghan also bows to the Elven women. “I am Ghan. I wish to help. This is my friend Windwing.”
He gestures to a huge Golden Eagle perched in a nearby tree.
Ghan is short and tanned, with various tattoos.
He wears a wolfskin cloak over unusual armour that seems to be made of tree bark.
He has a leather satchel, a large belt pouch, a wooden Rod and a blowpipe.
It is hard to tell his age as his features are rather flat and expressionless.
Gwaelur steps off the boat and mutters a quiet hallelujah to be back on solid ground. His most distinguishing feature is that he is heavily armed, with two battle axes of varying sizes and a hefty dwarven crossbow as well as a shield he made himself which is both solid and somehow dangerous looking.
He eyes the elf and grunts a bit. “Ho, elves. Fine day. Well met, all that. The name is Gwaelur son of Gwaelin.” Gwaelur starts looking around a bit to see if there is a tavern or something interesting to keep him busy while the job of elf stoning (or whatever it is the elf does) happens.
A fair-skinned, gray-eyed dwarf with auburn hair that’s gray at the temples and has further touches sprinkled throughout steps off the boat accompanied by what appears to be a large mechanical badger. He is clad in dwarven half-plate and at his belt hang many tools. Slung over his back along with his pack is a shield and a compound bow that by all rights shouldn’t have that many wheels. At his side hangs a dwarven battle axe.
He bows to the two elves of the Grey Havens.
“Greetings and well-met. I’m Bitur, son of Bofur. Artificer, engineer, tinker, and craftsman. And this here…”
Gesturing at the mechanical construct next to him.
“…is Grávund. Say hello, Grávund.”
You’ve probably never seen a badger bow before, but you can now cross that off your bucket list.
“It is an honor to meet you, fair Mirëgol. Your reputation as one of the finest craftspersons precedes you.”
The wizard Mirëgol nods her head respectfully to Princess Gilraen and gazes at the colorful assortment of people, her keen eyes resting curiously for a moment on the metallic badger. “Greetings travelers, I hope your journey here has been mild. It seems you already know who I am; this is my student Hejren. Now why don’t you come in before the tea cools and we can discuss business.” She motions for the party to follow as she enters a structure formed of elegant stone arches and tinted glass windows.
As you enter the workshop, you may notice the shimmering wealth of jewels and baubles. There are silver chains hung on the wall, prisms throwing dazzling stars across the ceiling, and assortments of tools of increasingly fine precision. She leads you into a sitting room with four chairs, a table set for tea and biscuits, and a fireplace in the corner. Missy, Gilraen’s little white cat, slips down into her hood at the sight of a menacing dark presence outlined by the fire. Emerald green eyes peer out like daggers from the silhouette of a twenty-something pound black cat.
Gilraen presents a small package which Mirëgol opens. She examines the deep green elf stone closely and pulls out a jeweler’s loupe. In her hands, the gem begins to emit its own glow, a shine that seems to match that of the ancient elf’s eyes. “There seems to be a fracture. It is not easy to heal stone, nor to preserve such precise cutting. It will take me some time to better assess it. In the meantime, help yourselves to anything on the table, or perhaps Hejren here could take you on a tour of Mithlond while I work.”
Gilraen is dressed in the shining white raiment of the order of Estë. She raised up her bauble, gifted to her by her mother Arwen who received it from her mother Celebrían who in turn received it from her own mother, Queen Galadriel. In her hand it blazes with the white light of Eärendil’s star. In this light, the small flaw is revealed to all in the otherwise perfect Elfstone.
Sir Thoroncir looks around the room with interest. There appear to be no servants close at hand, so he asks politely, “May I pour tea for any of you ladies?” He is rarely averse to a cup of tea or some good food himself.
Ghan is fascinated by both the Elfstone and the mechanical badger.
He keeps out of Miregol’s way as she studies the Elfstone and quietly checks with Bitur that Gravund is some sort of metal device powered by a ‘spirit’. (Ghan uses spirits himself.)
N.B. Ghan has introduced his Eagle friend Windwing to the rest of the party during the boat journey.
Gwaelur shuffles anxiously. The elves didn’t even provide proper ale as a refreshment. Typical. He looks around the room to see if anything interesting strikes him.
The tools actually look amazing though far too delicate for any work Gwaelur would attempt. Mirëgol looks deeply in Gwaelur’s eyes and he feels a little more relaxed, the feeling that good ale isn’t too far off in the future.
Hejren via telepathy is asked to escort those who wish it a tour of the Havens after the tea and refreshments.
Once Thoroncir has poured tea for Mirëgol and Hejren, Ceol will pour a cup for himself. Granted, tea isn’t common in Rohan, but the Eorlingas honor hospitality, and he wishes to do the same for their Elven hosts.
As he sips at his tea, he looks around the workshop. He doesn’t recognize most of the tools, but admires the masterful craftsmanship on display.
So after Tea and refreshments are done. Hejren is dispatched to show the party the Havens.
The havens are many docks and airy looking buildings. Nothing crowded close together. Trees abound as do slender towers. Among the buildings are all crafts that support sailing and ship building. Mixed in among these though, is the smell of fresh baked bread and fragrant pastries. Sadly for Gwaelur, the tavern is far from the water, closest to the road leading to the Tower Hills. The tavern appears far newer than any of the other ageless buildings. As they finally reach the tavern, there are a surprising number of Hobbits occupying. The Tavern is called “The Half Pint”.
“Name your beverage of choice, my friends,” intones Hejrun. “My mentor runs a tab here, note, and gave me permission to use it to acquire your selections.”
Seeing the hobbits, Thoroncir remembers his last visit to the Shire. “Thank you, my lady,” he says. “A pint of Northfarthing ale would not go amiss, I think.”
As the group moves through the Grey Havens, Ceol admires the buildings, and the ships in the harbor. He has spent little time in Elven enclaves, and he seems fascinated by the level of craftsmanship in all of their work.
When they arrive in The Half Pint, he feels like he’s found a place that’s more like home – it’s not a Rohirric meadhall, but it’s more homey and rustic than the rest of the city.
“Thank you, Lady Hejrun,” he smiles, and gives the Elf a bow. “My friend Thoroncir is right – an ale would be excellent, and one from the Shire would be even better. The holbytla are quite skilled in the art of brewing.”
Ghan is pleased by the space made for trees. (Minas Tirith felt too ‘man made’ to him.)
He asks if the Tavern has cider (preferably made almost entirely from apples i.e. without added sugar!)
Whilst sipping his drink, he discreetly studies the Hobbits.
It seems pretty unlikely that there is any relationship between the Woses and these locals, but it is an interesting thought…
Just then Hejrun, as she sips her honey tea, sees a male hobbit carrying a mandolin loitering near the stage. “Hmm I wonder who he is” she muses to herself.
Well, long walk though it was, Gwaelur is pleased to see the Tavern. He is even more pleased that it is populated with Hobbits rather than elves! Hobbits are good folk who appreciate good ale good food and a good pipe.
He eyes the elf who brought them and offered to buy the drinks. It had a name, what was it? Hedgetrot? Bush dash? Something elfish like that. Bother.
“Er, elf.” he says to Hejrun as politely as he can manage “do they have Dwarfen ale here? It’s been a very long time since I’ve hade a proper ale.”