789/Diplomacy of Water

Diplomacy of Water
Date of Scene:	11 October 2014
Location:	Middle Earth
Synopsis:	Following a poorly-fated meeting with the Union, Sarah visits King Thranduil of Mirkwood to try and smooth over diplomatic relations.
Cast of Characters:	316, 592

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Thranduil (592) has posed:
Since the unification of Middle Earth, things have been more than slightly off. Without the moon and familiar stars to guide them, the Elves of Mirkwood have been even more reclusive than usual. As night falls over the already dark and twisted forest, there is no light that was once provided by the moon, just an eerie dim starlight that offers merely a glimpse of what lies ahead here and there. Unless one brings their own light, it is nigh impossible to follow the evasive path that leads from the forest's only usable entrance to the northern edge of the forest where the light actually touches the ground and green leaves are in bloom once more.

Also at the northern edge of the forest are the Halls of The Elvenking, a heavily foritified kingdom that delves deep into the forest's underground. Here resides Thranduil, king of the woodland kingdom despite being of Sindaran heritage, making him a Grey Elf instead of a Silvan Elf. For thousands of years he has resided over his people, and for thousands of years they have remained within these halls and the forest outside. As he sits upon his throne that resembles twisted roots and massive Elk antlers, the Elf Lord lets out a weary sigh. "The evening falls upon us. What strange events will fall upon us today?"

Sarah (316) has posed:
Water is perhaps the most important element of life. All things living have some need of it, on some level; while that is not always true within the scope of the multiverse, it is certainly true of many worlds. Yet this place is somehow different. It isn't because it lacks water, or has any more than usual, but something about the water itself is... wrong.

There is a presence on the southern edge of the forest that even the Elves, ever sensitive and attenuated to the otherworldly, would immediately notice.

The presence seems to be benign enough, for it does not threaten the forest, nor does it threaten any Elves that might happen to be ranging in the southernmost reaches.

If the presence could be said to be anything, it is Water – pure and absolute, the sheer overwhelming concept of it. It shines as brightly as a metaphysical beacon, and for the moment, it merely waits, as though whatever the presence really is, it were patiently awaiting an audience with someone of the woodland kingdom. They're sure to notice it. Or, perhaps the presence is simply having a look around, unhurried, for it seems to remain near to Mirkwood's southernmost warpgate.

Closer investigation would reveal that there is in fact a person, there. They appear to be human, in spite of the overwhelming aura radiating from them – a woman, anywhere from young adult to middle age, with the kind of timeless facial features that make it difficult to tell. She is almost abnormally pale, with skin the colour of porcelain, and hair such a pale shade of blonde it seems more a suggestion. Her eyes are her most arresting feature – blue, but nearly colourless in their pallor, both calm and wise. Perhaps not unlike an Elf's, although she lacks the age, or the pointed ears.

Her dress is elabourate, though still somehow simple – layered blue, with white trim, and a tabard-like arrangement over the front. Small, tasteful sapphires accent it here and there, as well as a small spherical sapphire sewn to the join of her dress' high collar. Her hair is neatly clipped up by a band accented with sapphires, and she wears earrings of the same, which clink and clatter musically every time her head moves.

She carries with her a greatstaff taller than she is, hewn of some kind of black wood, its tiered, towered head wrought in purest silver. Three almost petal-like claws clutch a perfect sphere of crystal; the staff itself seems to be a powerful relic all in its own right. In spite of its potency, she seems to handle it more as one would handle a walking-stick than a weapon.

For now, Sarah of Harmonia merely awaits an audience; her appearance, at least, is certainly non-threatening in spite of that otherworldly aura of Water. Indeed, there seems to be an almost preternatural calm and patience about her.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
The King is aware of a sudden uneasiness in the Elves that populate the underground halls. They are acutely aware that another has entered their midst. They don't seem aggravated, just uneasy. Thranduil's slender fingers curl around his twisted branch staff, which he leans against the throne as he stands. "Keep a watchful guard. For once I believe our visitor means us no harm. Prepare an escort and my Elk." A trio of Elves in flashier armor bow and disperse to carry out Thranduil's command.

A short time later, the Elvenking is riding down the path, escorted by three of his best warriors clad in beautiful gold and polished steel colored armor with intricate leaf and branch designs carved into the breastplate and shoulder plates. They carry ornate scabbards at their sides, indicating these are the finest royal guards. They do not have their weapons drawn, they simply move on horseback in a V pattern behind the great Elk.

http://tinyurl.com/mfxwawb @emit

When they are within visual range of Sarah, Thranduil raises a hand, and they slow their approach. One cannot be too careful when dealing with outsiders. Though no hostility is sensed from her, after the past couple of days, they are even more cautious, perhaps growing paranoid.

"Who enters the woodland realm?" Comes the smooth, accented voice of the man riding the large Elk.

Sarah (316) has posed:
The pale woman gives no reaction as she senses someone's approach, gaze fixed on the ground. Although she detects the approach of two... no, three individuals and their mounts, half her senses are focused on the corruption in the water. It runs deep, so very deep... this forest is sick, and it is dying. What could have caused this?

It isn't until King Thranduil and his retinue step into the clearing that she looks up, slowly, earrings clinking softly. For a moment her eyes linger on the great elk, and a brief smile crosses her face. It's a simple enough expression, one of wonder – admiration for such a beautiful creature, and perhaps appreciation for the creature's timeless masters.

Sarah inclines forward in an elegant bow, low enough to indicate great respect.

"Greetings to you, honourable Elves." Her voice is almost whispery, and gentle as a spring breeze. This is not a person accustomed to raising her voice, although the aura about her suggests that she is, by nature, calm. "I come in peace, and I seek an audience with King Thranduil, if that is at all possible."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
"I am King Thranduil"

The man who speaks practically glows with his light hair, pale complexion and silver clothing. He watches Sarah with cautious blue eyes that seem to pierce through her into her soul. The Elk seems to have a good relationship with its rider, standing calmly as its master becomes aquainted with the stranger.

"Come, it is not safe to dwell here in the darkness."

Even though they carry phials which illuminate their immediate area, the darkness all around them threatens to crush them from every side. One of the guards dismounts when Thranduil raises a hand, as if some unspoken command had been given, and offers it to Sarah, mounting with one of the other guards for the return journey.

Sarah (316) has posed:
If the Elf-King is gold, he is the sun of this forest, bright and commanding. The woman is more fitting to silver, a second-rate to such a noble metal; pale as the moon, and just as unassuming. She smiles a faint little smile when Thranduil introduces himself. She had suspected as much, given his crown and the ornamentation of his armour, but she would not presume. He is to be handled delicately, from all that she has heard. "Then I humbly greet you, Your Majesty," Sarah replies, bowing elegantly again. "I am honoured."

The darkness doesn't seem to bother the woman, but she accepts the offered hand, swinging herself up into the saddle behind him. Perhaps they might note that she does so with a little trepidation. She isn't accustomed to riding, and it shows. Such beasts are certainly beautiful... but she prefers to keep her feet on the ground. Still, she is an obedient passenger, unobtrusively clinging to the Elf whom she shares the saddle with.

As they pass through Mirkwood, she keeps her eyes open, looking out to the darkness that surrounds them. There is an oppression to it, although she seems undisturbed by it. Perhaps that might be a warning sign to the elves, or perhaps it may just be a matter of that aura of hers – it is the aura of someone who is certain, absolutely certain, of who they are and what their place is... but that Elf she's riding with might find it uncomfortable to ride so close to that overwhelming presence, though. Poor guy.

Sarah will wait patiently in the saddle until they reach their ultimate destination. Evidently, somebody taught her etiquette and manners very well; lessons she took to heart!

...She can only imagine how badly this meeting might go if it were Luc handling the diplomacy, and not her...

Thranduil (592) has posed:
The Elk turns and begins walking back toward the secluded kingdom, the horses falling into line behind. They are fine horses as those found in Rivendell or Lothlorien, but not quite so ornately bridled. The woodland Elves tend to use more simple, but elegant design which is reflected throughout their entire kingdom.

It takes a bit of time to reach the bridge, illuminated by warm lamplight. The sound of rushing water can be heard coming from the short waterfall that leads into the river that flows beneath the bridge. It is here Thranduil dismounts with typical Elven grace, letting one of the guards take his Elk to one of the few grassy areas that run close to the water. The guards also dismount, helping Sarah down and the Elvenking stands looking over their new visitor, as if trying to determine her intentions. "You must forgive us our distrust for strangers. Since the moon vanished from the sky, we have been plagued by outsiders. Come, we may speak within the safety of our halls."

Thranduil offers a cordial bow, holding his arm out toward the bridge leading to the guarded gates that open up into the underground kingdom. He's not usually so polite, but he has the impression that he can potentially use Sarah as an ally against the darkness that sickens his forest realm.

Sarah (316) has posed:
Even if the sound hadn't alerted her, the mage would have taken note of the water rushing below. She can feel it, and this water seems marginally less corrupt than the rest of Mirkwood's water table. Indeed, there is a freshness to it, perhaps a side effect of being so close to the Elven stronghold. She seems captivated by it, for the few moments they cross over the bridge, head tilted to listen to it and eyes half-closed, as though in deep focus.

It fades as they cross over the bridge, and the Elf she rides with offers to help her down. Sarah accepts graciously, murmuring her thanks and straightening the front of her dress with a quick, efficient swipe of her free hand.

"Unification is a worrying experience. I do not fault you in the least, Your Majesty," the pale woman replies quietly. Even now, this close to the stronghold, there seems not to be any threat about her. Although that aura of power has not so much as flickered, it seems more a force of nature than an active threat – it simply is, just as power tends to be about the Wise. "Indeed, I thank you for your hospitality in spite of such circumstances."

The bow is returned with far more respect, deep and elegant as her first bow, and she moves to follow him across the bridge and to Mirkwood's gates.

She steps lightly, and moves with grace that nearly rivals the Elvenkind, in spite of her human looks. She is accustomed to being watched; she has learned to temper her movements, and conduct herself as befitting a woman of high status, and it shows. The greatstaff, in spite of its doubtless weight, is carried neatly and efficiently in the crook of an elbow, pale fingers twined around the dark wood. She'll follow, then, obediently; moving as and where he beckons her to, whether by gesture or by word, patiently waiting to speak until they reach whatever he has designated as their meeting-place.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
Thranduil remains quiet as they enter the Halls, lifting a hand to indicate that the guards don't need to come with them. Instead of leading them toward the throne, which sits above everything else, he leads them down a twisting path made from a wide root cut to have a flat surface but grown back over to protect it. It reaches the stone, and their path takes them to an ornate cavernous area overlooking the rest of the kingdom.

There are bottles and glasses. Thranduil does love his wine, and though they look regal and elegant, Elves do love to party. "May I offer you a drink?" He says at last, and picks up a wine glass.

"There is that word again. Unification." Thranduil scoffs a little as he says it. "You are not like the others, not even the wolf. You sense the sickness that has overcome our land. It is a plague that we have been struggling with for centuries now."

Sarah (316) has posed:
Truly, it's a beautiful realm, even if there is a certain mien about this place that seeps into the very earth. What force of corruption has forced these people to move into the earth itself, founding their kingdom underground, among the roots of the trees? It speaks of caution, and of fear; and something about it seems a terrible tradegy, to the pale woman.

"I should not like to impose," Sarah replies modestly, in light of his offer of wine. She has the constitution of a butterfly, and it would be both unwise and irresponsible to compromise her control. This is supposed to be a mission of diplomacy, after all. "I thank you for your kind offer, though, Your Majesty."

"Yes, unification. The joining of the worlds." Sarah gestures, as though to indicate a vast expanse. "I am afraid your forest realm is no longer as self-contained as you once knew it to be. Even the skies are different, are they not? You can see it in the stars, Your Majesty, for the stars are now foreign to what you remember them to be."

She doesn't know that, of course, but she's running on her own experiences. Though not a seer like Leknaat, she still has some knowledge of the night skies, and she knew of unification the instant she no longer recognised those familiar constellations.

She half-turns to watch him, head tilted faintly. "Wolf? I do not know of a wolf, although I am to understand there have been visitors from the Union here. That is actually why I have come. Their behaviour was inexcusable, and it was my intention to apologise and ask forgiveness for their behaviour." She sighs, shaking her head faintly. Those jewelled earrings clink in time to the movement. "I am sorry for the inconvenience and trouble that they may have caused. Truly. Not all of the Union are diplomats, no matter how well-meaning they may be, for it is our duty to fight corruption such as that which I sense within your woodland realm."

That brings her to the corruption, and she seems to withdraw. That aura of power seems to grow, just a little; it may perhaps be unnerving to the guards and the Elven bystanders – but she seems to intend no harm. Indeed, Thranduil may see a brief bloom of blue-white light at her right hand, and a mark of three concentric circles. This seems to be the source of that overpowering aura of Water.

"I do indeed sense this sickness," she murmurs, and for a moment her voice and her eyes are both wholly unfocused. Her words don't quite slur, but she's obviously struggling to split her attention. Half of it remains on Thranduil and his audience chamber, but the rest of her senses run deep, deeper still, seeking the water that lies beneath the forest; the water table and its inherent corruption. "It is in the air and the trees. Most importantly to me, it is in the water. The water is impure. It is foul. There is something, I do not know what, that creeps and crawls along this land and seeks to devour everything it touches."

Slowly, very slowly, her eyes focus again. She staggers for a half-step, blinking owlishly and turning her gaze back to Thranduil. "It is through the water that I sense this, and it is through the water that it seeks to spread, as much as any other." She frowns, very faintly. "It makes me uneasy, Your Majesty. I can sense a greater concentration, but dimly, and I do not know if it is a source. Something east of here, or perhaps north and east." She actually shivers, and seems to withdraw into herself a little; making her seem to look not so much frail as outright fragile; and very disturbed. "I dared not look too deeply. If it is assistance you wish against this, then I will be happy to offer it. Whatever it is, it is wrong. I feel that to the core of my being."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
Thranduil pours himself a half glass of sweet berry wine, moving to a table with two chairs. He gestures to the empty seat for Sarah to make herself comfortable, and sits in the other, crossing one leg over the other, savouring the scent of the wine as a gentle breeze blows through the caverns.

"This forest was once known as Greenwood The Great. It was filled with sunshine and life, all manner of creatures made it their home including the regal Elk and the scores of blue butterflies that once fluttered through the valley. Now, it is plagued with a sickness, the like we have never seen. Not even Radagast The Brown has been able to aleviate its pain."

Thranduil takes a delicate sip of his wine, closing his eyes for a moment as he enjoys one moment of bliss after days of stress and fear. "There is a war approaching. The darkness you sense comes from Dol Guldur, a stronghold built by Sauron many centuries ago. For a long time it remained dormant after his defeat, but we fear he is returning, and his forces have been invading the woods. Orcs, spiders...all manner of foul things." His blue eyes seem to stare off into eternity for a few moments, then snap back to Sarah.

"The war will consume all of Middle Earth. Not one being in this world will be unaffected." He sips his wine again, trying to not look as uneasy as he feels. "We noticed the moon disappeared from the sky and the stars changed a few days ago. That is when these Union people entered our realm and behaved in a hostile manner. I held them for questioning, but their behavior was beyond what I was willing to endure at the moment. We do not understand much of what they were telling us, assuming we would know about warp gates or multiverse. I will accept your apology on behalf of those whose actions threatened our kingdom, as long as they are informed that such behavior will result in automatic action by the Elven army in the future."

Sarah (316) has posed:
The pale woman moves to take the offered seat, fastidiously arranging her heavy skirts as she does. She moves with grace despite the fact that she isn't Elven-kind. Her physique and ears would betray her as human, but there is something about her aura that is definitely not human. No human could hope to hold an aura so... primal, not even among the Wise or the Learned of Middle-Earth.

Still, she remains silent to listen to the king, filing away the details that seem important. Radagast the Brown in particular is a name she makes a point to remember, for it seems relevant. They must have knowledge of such things, for Thranduil speaks of them with some degree of respect. Considering his respect seems hard-won, that's likely worth making note of.

Dol Guldur is especially made note of. Whatever evil is the source of this creeping corruption, that is where it may be found, and therefore, most worthy of investigation. So too is the name of Sauron, Orcs and spiders... so many things that threaten this place, this flickering candle in the midst of the darkness.

Truly, they are beset on all sides. In that vein, she can understand such caution; she is herself a cautious person by nature. She does not so much as flinch when the Elf's blue eyes suddenly snap back to her, clear as a summer sky; her own the pale of a winter sky reflected on snow. Nerves of icewater, this one has, or perhaps she is simply very tempered in her reactions.

Sarah tilts her head just faintly when he explains the situation, silently comparing the two versions that she had heard. Honestly, it's a misunderstanding on both sides, and both parties appear to be guilty of it. Perhaps they simply had need of a neutral, outside perspective. Her hand raises, rubbing at her chin thoughtfully.

"I have heard the events as told from my allies' perspective, as well." Sarah lowers her hand, tucking her hands over her lap and below the table once more. "It would appear that for many if not all of them, their arrival was entirely accidental, and they had no intention of invading your realm. Indeed, they did not even know where they were, for there was a malfunction of the gates that took them there, which I am to understand is an occasional result of a new realm unifying into the greater multiverse." She shrugs, faintly. "That is nobody's fault; it is simply a way of the world. However, I am also to undestand that a few of my Union allies also made statements that were entirely inappropriate, for which I do apologise. There are those among us that are unfortuantely quite brash, however well-meaning, and they are not always inclined to think through their words before they speak them. However, I thank you for your generosity in this matter. I will certainly speak to them, and pass on their message. And if you yet have questions about these matters, I will explain them to you as best I can."

She seems to consider for a moment, eyes distant as her gaze slants off to one side, expression thoughtful. "Perhaps, if this incident can be smoothed over between us, the Union may extend its assistance in this matter? I think that is best, for your situation; for while I am willing to offer you my assistance independent of them, there are others, those whom you have not yet met, who are far more skillful in the purification of such corruption, and the fighting of such evil. They would be very interested in helping with this matter of corruption, for it is the right thing to do. I am sorry to say that while I can detect such a sickness, there is very little I can do about it."

"I am learned in the ways of magic, in particular, of illusions, water, and teleportation. But unless that corruption is isolated to the water, I do not know that I can help you, save perhaps ensure that your kingdom's water supply remains pure."

She seems to consider for a moment, before looking back to the king. "I can offer you a small demonstration, if it would explain to you any better, with your permission? Perhaps I may use my magic, as well, to explain the matter of warpgates and the multiverse to you – it is easier to show, rather than tell, in some things."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
Thranduil watches Sarah carefully as she speaks, his gaze perhaps a bit intense. Occasionally, he sips from his glass until it is empty, then sets it quietly upon the table. "The water we consume comes from upstream, before it passes through the woods." He rises to his feet and glances sideways at her. "Follow me, there is a flow of water that runs through these halls." From the steps one can see a waterfall flowing along one wall. The path leading there is a bit narrow. It is certainly not a place for those afraid of heights.

"Watch your step. It is a long way down."

They finally come to a circular area at the waterfall, which has a seating area. Apparently it is a relaxing place for the Elves to come read by the fire, listening to the rushing water.

Sarah (316) has posed:
It's a good thing that Sarah prefers to walk everywhere she goes, or she might find all of these twisting paths and stairways tiring. She's in surprisingly good shape, considering how fragile she might look, physically; she keeps up with the Elf-King with relative ease. She's also mindful of her step, and not prone to carelessly walking too close to any edges.

"I see. That is sensible enough. I myself would not trust any of the water in the wood, but then again, I can sense that something lurks in it. I cannot say what it is, but I can see that it is there, certainly." Sarah shakes her head, jewelled earrings clinking as she hurries to keep up.

Fortunately, she's not afraid of heights, either.

She tilts her head, slowing to a halt as she regards the circular area. Her hands shift over the wooden haft of her greatstaff, and she lets her eyes drift half-closed. The mark on her hand casts light of its own again as she focuses her senses through it, concentrating on the water itself.

Pure, as she had suspected.

"I see," she murmurs, turning a half-circle and tilting her head the other way. "So not all is corrupt. That is good to know." It's good, too, that the Elves won't tolerate corrupt water in their wooded halls. That would be unwise. "It is a start, however small."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
"We were able to route a portion of the water through here. It is fresh, unlike the water that passes under the bridge. We have been able to hold off the corruption at our door, keeping some green areas safe for our animal friends to feed and flourish. But those areas grow far and few between now." He holds out a hand and lets the water flow through his fingers. "If Sauron's forces are allowed to continue to grow in strength, we will be overrun within the year. We are safe within these halls. Here we will endure while other lands may rise and fall. We are working on a way to bring the grass and flowers in here, so we will not need to leave until the shadow has passed." That is perhaps a bit shortsighted of him, but he doesn't want to risk losing his people against the impending forces of darkness, having seen so much loss in his time. If they shut themselves away, perhaps it will pass over them and they will not perish.

Sarah (316) has posed:
Sarah looks on as the Elf-King lets the water flow around his hand, sensing the very being of the water. It may seem odd to the minds of some, but her senses are altogether different. She can feel the water as she might feel her own heartbreath, or her own breath. She can feel it as it parts around his fingers, or sense the mist that rises from where the falls roar down.

Those colourless eyes are half-closed as she listens to his words, and as she casts her senses over and through the waterfall. It is pure, there is no doubt of that... but if hiding his head in the sand will be his official policy, how long until they are overwhelmed? How long will that water remain pure in the face of this inexorable corruption?

She's quiet for a few moments, as though considering her words very carefully. On one hand, she can understand such a mindset. If she were Elf-Queen of this place, perhaps she might wish for such a withdrawal, too. With no clear means to fight this darkness, and no clear means of overwhelming the stronghold at Dol Guldur, it would be a suicidal prospect to throw one's people at such a thing.

On the other hand, it's a terribly selfish, short-sighted, and narrow view of things. Perhaps they may escape the darkness, in their underground halls – but at what cost? And what will remain, when they finally see fit to emerge from the earth?

Yet this is not the time to debate such a point, and she knows it. Sarah looks troubled for a moment, pacing momentarily; slow steps taking her towards the waterfall, then away; silent for a few moments as she mulls over her response.

"Of course. I understand, Your Majesty." She slows to a halt, turning, but not quite looking at Thranduil himself. "Were I in your position, I would do the same, although I am not certain. I do not know the whole of the situation. Yet please allow me to offer my aid, and that of the Union: We will help you, but only if you let us. There are those of us who are willing to help, and those whom you met already are not representative of our number. Many others are skilled in the resistance of such corruptive forces, and perhaps some good can come of this; some good for you, and your woodland, and by extension your people and your animal friends."

She shakes her head, faintly, earrings clinking softly. "I will not ask for a decision, nor force you to such. It is your business, and after all, you know how best to rule your realm. It is not a decision made lightly, I imagine, for these are strange days for you and your people, and your first meeting with the Union was perhaps not as smooth as it could have been; I am sorry for that."

"However. I wish to help you. And I wish for others to help you. You need not face this alone; perhaps this thing may be driven from the entirety of this wood, and back from whence it came, with the right tools. I would see you triumphant over this darkness. But it is merely an option for you to consider – something to think about, Your Majesty."

Her head tilts, faintly, regarding the Elf-King with evident curiosity. "May I use my magic, Your Majesty? I would like to show you something, but it is perhaps easier done with magic. I will of course not do anything to you or your people without your consent; it will be merely illusion. But I wish to illustrate something to you. I'm afraid I just can't explain this well, and perhaps it would be easier to show you."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
Thranduil closes his eyes, bowing his head just a fraction of an inch as he lets the water flow through his fingers, listening to Sarah as she speaks. Her words hit a bit of a nerve and he feels the impulse to turn his anger and frustration upon her, but he resists and just a faint twitch of his eye escapes. Dropping his hand to his side, he tilts his head to the side and turns slowly back toward Sarah. "I will provisionally accept your offer of assistance. " He can't be TOO eager to accept outside help. He has to retain his smug sassiness, afterall. "You may use your magic as long as it brings no harm. While it may appear that we are alone, my archers are at the ready, watching our every move even if they cannot hear our conversation."

Thranduil offers a faint, thin lipped smile, folding his hands in front of him as he prepares to watch Sarah use her magic. "If it can be driven from our lands, perhaps we can build a boundary to keep further corruption from reaching us again."

Sarah (316) has posed:
The water mage gives no outward sign of unease at the Elf-King's threat. Indeed, she seems to accept it as casually as someone might listen to conversation about the weather. Truth be told, she would be surprised if he hadn't had her under threat from the moment she arrived in the forest. It would fit from what she knows of him, however exaggerated the descriptions she might have received.

Very well, then. This would hardly be the first time she's been threatened.

She does give him a brief look that suggests she's not very impressed by this imperious show of threat, but the look is more of a gentle, weary sort of chiding than anything else. There are better ways to make friends than to threaten one's guests.

"They are welcome to listen, if they feel they must. I prefer not to deal in secrets." This is given with a faint shrug, and Sarah regards Thranduil calmly when he smiles that tight-lipped smile. Perhaps her gentle mannerisms will keep his ebbing patience in check. "I came under peaceful auspices, and I would not lie about such a thing."

Indeed, that last statement seems to be given with a certain measure of what almost seems like... sorrow? She had done such things before, and she still hasn't forgiven herself for them. No more will she act as an instrument of war.

"If such a thing can be done, that would be wise." Sarah steps back and away from the king, backing until she's at the edge of the circle, but she moves slowly and keeps her hands where both the Elf-King and his archers can see them, showing she means no harm. "Now – look."

Ice begins to form in the middle of the central plaza, although none of it is near any of the Elves present. It forms quickly, and it makes a sound like crackling glass as it builds itself up. After a moment, it gains features – trees, by the look of it; the very same trees of Mirkwood, twisted and bent with age and corruption, wrought in ice. The forest spreads until it forms a rough approximation of the wood.

Yet where the other, more familiar realms would be around it, stranger lands form from ice, perfect in their every detail, delicate and beautiful as the changing light passes through them. Pieces of worlds form like patches of a quilt haphazardly sewn together; tiny biospheres wrought in ice, with detail enough to show distinct biomes. It spreads until it reaches the edges of the circle, enough to show that there are a great multitude of worlds, formed up against one another at their borders. The scale is unspeakably small, yet intricately – perhaps even impressively – detailed.

"This is only a demonstration," Sarah murmurs, voice slurring a little in her concentration. "I do not know what of your world lies beyond this wood's boundary. Perhaps these other worlds lie closer, perhaps further. I cannot know that without study. But this is something of what the multiverse is like – many worlds, put together at their edges. My own world borders many, although I have not yet had occasion to familiarise myself with them overmuch."

The water mage holds her image long enough for Thranduil to examine it to his satisfaction. Once he has, she opens her eyes, and the mist dissipates into ice. She looks a shade or two paler than she had before, and wavers on her feet. The spike-shod end of her staff makes a soft sound as she plants it firmly in the ground, leaning on it. "That is what is meant by the multiverse. I will show you the warpgates, next."

Once again, she slowly forms a tiny Southern Mirkwood of ice, and from where she had come at the southernmost end, the stone arch of a warpgate.

This time, though, the formation goes in the other direction – several different worlds are formed in sequence, as though travelling a line; at its other end, there is another warpgate formed of ice, and a tiny representation of Sarah herself, with her staff and her dress, walking through the warpgate at Mirkwood and appearing in the other warpgate, several patchwork worlds over.

As before, she leaves it long enough for Thranduil to examine it to his contentment, even going so far as to demonstrate walking through the warpgate again if asked. Once that's done, she lets it dissipate, and looks another degree or two paler than before. Such demonstrations are costly, if only because she puts as much detail as is possible into them.

"And those are warpgates. They are a convenient way to travel across vast distances. It is possible that there are many warpgates in your own world; not just that which lies in your wood. But I do not know, without study, but they are convenient if you wish to travel somewhere, but do not wish to spend time in the travelling itself."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
"Other lands are not my concern..."

Thranduil's cool blue eyes are locked onto what Sarah is doing with her magic. The Elves with the bows do not seem as though they are threatening her, merely protecting their king should something go wrong. They have not had good luck with visitors as of late. The Elvenking's youthful face reflects the turmoil that has gripped his heart, his mouth slightly agape. He eventually blinks and looks back at her, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Bring our guest Lembas bread and berry juice. Please, be seated by the fire. You will feel rested." What is this different attitude Thranduil seems to be portraying? His eyes are full of the wonder he had all but forgotten over the years, still seeing the demonstration Sarah gave vividly in his mind.

"My son Legolas and I are not Nandor. Rather we are Sindar, but we feel the plight of the forest just as strongly as they do." He beings to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "It has had a negative effect on our people. Orcs, giant spiders and goblins have overrun the forest to the south. A Wolf calling himself The Wolf expressed interest in devouring the spiders, but as much as I do not care for outsiders, I do not believe it wise that he enter the wood unaccompanied." Then he has a thought and looks back to Sarah. "How do we destroy these gates?"

Sarah (316) has posed:
"I will be fine," Sarah insists, waving away the king's concern with a dismissive gesture. "I just need a moment to catch my breath. It is taxing to weave such detail."

She could have gone for a much more simple display, but something of the Elves' love of ornamentation tells her that they might have more appreciation for intricacy and dedication to her craft. Perhaps her message reached Thranduil, but whatever hope she might have held gutters out when he asks instead how to destroy such warpgates.

"I do not know," she says simply, seating herself a little unsteadily beside the fire. Her staff she leans up against her thigh, arm curled loosely around it as though in protective gesture. "To my knowledge, they cannot be destroyed. Nor could I help you even if I wanted to, which I do not. It is unwise to tamper with such forces when it is not known what moves them, or what has placed them."

She gestures nebulously, and the mark on her right hand seems to glow with an inner light, blue-white, somehow suggestive of illuminated water.

"Indeed it would not have anything but a negative effect. Such things rarely benefit anything but that which perpetrates them. I cannot imagine anyone would want for such a thing, here, for I sense that this forest was something greater than what I can sense now." Sarah shakes her head, earrings clinking softly. "And that pains me. The waters of this wood were pure, once, as this waterfall here is."

She holds up her right hand, baring the concentric circles of the True Water Rune, and letting Thranduil take a closer look at it, if he wants to.

"This is an artifact called a True Rune. It is the source of my magic. There are only twenty-seven such runes in my world, all embodiments of a fundamental concept. This is the True Water Rune, and it is the penultimate expression of water, and also one of the underpinnings of my world; one of the twenty-seven forces that created it." Sarah folds her hand back in her lap, calmly meeting Thranduil's eyes. "It allows me an unparalleled sense of water, and things that contain water. It is not particularly accurate to say that 'these are skills that I have,' so much as, 'they are apart of me, now.' It is a part of what I am."

"My point is this: The rune allows me to sense the waters of this realm as though they were a part of me. I dare not look too deeply into the source of this corruption, because it sickens me. It turns my stomach to consider what could have affected these waters so. Water is not good, or evil; it simply is, and something has twisted that fundamental nature into something unspeakably foul." She exhales softly, as though considering how to phrase her next statement. "I would help you to reverse that, if you will allow it. And I will be honest, Your Majesty; it is also somewhat of a selfish request, on my part. It breaks my heart to see these waters befouled so."

She tilts her head, regarding Thranduil thoughtfully. "The artistry and the craftsmanship of these halls is splendid. I have not seen anything like it. Have you always lived here in these caverns?" The question appears genuinely curious, in her mild and soft-spoken way, though it seems a bit of a detachment from her earlier conversation.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
Thranduil looks slightly crestfallen, taking a seat a short distance away from Sarah, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he turns his head away, eyes half lidded. His long, pale hair conceals part of his face as he takes a moment to process everything. It is a rare moment for him, which is why he is behind the waterfall so his people can't see him.

"No. I have not always lived here. I came here with my father from Beleriand after the War of Wrath. We came to Greenwood The Great and were welcomed by the Silvan Elves. They made my father Oropher their king. He ruled over the woodland realm for many years until the battle against Sauron in Dagorlad, the black gate of Mordor. We pushed Sauron's forces back, but the losses were great. My father was one of the slain and we traveled north to where we are now. We built these halls as protection against any enemies that should threaten our kingdom. For many years we thrived here, but then the shadow began to fall upon Mirkwood from the south, a place called Dol Guldur. Then came the Dwarves attempting to reach Erebor. Then came the Dragon." He looks at something on the wall, suddenly finding it fascinating, as if continuing to speak would reveal some weakness.

A guard comes and presents a tray to Sarah, then departs. The tray contains a leaf with a square piece of bread upon it, and a goblet with a sweet berry juice. "The bread will restore your strength." Thranduil says, still not looking.

Sarah (316) has posed:
If Sarah sees that hint of melancholy, the pale woman has the sense and courtesy not to comment on it. She instead looks to the waterfall, eyes hooded, though whether she concentrates on it or whether it's just a convenient way to divert her attention from Thranduil, it's hard to say.

The names and places are filed away for future reference; in particular, those significant names that Thranduil gives clear emphasis to. Those are surely important, and worthy of future study, if she is to understand this woodland realm and its wary Elf-King. Perhaps some of her allies among the Union might try to shove their assistance down his throat, but she knows instinctively that those kinds of arrogant means are, in fact, the very worst way to handle the situation. The darkness spreading from Dol Goldur is worrying on several levels, and she doesn't have the confidence that any isolated element has the power to stand against it. It will take teamwork.

Indeed, that teamwork will take time to foster... but it must be fostered, or there may not be an Elf-kingdom left to save. Perhaps they might hide in their hidden realm, here, but what then? What will they emerge to? And how long can they hold out before Sauron's forces find some means to smoke them out of that comfortable hole? No doubt it won't end well for them, if the Enemy finds a means to rouse them from their hiding. It's her private opinion that this Enemy must be formidable, indeed. Just touching the fringes of whatever lies at the heart of Dol Goldur gives her the shivers, and Sarah is not a person to worry so needlessly... nor frighten easily.

She listens in silence to the remainder of his tale, jewelled earrings clinking softly as she tilts her head down in thought. So. They were driven here, rather than choosing to come to this place; it's also likely that they were driven underground. Experience in reading people also suggests to her that dragons would appear to be a sore subject.

They're not so uncommon in her own world, but they also tend not to be the awe-inspiring destroyers that his tone might suggest. The Dragon Knights raise them from the shell, and the dragons in turn serve the human knights as mounts and companions... but that clarification of her own understanding is probably best saved for another time, she decides.

One of the guardsmen arrives with a tray, and Sarah takes it with a gracious nod of thanks. She looks down to the leaf, and the square bread neatly folded in it; as well as a cautious sniff at the goblet of something sweet. It even smells sweet, she decides. Really, that sort of thing is far more toward Luc's tastes, but it would be rude to deny it, and it's no great sacrifice to her to enjoy a host's hospitality.

So she sets the tray on her lap, examining the Lembas-bread with a curious tilt of her head, and the leaf it's wrapped in as well. Picking it up, she tilts her head the other way, as though to study it from another angle. Fascinating. While she's no master chef, it's still interesting to see the cuisine of other worlds, and to learn how to reproduce such things... but something tells her this wouldn't be so easy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she remembers to add, before nibbling delicately at it. To go by her expression, the taste is also satisfactory enough, or perhaps even better than she might have expected – for it has the look of hardtack, more than bread. The same satisfaction seems to come of a sip of the sweet berry juice. "It is quite good."

Silence falls for a few moments while she enjoys the Lembas-bread and the sweet berry juice, considering the tale as she does.

"So, you did not always live belowground like this. I did not think so," Sarah observes quietly. She considers, thoughtful, eyes trailing to different parts of the underground cavern as she thinks over how to frame her words. "While the craftsmanship here is exquisite, I feel that this is not where you belong. You deserve to feel the sun upon your face, and the wind at your back; to see the light of the stars. Not to feel the stillness of the earth, although perhaps there is a time and a place for that, too. But I do not think it agrees with you, although I know that you have little choice in the matter," she says, gently. "Still, I am appreciative, and impressed, that you and your people have made such beauty of it. Your craftsmen are most skilled."

"Even so." Her voice lowers, words meant strictly for Thranduil's pointed ears. "I humbly ask you to consider my offer of assistance, for I will extend that offer regardless of whether you accept the Union's or not. But I humbly urge you to consider that, as well, for there are others more skilled in the battling of such corruptive forces. Indeed, it would be an honour for some to assist you, for there are those who consider battling such evil their life's work and their solemn duty. I humbly ask only that you think it over."

She smiles, gently; warmly. "I can sense that you have a good heart, Your Majesty. You care a great deal about your people. I only want to help you and your people both, and to help you see this wood restored to a place worthy of the name of Greenwood the Great."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
"Those days are far behind us." Thranduil says, rising to his feet again. He feels weary but doesn't dare show it. He always moves with regal grace, no matter his mindset. "We have endured in these halls for years. I do not think the Silvan Elves would feel comfortable living anywhere else. The homes that once were built in the trees and on the ground have long turned to dust, destroyed by time and the enemy."

Thranduil is a proud man, and just accepting the help of an outsider seems like the most difficult thing in the world. He paces a bit, his mind racing. It would benefit him to have more allies to ward off the spiders. He doesn't have to like the people that come to help, he can just keep his people away from danger. Pausing with his back to her, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, closing his eyes.

"Very well." He says, turning around and faking a slight smile. "I will allow your people to enter our forest. I do, however, think that it would be wise to give them a token they can wear that identifies them as one permitted to be here. As I understand it you are at war as well. It would not be beneficial for that war to carry over to these lands when we are preparing for war ourselves. I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone who chooses to travel to Gul Goldur. It is beyond our borders. We simply need to vanquish its creatures from our land."

Sarah (316) has posed:
It's a little sad to hear that the things aboveground have been destroyed, but not surprising. Of the things she's heard and sensed, this enemy of theirs has no sense of mercy. Then again, it would not be the Enemy if it did, would it?

Maybe the ancient homes of the Silvan Elves have turned to dust, but all things broken can be rebuilt, in time. Without the shadow of the Enemy looming, perhaps they might choose to establish homes aboveground once again... but those are considerations for another time. That she is able to walk freely in these halls without spending her time contemplating the inside of a cell is a blessing enough.

Then again, Sarah is well-versed in politics... or at least handling proud individuals with prickly tempers. The best way to deal with them is to behave as her own element would. Be flexible, and be willing to flow easily around obstacles to reach one's goal.

There's a knowing quality in those colourless eyes that suggests she knows that smile is false, but there's also an understanding, there. She won't press him, for he is a proud one, and has already been pushed farther than he might consider comfortable. That much she can sense. Everyone has their limits, and it's neither her intention nor her place to pressure the Elf-King.

Slowly, she rises to her feet when he gives his accord, and smoothly inclines forward in that formal and respectful bow once more.

"That is more than I would have presumed to ask you at this juncture, and very generous of you, Your Majesty. Thank you. As to that, I'm certain an emblem can be fashioned. We will speak again as to what may be suitable, and immediately recognisable by you and your people." She studies him as she straightens, considering for a moment. "For the rest, I can make no promises that the Confederacy will not turn its sights upon your land. I cannot speak for them, for I do not understand them. However, I am confident that unless provoked, they should not choose to linger here."

She shakes her head, jewelled earrings clinking softly. "And if they should, I should like to teach them that these lands are not for their taking. It would be a lesson they would not soon forget," she adds, with a glimmer in that colourless eye that suggests that, perhaps, this frail woman is more than she might seem. While she's not exactly feared, some of them know she's not to be taken lightly, either.

Bowing once more, she offers another of those pleasant, mild smiles. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not ask any more of your time, and I will see myself out – you need not trouble yourself, or your guardsmen, to show me away. Thank you for your time. Perhaps, in the future, I may visit again in a fortnight's time? I have concerns I must see to elsewhere, but I should very much like to see more of your peoples' art," she adds, with a faint smile. "I am most appreciative of your hospitality, King Thranduil."

She'll wait long enough for his response, and then...

The pale woman simply vanishes, with a swirl of mist and a bloom of blue-white light. In the silence where she had been standing, there is a brief sensation of mist, spreading outward, until it can't be distinguished from the mist of the chamber's waterfall.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
"I will ensure that the guards permit you entry into the Halls. If you forward a message, I will prepare an escort to ensure safety." He takes a step back and bows his head to her. "Farewell, my lady." Yes, stay on her good side so she may send lots of spider food, er...'assistance'. He lifts his eyes just in time to see her fade away, a wry smile crossing his thin lips as he turns to mist. "Perhaps things are not as dire as they seem..."