The gardens of Lórien are swathed in a soft veil of twilight, basked in the light of the Two Trees whose shining lit them strangely. Within a ring of shadowy cypress lay a shimmering lake in a bed of pearls.

A lone figure stands at the edge of this vat, still as the silver tree of Telperion. All around blows the flowers of sleep, nodding and swaying gently in the breeze. The surface of the water is like a void, smooth as glass with stars caught in its depths.

The guardian tears his gaze away from his visions to silently study you with grey eyes. "Greetings, o wanderer." Irmo, the Lord of Dreams inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement. His voice is calming, like a breath of swirling mist. "Many who come hither seek peace and respite from their travails. Others seek the comfort of dreams. What dost thou desire, coming here?"