As Miss Adri had other things to do while in Imladris, once she'd helped me find breakfast (a sort of porridge full of fruit, though I couldn't tell what kind of grain it was made from, or even what all the fruits were), she led me to the library, and introduced me to Mirwen, then took her leave, reassuring me that the Elves could help me find whatever I needed. I was still a bit too much in awe to talk much, so the idea of asking one where I could find some water to drink seemed beyond the pale. And Mirwen didn't make it any easier; she had a strange way about her, as if you weren't sure if she was really there, or her mind was far away. Miss Adri chose her because they had some history together, and I wonder how things might have gone if it had been someone else.
"Peace-Lover, what is it you wish to ask of me?" she asked.
The name gave me pause for a moment, but I recalled discussions of names and meanings from my childhood, and slowly I mustered my words. "Actually, my ma liked to say it was more about order and balance than peace, but my pa said it was more about how I didn't go do my work, on account I was too calm."
"Leof in the language of the descendants of Eorl means love, does it not?"
"Well, aye, but it can also mean beloved, or anything as refers to someone you care about, family especially." I had meant to speak always in the proper and precise way they taught me in the library in Dale, to make a good impression; but between me being off balance from her strange mannerisms, and her talking about the Rohirric language, I was lapsing into my accented, rustic speech.
"And Frith, or more properly friþ," she had drawn out a book and set it atop the one already in her lap, then flipped to a page that showed Rohirric words and pointed to the runic spelling, "means peace."
"Again, there's lots of things as it can mean, but peace is one of them, aye. Or calm, or things being as they should be, everything in its proper place."
"So, Peace-Lover, this is what your parents chose to call you. I understand amongst your people, you are only given one name by both parents, and you keep it your whole life."
I had no idea that it was different for anyone else. "Well, it's not like they picked that meaning particular for me," I explained. "I was the fifth son, and, well, they'd already used other names what started with Leof by then, I reckon."
"What is it you wish to learn from me, Peace-Lover?" she asked, and from then on, that's all she would call me. I didn't dare correct her, and when I tried to gently nudge her towards my actual name, she didn't seem to notice.
"Well, I've been sent to find some of those distantly related to my people, and particularly, a lantern that was left in their care, we think. I've searched in many places, and--"
"Start from the beginning and leave out nothing," she interrupted, picking up another book and setting it atop the other two, turned to a blank page. A quill and pot of ink appeared from I don't know where.
I wasn't sure which beginning she meant: the earliest of the events surrounding the lantern, or of my own part in the story. I tried to tell it as well as I could, and time and again, we went back and through it once more, while the whole time her pen traced curling letters faster than my eye could follow. Every time I thought I'd told her everything, she started again, asking piercing questions that revealed much more to be explained, and things I had never thought of. She was just as interested in how I came to be sent on this undertaking as in the historical details themselves; perhaps more, since she knew the story of Eorl and Círion, and in fact, had met Círion. At least I think that's what she said, but it was hard to be sure, as her words were always whirling too fast and too deep for me to follow, with my slow and clumsy wit.
Most of the day had gone by, the hours uncounted as within the library there were no windows, and nothing to count the passing of time beside the flow of words. I fully expected another volley of questions about something else I had never thought about, when she fell silent. Minutes passed, and more. I was just about to ask what else there was to be told, when she started speaking. "I will need to consult several volumes on this," she said in a very definite voice, "but I can tell you this, Peace-Lover. I have heard no tale of any lantern of this like, neither from the High Men of Númenor, nor made by my own people. I do not think I can help you. But I must read several accounts to be sure. Perhaps the lighthouse at Calmindon was made in a similar fashion. And there may be wisdom to be found in the accounts of Vingilótë." She went on in this fashion, reciting ever more obscure things I had never heard of, too quickly for me to keep count of. "But I hold little hope that I will find anything that helps you in the temporal mystery of this lantern's current disposition. Come back tomorrow at the call of the first owl, and I will tell you what I can."
"Very well," I said, disappointment battling with confusion in my swirling thoughts. "Is there anything I should do in the meanwhile, or any service I might offer?" But she had already set her stack of books down and was rummaging through the shelves looking for another. After some time passed in this fashion, I repeated the question, to the same effect. "Then perhaps I should visit the stables. Can you tell me the way?" Again, she showed no sign she was aware of my presence.
Finally, I found my own way out of the library, then wandered through more breathtakingly beautiful halls and stairs. I found a door that led outside, but it came only onto a porch overlooking a waterfall, with no way down to the ground. Dark had fallen and the stars were out; finding the stables at this time of night seemed infeasible and impractical. The serenity of that porch, however, was very agreeable, and I lingered until calm had settled in my heart, the quiet murmuring of the waterfall echoing the rhythms of a dance that still brought a smile to my lips. Followed soon by hunger; I hadn't eaten a thing since that porridge. I could find the stable on the morrow. First, to find supper, and then bed.
