Ealendil paces back and forth, restlessly back and forth in the small chamber of her house, on the second floor where she usually works with her music. Notes are everywhere in apparent disorder, some on the floor, some scattered across a small table. The packing is done, and she impatiently awaits the day they will be going east, east to Lothólorien. However, it is not the waiting that makes restless. A few days ago, Filegris had sung, or at least clapped with her hands, the rhythm of the song the dwarf Jarpr had sung.
That song had struck a chord deep within her, and would not let go of its hold on her. The song reminded her of similar ones she had hear as a young elleth in Nargothrond of old. She had often accompanied her mother as she traveled to meet with minstrels there, and had sat round quietly listening to their talk and the music they made together, and when boredom crouched upon her, which it often did, she would sneak away silently to explore the great cavern of the city.
The notes spread around, are mostly those of her mother’s handwriting, some dating back to an age long gone, and some hare her own of more recent make. They are notes of music, music that strives to capture the distant echoes of the song of creation. The song that now held her in its grip, seemed to share the same quality as those she had heard so long ago, and she was desperately trying to reconstruct it. This had been her mother’s passion, and main work in those days, a work Cellinnil had hoped her daughter would have shared with her.
Despairingly Ealendil sighs, and slumps into the small wicker chair in one of the corners. “Oh mother I cannot fill your shoes… This was your passion, I cannot hope to continue with this, I am not…”. She closes her eyes, weariness overcoming her.
An image of her mother’s smiling face comes to her inner eye, radiating peace and serenity. Taking comfort in the image, some of the anxiety loosens its grip, and she sags into the chair, and a small smile spreads across her face. The image is replaced by that of her father, always so ready to spring into action, always so ready to uphold his duty. His face, a loving warm one… He had made her promise that she would stay to protect the land, and her heritage. Holding her dying father in her arms at Dagorlad, she could do nothing but to solemnly swear to that, while tears out of helplessness streamed down her cheeks. That same promise had stopped her from following her mother when she sailed, though she had wanted to accompany her of all her heart.
The despair she felt a few minutes ago, is replaced by new found resolve, a resolve memories of her father brought about. She gets up, takes up her mother’s harp, she still thinks of it has her mother’s, though it is hers by all rights, a parting gift from her mother, and sets a course towards the library of Elrond.
Upon entering she spots a familiar ellon, one of those promising clerk working in the library, and a chronicler of music too. She has often spoken with him since coming to the Vale.
Waving her hand towards him to catch his attention, she approaches. Ever the direct one, Ealendil forgoes any exchange of pleasantries and cuts right down to the matter at heart.
“Well, it depends… there are writings preserved here of old that treats with this matter… Most written on note sheets of course. Hmm, few they are, but…”, scratching his head, “I wonder where…”.
Ealendil brightens, “Perhaps I played you the song that the elleth of the Arrow sang to me, I took note of it and have tried to work out the melody?”
“Ahh.. “ But before he can protest about making music in the ever so silent library, Ealendil takes up her harp and begins to play a few notes. All of the sudden the library becomes quiet. The soft sound of other scholars and visitors, reading and turning pages, fades completely. His eye goes wide open. “But… hiril Ealendil… this song, it stirs something deep within me. Have you brought the notes with you?” She nods, and reaching into her small shoulder bag she always seem to be carrying, she produces a rolled up parchment, that upon unfolding reveals her flowing and elegant handwriting. The clerk hums quietly, eyeing the notes and casting quick glance at her slender hands. He knows that she has been a warden in the past, yet there are no traces or marks left on her hands to reveal that.
“Oh… but, can we play this together, I got my flute.” he uncharacteristically says. Ealendil raises her eyebrows in surprise. This was unexpected, the clerk would normally be the one to have a sharp word or two to anyone that broke the silence of the library, yet now he suggests the play music together here.
As soon as the music comes to an end, he rushes off, with a “I know what it is you seek…”, towards a section of the library seldom visited. Ealendil just stands there gaping, amazed at how quickly he had concluded what it was she was looking for.
He returns carrying an old tome with him. “This one has had few readers of late, there is no entry in the ledger on anyone signing it out from the library, hmm…. Perhaps you should take it with you” he says, gently pushing the book into her arms. “I trust you hiril on this, trust that you will find it useful and take good care of it”.
On her way out of the library, and heading back home, a huge old tome in her arms, and passing the main hall of Vanimar, she notices a small note on its notice board. “What is this? A call for a meeting to discuss the future of the Pillar?”. Ealendil has not had much dealings with any from that order. They are an order of scholars, and have apparently been leaderless. Yet… Nodding to herself, she decides to go to that meeting. Maybe something can be learned, something about the stone she had heard of at the last meeting she had been too, and was curious to learn more of it, if it was imbued with music of old, had a song deep in its core, echoing some qualities of the ‘one’. Scholars, she chuckles to herself, the image of heavy robed, back bent serious minded students makes her smile. So different form her… Yet not so different. They too dedicate themselves, and maybe some would have ventured into what she herself has. Yes, she would go to that meeting, and she would go there as a representative of her own order.
