In Imladris, the previous autumn.
Around her tower books of lore and knowledge, ancient secrets are written in ink seeping into old trees and parchments. Slender fingers glide over obsolete scripts and tongues of yore; they turn pages to books bound by leather that are ever-nearing the verge of falling apart. A curse slips past the tongue of the one seeking such wisdom. As Alphaear plucks tomes from the shelves, she briefly glances at their cover or upon the first few pages. Those that are not useful for her search are promptly returned to their spot on the shelves, yet the books that she deems adequate are given a shrug and are placed beside her on one of the many growing stacks on the floor. At the least, she has made a semi-circle of towers around her, of varying heights and perceived stability, as some seem to wobble with every movement the elleth makes.
Entering the library of Elrond and disturbing the quiet is the ellon, Arrvelas. His heavy footsteps ring out across the stone floor and echo across the circular hall. As he makes his way across the upper level, which connects to the courtyard outside, he gently grazes his hand along the shelves' wall and curvature. The loud echoing of his footsteps eventually causes him to give pause, as he senses the other and her collection of books in front of him — and as she curses out whatever tome she has retrieved, he chuckles. “Mae govannen, hiril.”
Alphaear stops her cursing and her searching. She wheels to the side to face him and pauses. It takes her a few moments to place him in her memory, but she brightens with an air of politeness when she does. “Ah! Hir Arrvelas,” she greets. With her foot, she attempts to nudge some of the cluttering books closer to her to clear some of the blockages out of the center of the hall so the other would be able to walk freely. Although, one misguided kick causes a pile to slide further away from her, and it teeters back and forth due to its imbalanced stacking. The tower does not topple over entirely, though two of the heavier tomes fall from the top, and slide down the landing onto the lower floor; where disgruntled library aides shout from below and make their displeasure quite clear. “…How may I help you?”
“Hiril Alphaear-” He cuts himself off with a flinch, briefly tensing up at the loud clattering of the books. Once the echoing recedes, he lets out a sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. “I could ask you the same thing.” Offering her a smile, he adds, “I only wished to escape those foolish and nosy elves within the Hall of fire. I can only stomach a reciting of the Lay of Luthien so many times before I require respite.”
The elleth continues to push aside the other small towers of books, aiming to nudge them closer to the wall so if the ellon should wish to walk again, he may do so with ease. Once she is done almost knocking down the other towers of books, she adds the ones in her hands to the pile. “Well, I was merely doing some light research for the morning. I usually prove to be of a quieter company than those in the Hall of Fire.”
Arrvelas raises an eyebrow — or at least, the crease in the cloth covering his eyes lends to that idea. A chuckle passes through his lips. “That noise did not sound like quiet research to me. And, yes, I am sure that you usually do. Perhaps this is an off morning for you?” He teases before he reaches a hand down to try and locate one of the many stacks of books. “On second thought, perhaps you should take some time for yourself; maybe even enjoy the liveliness of the Hall of Fire?”
Alphaear echoes his laughter, though it bounces around the hollow hall in a tone similar to the emptiness of the echoes. “I do not care much for the scent of smoke on my garments, though I shall take your suggestion into thought.” She then politely folds her hands in front of her, standing attentively in front of the ellon. “Are you looking for something?”
He is quick to shrug off her question. “Am I not allowed to enjoy the peace of the library?” Arrvelas presses, although his movement is enough for Alphaear to notice the rolled-up parchment in his hand. That tells a different story.
“Well,” Alphaear lets out a huff as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I daresay that you are not here to take something out on loan.” Whether or not she should have felt bad for saying such a thing to an obviously blind elf, neither of the pair faltered, and Arrvelas did not react to her words.
He simply nods, in fact, and steps closer to her with another heavy footfall. “Well, that much is true — although perhaps I should. If only to confuse those halfwits who act as library aides…” He trails off into a pause, long enough for her to raise an inquiring eyebrow at the intention of his statement. He is quick to add, “Though, I do not think I shall find any joy in doing so if I can not see their faces.” An amused smile dance across his lips at the thought regardless, and then he holds out the parchment in the general direction of Alphaear. “Would you write something for me, hiril?”
The elleth simply nods. Then, it occurs to her that it is not her wisest course of action, and speaks up. “Oh. Oh! Yes, of course,” she assures him and then takes the parchment from him. She steps aside to the nearby desk where a vial of ink lies in wait. From the satchel at her side, she withdraws a quill. She dips the end of the feathered utensil into the dark liquid and then taps off the excess on the side of the jar. “What exactly am I to write, hir Arrvelas?”
While Alphaear was fetching the equipment to write the letter, the ellon had taken it upon himself to lean up against the nearest bookshelf. He wrings his hands over themselves in an anxious fashion. “When one has nothing better to do, a good way to spend one’s time is to listen to the fool's gossip. I overheard some drunkard speak of a silver-haired elf who has made a recent sojourn to Bree. Even if it not him…” Arrvelas trails off once more, his words becoming pensive and not truly meant for Alphaear’s ears. “Well, I must make my inquiries about this elf. I wish to assume nothing, however, I must hold on to my hope.”
She hesitates in putting the quill to the parchment, yet little droplets of ink trickle down from the quill and leave dark blots and stains on the parchment. “Perchance could you give more instruction on what you wish this letter to entail? If you are uncomfortable, of course, should you fetch someone you trust more? Although, if it is any reassurance, it is not as if I spend my time gossiping.”
Arrvelas scoffs, loudly, and then shakes his head. “I would not trust any of those drunk bastards in the Hall with this! I am searching for someone; my cousin. Ever since the end of the First Age, since before the War of Wrath, I have searched, yet it is as if he has disappeared. Although now, finally, I have a lead. If Ithilwe is truly residing in Bree, I must know it. Yet as I think longer on this, I wonder if it is a foolish endeavor. I do not even know to whom I would address this letter. Forgive me, Hiril.”
Yet she dismissively shakes her own head as he speaks, instead, taking it upon herself to began to scribble the cirth runes down upon the paper as Arrvelas reveals more information to her. “No, no, that will not be necessary, hir Arrvelas. I will put it in the hands of one who oft travels to the west, or one who handles many of the letters that oft go out of the Valley. I am touched, however, that your opinion of me is higher and more trusting than that of those… ‘drunk bastards’,” she offers in a jest that does not match her flat tone. Her attention is far too consumed with what she is doing bent over the parchment.
His lips twitch upward into a smile. “I am in your debt, hiril. If there are those you trust to handle it, then I shall trust them as well. If I do not receive an answer within the coming weeks, then I shall simply have to go there myself.” At this proclamation, it is easy for him to hear the curse that falls from the mouth of the other and the sudden, wayward stroke of her quill.
