"So, you've finished it."
The voice reached out to the wandering attention of the red-garbed Elf, drifting aimless as it was beyond and above the golden canopy, drawing it back onto the leaf-strewn flet, high in the boughs of Caras Galadhon. It was a kind voice, and a welcome one, and all-too-familiar, and Cesistya did not squeak or start, lost in thought though she was. That same ever-present gentle smile turned up the corners of her lips as she turned to respond, "Yes, Mother, I have."
It was a tall Elf, and an old one if you had an eye for such things, who was running her slender fingers across the collection of leather-bound tomes. Her hair was not unlike her daughters, but instead of a warm Autumn-crimson it was a fiery Summer-red. Her dress was gossamer and fell to her unshod feet. "'Corista Endoro'," she said, reading off the title, "'All-knowledge of Middle-earth'. Ambitious, to say the least... you truly are a child of N'im, though so much different than the rest. Yet I cannot help but think these books are too small, dear Daughter, to contain all the knowledge of the World."
The gentle jest was well-received; indeed, even the lifetime of an Elf would ill suffice to collect all the world's knowledge, immortal though they are, for all the time there are new thoughts and new ideas, new songs and new inventions, new sciences and new wisdom. What fool would dare think themselves worthy of the task, and how could they remain so, when so dedicated a study would surely free them of the shackles of foolishness? "I have done all that is in my power to do," came Cesistya's solemn reply, "... and I fear I have kept you and Father waiting."
"Nonsense, child," the other said, and strode toward her daughter with such softness that one might swear she had conjured a wind to carry her. "There is no pain in our hearts while we are together." This had its intended effect of stopping Cesistya's worries in their tracks, but the Elf knew well her daughter's proclivity toward insisting upon apology, so she turned her gaze toward the porch and outward over the forests beyond, where Cesistya had been staring not a moment ago. "Tell me," she probed, "what did you think of it all?"
Cesistya stepped up beside her mother, a full head and a half shorter, and held with less confidence and strength, yet very much alike they were; sisters one might mistake them, if it was not so obvious by their eyes which one was world-wise, and which still got lost in her thoughts rather easily. "I have just penned a book, in case you wish to delve into my thoughts at leisure," she replied, the barest hint of a twinkle in her sky-blue eyes, "but if you wish for me to summarize... I am glad for it. There are visions I wish I had never seen... yet even the terrors of the World do not wholly shroud it. There is Good blended with Evil... yea, darkness in the lands of Elves and light in the deepest caves... yet never once have I felt that the Light had been lost. Ah, it lifts my heart even now to think of it... the magnificent halls of the Dwarf-kindreds, the farm-lands of the Shire... even in Men there is ambition beyond their years. To seek that which cannot be found in a mortal lifetime... that is a treasure beyond all the dragon-hoards put together."
A silence fell between the two women, broken only by the rustle of wind through the Autumn leaves of the mellyrn, newly golden by the turning of the season, and yet starting to fall and gather about their bare feet, for the Ring of Adamant had since left the forests of Lorien, and its power was fading. "Those are the words of a scholar, dear Cesistya," the elder said at last, "but they are not the words of my daughter. If I wished to know what there was beyond the borders of the Wood, I know where your books are. Tell me instead: what are the words of your heart?"
The gentle smile faded, like a grey cloud passing in front of the Sun. Long had Cesistya known the truth of this, yet ever she wished there was more to discover; perhaps a solution to this riddle that no other had managed to find. She did not delay her answer for lack of knowing... but rather, the last desperate hope that she was wrong. "I see now..." she softly replied, "... why we must depart. Though we may breath the same air, or plough the same fields... sail the same oceans, or swim the same rivers... though we may sit at the same table, and sup of the same food, and share the same joys and heartaches... in the end, we are not of the same world. The hearts of mortals are ... fleeting. They linger for all too brief a time before passing away, to some other place, to some other heart. Always seeking a new adventure, be it an epic tale of courage and blood... or simply... returning home at the end of the day... to a warm fire, a singing kettle, and a loved one's embrace. To linger long enough that they may truly know the heart of an Elf would ruin what little time they have... and for an Elf to live among them, to share their eternal heart with that which shines so briefly..."
No other words needed to be spoken. Though the elder Elf had never lived among mortals, she knew the heart of her daughter, and felt the aches that it carried. "We will be passing through the lands of Men on our journey to the Havens. There will be time for detours and lingerings, if you have any unfinished business."
A soft voice replied, "... their minds may remember me... but their hearts have long since forgotten."
~~~
A chill wind falls from the Mountains of Mist, heralding the onset of Winter as it rushes through the dark trees of Lorien. In the heart of the Wood there is a city built into the living trees, but it is abandoned, devoid of the life and magic there once dwelt. A cold and lonely moonbeam shines down upon an empty flet, its light falling upon a set of twelve tomes, neatly bound in sturdy leather, dyed red, and embossed in simple gold: the first Encyclopedia of Middle-earth.
On the wall next to the writing-desk there leaned a staff of silvery-grey wood.
