It becomes plain to the remnant of the Elves that the world has indeed changed. Just one year after the fall of Thangorodrim, the full extent of the devastation of Beleriand is revealed. Lands have sunk, seas have risen, and the coastlines have rolled away; but by some miracle, the Isle of Balar remains.
But then come the words of the Lords of the West themselves: the Isle of Balar is doomed, and all that was built and labored for will be drowned beneath the waves. The tumults of the war have overthrown the foundations of the world, and all of Beleriand shall be cast down; but by the grace of the Valar, the island stands a little while longer, buying the Elves time to depart. Mistress Gwathnim bears these tidings to her councilors of the Gwaith-en-Gelydh.
“How much time we have left to us, none can say,” Gwathnim says, “for who can gainsay the will of the Lords of the West? But preparations for our leaving have already begun. King Gil-galad has already taken ship for the mainland and is preparing a haven for those leaving Balar. Lord Círdan among others shall remain here, directing the evacuation.”
Nóremmatur, the master mapmaker and Gwathnim’s right-hand, speaks up. “Mistress, this is woeful news! We must prepare to rescue as much of the archives as we may. But will we be allowed even one ship to transport it all?”
”Indeed, we shall have four ships at our call, by the word of Círdan,” Gwathnim says. “The flotilla commanded by Carcírion has been placed at our disposal. I am told that the King himself willed it so, for he would recover all that can be saved of our people, and our lore and histories. Now, here is my mind regarding the task before us.
“One ship shall be tasked with bearing our members, their families, and their goods and personal heirlooms. The second ship shall bear away artifacts, works of art and craft, and such material things as the Loremasters have preserved. The remaining two ships shall bear every book, scroll, tome and map possessed in the Archives. In this task our two brightest stars, Seregrían and Parfiolossë, shall be of greatest service; for their gifts and skills shall be essential in reassembling the Archives once we arrive - at whatever new home the Gelydh shall make.”
“Now go, I bid you!” Gwathnim says with a rising voice. “Gather your staff, each of you, and report to me how quickly you can have ready all that can be made!”
Carcírion’s ships sail forth the next day, bound for the shattered coast of Beleriand with all the craftsmen, masons and carpenters available, to establish a new harbor. All along the shores of Balar ships are being drawn up on the beaches, some being loaded in panicked haste with others in carefully planned resolve. The Gwaith-en-Gelydh is one of those working in a measured pace to make ready to depart. Their ships are due to return within seven days; this gives the Loremasters time to prepare their departure.
All throughout the House of the Gelydh, archivists and their acolytes pack and assemble crate after crate with precious books and artifacts. Gwathnim and Nóremmatur seem to be everywhere at once, directing the storage and staging of the containers and bringing order to chaos. But it falls to Seregrían and Parfiolossë to catalog and inventory the treasures and trove of lore that is being salvaged from this disaster. Twice Gwathnim has to restrain the angry frustration of the Elves who would simply cram everything into barrels and crates and get the cargo to the shore. The two young archivists press on with their careful cataloging and sorting – but not without issues of their own.
“How many times must we do this!” Parfiolossë says exasperated. “Does it matter how the books get in the crate, so long as they come out unspoiled at our destination?”
“I have no intention of sorting things twice,” Seregrían growls as she looks up from her catalog work. “If we pack the tomes in reverse order, we pull them back out at our new archives in their proper order. And if you separate them with the packing material – like I showed you – then each category is not only separate but protected. And each box must have a list of the items within, equally protected.”
“At the rate you’re moving, Seregrían, we’ll not be needing boxes, we’ll need fishing nets and draglines – because everything will be at the bottom of the Sea! Look here, the boxes are large enough that one bookcase can fill it easily. Why not just empty the bookcase, seal it, label it and move on to the next? Master Nóremmatur has been by twice already and is growling more fiercely than you!”
Seregrían looks up from her cataloging, irritated in her turn. “Very well, then, we’ll do it your way – but I will enjoy the looks and rolling eyes when it takes thrice as long to restore the library once we’ve arrived.” The packing goes swifter, if not smoother, when Parfiolossë begins rifling a chest of drawers filled with loose notes.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” she cries. “These have never been organized at all!”
“They are organized, for they’re my own notes!” Seregrían says. “Each stack is a subject, each divided according to – stop that, Parfiolossë, you’ll spoil my work!! Parfiolossë is not listening as she simply tips the drawer into an open crate.
“What work might this be, then? These are all notes on Mortals!? Since when did you pay any mind to the children of Men? And when did you keep such haphazard filing – this isn’t a sanctioned work, you’re doing this on your own?”
Seregrían concentrates on the open book in her hand, not looking at her friend. “No one has ever consolidated the collected lore regarding the Second-Comers. These pages are a stew of many sources, and I have had little time to complete the work; I merely stored them against a future time – but now, there is no time.”
Parfiolossë leafs through several parchments. “These are accounts from refugees, from rumors – some from Doriath, some from Arvernien – even this one, from Gondolin!? How did you even get these!”
“It is as you say, accounts from refugees and from eye-witnesses. You see the labor of full sixty summers, of interviews and rumor.”
“But I still do not understand the why. If you haven’t told anyone else, and only I have seen these, then explain to me, if no one else hears. Why are you studying Mortals, when you claim so loudly you hate them?”
“It is because I hate them, that I study them, you dolt! You think they’ll change their allegiances, their loyalties, just because the Shadow is gone? They carry the Shadow in their hearts even now! They will recover their numbers in due time, they breed almost as fast as the orcs do; and what will they do with those numbers, once they also recover their wits? The Elves will have to fight them once more, as we did in the Nirnaeth when they betrayed us – and this time, by my hand shall their weaknesses be revealed!!” Parfiolossë sits silent while Seregrían rages, then speaks with a voice tinged with sadness.
“You’re too young to hold such anger, dear friend, and so much lies before us yet to see and learn. But what you say does make sense. Perhaps there will come a time when such lore will be needful for some commander in years to come; but that is not today’s problem. Here, this box shall hold your works, and I shall speak to no one about them. But please, let us continue our labor here, and with greater haste? As Mistress Gwathnim said, we know not how much time we have to depart. Agreed, Blood-queen?”
“Agreed, Book-flower.” And the two friends returned to their packing in silence.
Next Chapter: "The Bond of Family"
