Sarmetecil

Sarmëtecil, the secretary-scribe of the Order of the Pillar, had learned a trick lately for dealing with the Lady's recent jumpiness: she knocked on the wall of the hallway before reaching the door of the office. The sound was fainter and, to the keen ears of the Eldar, fairer -- perhaps the wood was lebethron, Sarmë knew not, and she was no harpist, but judged the sound to be lighter and gentler than the sound of knocking on the actual door.

Long had Arradril been thinking -- or so it seemed to her -- over the question of what sort of gift she might find or make for Branalph, survivor of the ruin of Nargothrond and lately recruit of the Order of the Hammer. It was merely polite, after all. He had given her the pretty purple feather that reminded her of younger days. So etiquette, for surely that was all that it was, would seem to demand some sort of token in return.

Manadhlaer sighed, not for the first time that day, or that hour. She dipped her quill and made another attempt:

It has been widely known since the Elder Days that the sap of an unopened poppy...

Instantly she stopped and put a line through her words. "If it has been widely known," she said aloud, "why write it at all?" One of her delicate silken slippers, as light as an Elfling's first breath, had already gone. She kicked the other against the far wall of her office and began again.

Sarmëtecil was a Noldë, and proud, as such folk are wont to be, but even she trembled slightly before the stare of the Lady of the Pillar. "It is true, my lady. Great heaps of log-books are simply missing -- erm, not to be found at this time." She ran a finger under the collar of her burgundy tabard, which now seemed uncomfortably tight.

"What," Manadhlaer began, but fortified herself with a swig of tea before she continued. "Do you mean. Missing."

"It is our hope that in time, we may locate --"

Captain Sáranassë of the Order of the Arrow was many things, as she stood in Lady Manadhlaer’s office. She was tall, and fair in her austere way, and armored. She was a daughter of the Noldor, a creature of stealth and odd habits. She was a hardened warrior and a keeper of secrets. The one thing Sáranassë was not, by any means, was amused.

“Are you really quite sure that you never even heard his name?”

The Lady of the Pillar had asked her secretary this twice before. Sarmëtecil lowered her head and confronted the hopeful gaze of her mistress.

Greetings Lady Himwen,

There isn't much time so I'll get to the point as fast as I can. I am staying around Sarmëtecil for the time being, unless you have other orders for me.

Arradril of the Order of the Arrow hooked a finger into the collar of her immaculate tabard, as though it were too tight. It had in fact been made to measure, to drape perfectly over the reinforced gambeson that Arrows wore in order to creep about the forest in silence. But Captain Sáranassë was, of late, insisting on visibility -- at least part of the time. So Arradril wore the indigo, inspired by Gondolin's House of the Swallow, and bore herself gravely when within the Vale. Most of the time.

Hiril Manadhlaer:

As you requested, I have made a list of books from the chest of tomes discovered by Daeruth -- may she emerge from her icy curse! --  under Thorin's Halls that have absolutely nothing to do with Dwarrow-gems. Some of them are about gems, but written in a didactic mode by our own hir Silwë. But none of what we have read cover to cover so far has anything to do with the topics you are searching for. We have, of course, more tomes yet to go. 

Not at all relevant: