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The Imladris Library
Before you is the center of scholarly study within the Vale of Elrond, and the labrynthine ways of shelves and desks hold a myriad of books. The library seems centered about the area before you, the shelves extending outward from it. Within its center is a large oaken table surrounded by many wooden chairs. A few books lay scattered randomly about the table, and spaced evenly across it are quills and bottles of coloured ink and spare pieces of blank parchment. A large bookstand holding a massive volume stands out off to the side before the Librarian's desk, and below it a few other large books rest in their respective shelves of the stand. Off in back of the library rest a few large cushioned chairs, centered around a large stand whereupon a index of the library may be found. Far to the left is what appears to be a seperate section of the Library, off the main rotunda.
Bright beams of sunlight stream through recently-polished window panes, splashing light upon the many desks scattered around the Imladris library. An elf here or there--otherwise, the chambers are vacant, save for the hundreds of bound inhabitants housed on the looming shelves. At one corner table, a small elleth sits perched at the end of her seat, bent over a small tome of some years in age. On either side upon the desk she is walled in by two veritable towers of books of shapes and sizes. The ones to her right seem much more ordered and neatly stacked than do those on her left.
Quiet boot steps come from between the shelves as Celebringil steps out into the study area. Clutched under his arm are several rolls of parchment. Some seem fresh, others old and faded. Celebringil holds one unrolled infront of him. He seems to be examining in closely, and muttering to himself. As he steps into the light he stops and blinks at the sudden bright light.
Nusiriel seems oblivious of Celebringil despite the slight distance that separates them. Rather, she appears to concentrate even harder on her task at hand--whatever that may be--biting her lower lip and fiercely scribbling on a spare sheet of parchment with a disgruntled-looking quill. In scrawling a flourish at the end of a particularly long sentence, her elbow collides with the pile of books at her right and sends the stack sprawling across the floor around the desk with a series of THUDS that seem, if only momentarily, to be deafening in this solitary space.
Celebringil catches the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. He reaches out to catch some of the books as they fall, but only grabs two before they go crashing down to the floor. He stands in a akward position holding the books for several moments as the noise dies away. He hefts the books onto the table, and grins at Nusiriel.
It takes a few moments before the shocked Parvasson is able to fully collect herself, and when she does, she is immediately on her knees, scooping books up into her lap. Gazing up absentmindly she notices Celebringil at last. Hesitating only briefly, she manages to flash a brief smile and mutter a quiet "thanks" as she rights herself and the volumes once more.
Celebringil helps to gather what remains of the books, and places them in a small stack on the desk. "You are welcome," he whispers, as the last of the books are put back into place on her desk. He then proceeds to uncrumple his own documents on what little space remains on the table. Celebringil also doesn't hide the fact, as he sneaks a peek at what Nusiriel is working on.
"Please," Nusiriel says, leaning against the corner of the table to catch her breath. "Have a seat." Gesturing towards a chair opposite she follows her own advice, regaining her perch and taking back up her quill. With dismay does she realize that the nib has broken, and in pausing to search through her pockets for a replacement she notes with some amusement the curiousity of the Tellenistron.
Celebringil grins, and takes the set opposite Nusiriel. "As long as I am not completely interruptin you from your studies." he says with a slight grin. He begins to carefully study another scroll as He reaches into one of his own pockets and fishes a quill out for her, and offers it to Nusiriel.
"Why, thank you mellon!" she says, accepting the scroll with a broad smile. Dipping it carefully into the ink and tapping the tip gently against the edge of the squat glass bottle, Nusiriel squints into the pale pages of her original study and turns a few pages before exclaiming aloud, "Ah!" and pressing a slim pointer-finger against the page in question, eyes wide with something akin to horror.
Celebringil peers over the top of his scroll, with a half amused, half quisical look. "Shh," he says quietly. "Must I remind you mellon that we are in a library." He chuckles softly. They mapmaker stands up and walks around the table, looking over her shoulder. "Now what seems to be ther problem?"
Blushing profusely, Nusiriel cannot help but adopt a scolding tone as she replies, "Really! As if you should be the one to remind me. A librarian, for goodness' sake!" Shaking her head, she waves her hand dismissively. "It isn't as though young Penniavas and his companions are about. Then you should know what real noise is." Pressing her face almost into the spine of the book itself, Nusiriel clucks to herself quietly with a disapproving tsk, and makes a lengthy note on the parchment near at hand, already half-filled with similar reminders.
Celebringil chuckles at the Parvasson's words. "No," he says, shaking his head. "Two young and headstrong bucks, fighting over a beautiful doe in the middle of spring is what noise is. Especially if they are only two feet away from you. Noise is standing in the middle of a bell tower as you lose control of the ringing bell. Now, how can I help you?"
A chuckle escapes Nusiriel lips as she looks up to catch the eye of the elf seated opposite. Sweeping a hand over the stacks of books littering the table-top, she shrugs. "This is not your lot, mellon. Still..." she pauses, tilting her head slightly and staring deeply into the countenance of her companion. "It would seem Eru has gifted you with words. It has come to my attention that certain works in our collection have fallen into disrepair. In hopes of catching any fading texts, loosened binding or torn and crumbling pages that the knowledge kept inside these walls might not escape us forever, I have set myself to taking inventory of repairs that need attending to. This, for instance--" and here she motions to the page that had so recently mortified her into exclamation, "is a perfect specimen. See how centuries how the calligraphy has all but vanished? This book must be centuries old."
"I can see what you mean," he says leaning back. "To loose knowledge such as this would be a true loss. I have been working on something like that. Some of the maps kept here in the library are increadibly out of date. I have been working on trying to update as many as possible. However, it is a long road. Might I ask how I can help you in your task?"
"It sounds as though you are doing so already!" Setting the borrowed quill into the ink well to rest, Nusiriel folds her hands before her on the desk, careful not to add more stress to the ancient pages near at hand. "I admit that I have often neglected the maps we have in store here. It comforts me to know that someone has the best interest of ALL of Imladris' sacred documents in mind. For knowledge in itself is sacred, is it not? A gift from the One, truly." Lapsing into silence, the Parvasson gazes up into the shafts of light illuminating her work, peering through the beams as though to discern the window-cill beyond.
Celebringil nods silently. He follows her gaze to the window and beyond. For a moment, his stare is bound to the light. Celebringil watches the small particles of dust float on the air. He winces slightly, and rubs his back, but doesn't say anything.
Exhaling deeply, Nusiriel shakes her head as though physically to draw herself from her moment's reverie. Reclaiming the quill, she blots the excess ink against a small cloth clutched in one palm before skimming the pages of the book once more and jotting down a few brief notes as she does so. Glancing up between sentences, she manages a smile. "And pray, what monumental task brings you to this humble corner of the House of Elrond? Surely with all the glories of nature, an elf such as yourself would do much better rambling among rocks and trees. Or are you as entranced by the tales of our forefathers as I?"
"Not so much the tales of our kin, mellon, but where it is they have travelled," he says with a grin. "He opens a scroll and lays it out flat on the table. A map of the valley and surrounding territories are recorded in great detail. "As you can see, this map truelly is a work of art. The calligraphy is brillant, and the colours are amazing. However, there is one thing missing..." He gestures at the northern vales just above the valley rim.
Nusiriel traces the markings on the elaborate parchment with keen, bright eyes. Touching her fingers lightly to her lips, a slight gasp of amazement is barely audible. For a time she seems in danger of losing herself once more to the depths of her own thoughts until, quite suddenly, she leans forward and utters a breathless, "And you... you have been to these places?"
"I have visited them," he says quietly, "However, my point being that this is the land of the Second-born. What is left of the people of the kingdom of Arnor wander these lands. And here," he gestures again at an empty space on the map. "Here is the land of the Beornings. And crawlling through the mountains inbetween...yrch." He sighs and shakdes his head. "Though an excellent cartographer, our artist was biased."
Unabashed, Nusiriel scours the page with all the attention of an eager elfling. Shuddering at the mention of the 'yrch,' she pales slightly before regaining composure. Turning her gaze upward to assess Celebringil's meaning, she seems intent on ciphering an answer from the lines of his features alone. Reluctantly she speaks, her tone far less anxious than she really is. "Biased? How so?"
"To completely leave something off a map that you know is there?" he says with a slight grin. "Doesn't that strike you as alittle irresponsible, mellon. I would understand one was to not include it because on ignorance. However, someone who could make a map of this caliber would almost certainly know what it was that lived above the valley rim. I am unable to think of any reason that bias."
"I fancy they had their reasons," Nusiriel replies, a secret smile tipping the corners of her mouth upward. "Perhaps, in completing the detail thus far, they were afraid they would do themself discredit to attempt another subject beyond what they had already applied themself to. Certainly more might be added at a later date, though he may have done well to commission someone right away for the task, rather than to keep us wondering."
Celebringil grins, and leans back into the the chair. "I don't know, mellon," he says quietly. "Despite that, I can't help but feel that to add another bit of ink to this parchment would ruin the craftsmanship. It is exquistly done."
"Indeed," Nusiriel murmurs. After casting one last, lingering look at the map, the Parvasson returns to her own work. In advancing through a chapter's worth of material without catching anything of note, she finally stops at a page somewhere near the middle of the text and, in turning the volume around so that Celebringil might have a more decent look, reveals an intricate detailing of a grey ship of elven-craft, tempest-tossed among fell, foaming waves of a more foreboding grey. "You see? Our lines of work are not so different. For one such as myself who has spent her life in the the sanctuary of our blessed Valley, to catch such glimpses of the world Beyond is a gift that age itself could not destroy."
Celebringil grins as he looks over the marvelous picture. "Indeed," he says with a nod. "It is a beautiful drawing. To loose it would be a tragidy." He traces a finger along the outer edge of the relief. "The crafts of those who came before us is something to marvel at. Sometimes I stop and wonder if I am truely worthy to even live up to that legacy."
The darkening of the Parvasson's countenance reveals that she has often felt similarly. "The weight of inadequacy is a heavy burden to bear," she sighs, drawing the book back towards herself and closing it lightly, emitting a small cloud of dust as she does so.
Celebringil looks back to the window. His gaze darkens, and his brow furrows deeply. "Yes, it is heavy." he says in a distant voice. "Now, at the twilight of our time on this world, it is almost unbearable." He slowly rolls the map, carefully curling the parchment. "I am confronted by this everyday. I sometimes find it hard to bear at all."
Frowning herself, there is a glint of tears in Nusiriel's dark eyes before her expression hardens altogether. Pursing her lips together, she draws back her shoulders to bring herself into a more rigid stance, and stares out into the space just above Celebringil's left shoulder as though he were an apparition, at best. "We have only what time is before us," she replies, her tone cold and speckled with the sharp peaks of regret. "I know this, and yet I despair. That we should leave these lands and soon be forgotten seems too cruel. To be the Firstborn, and to be usurped at last. No matter how far West, no havens could save us from the cries of Arda when we have left it at the end of days."
Celebringil turns to face Nusiriel, his sapphire eye gleaming in the sun. "Usurped? Forgotten?" he says, his voice almost rising to a shout. "None of these shall we, the first-born of Illuvatar be. We leave this world for the Second-Born, it is Men in who we hold this world in trust for. As a king steps down for his son to lead, so must we step down for the Second-Born. They are the ones to carry this world beyond where we can take it. Our time has passed, and rightly so. For we have had our glory, now it is time for Men. And do not think we shall be forgotten. For in their minds we shall ever be. They will remember us, and the glories that came before. They will seek to emulate what they have seen through us. And in that small way, our legacy shall live on."
Celebringil turns to face Nusiriel, his sapphire eye gleaming in the sun. "Usurped? Forgotten?" he says, his voice almost rising to a shout. "None of these shall we, the first-born of Illuvatar be. We leave this world for the Second-Born, it is Men in who we hold this world in trust for. As a king steps down for his son to lead, so must we step down for the Second-Born. They are the ones to carry this world beyond where we can take it. Our time has passed, and rightly so. For we have had our glory, now it is time for Men. And do not think we shall be forgotten. For in their minds we shall ever be. They will remember us, and the glories that came before. They will seek to emulate what they have seen through us. And in that small way, our legacy shall live on."
The tears that until now had remained unshed course about the elleth's delicate, high cheekbones. With a self-depricating laugh, she forces her gaze towards Celebringil's. "I know this to be true. So it has been written, and for these days have we been ever preparing, but I cannot help myself thinking how hard it seems." Holding her head in her upturned palms, Nusiriel shudders violently while bracing herself against the desk with her elbows. As suddenly as it erupted, as quickly does her grief subside. Dabbing at her eyes with her discarded blotting rag she unintentionally leaves small black specks beneath her eyelashes that add an almost comical appearance to her damp countenance. Smiling cheerfully, Nusiriel removes another sheet of parchment from beneath the original, scrawling on its surface a note in large, elegant script which she leaves on the desk between the two precariously-stacked piles of books. Stepping around the table, she reaches to take Celebringil's hand into her own. "The day wanes on, and I know that I am needed elsewhere. Our conversations has been balm to my spirit, and but for one more minute's discourse I would rearrange the stars. Have my blessing for what it is, mellon, and may your way be guarded until next we meet." With a final look on her companion of the morning and a brief but gracious curtsy, the Parvasson makes her way to the central doors leading out to the second floor hallway. Her steps can be heard as they pad wistfully along the corridor until at last all that remains is the absence of matter where only moment's before an elleth had sat, and a pervading silence.
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