Hi all. I know, I know! I haven't updated in ages, and I feel really bad.
I'm sorry! But hey, still nice to know I'm in demand, right? (
Special Thanks to Tinkoo, who snapped me out of my lazy spell. I owe you.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, no matter how many times I wish Arda was my creation. *Sigh*
Having just finished my midday meal, I walked back to the library. The halls were mostly empty, and the only sounds were the soft echoes of my feet on the marble. I took my time, for few Elves had visited the library in the morning. I walked into the library and sighed in slight disappointment; it appeared to be empty. Solitude was pleasant at times, but even more so was the company of others, to me.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I saw the one Elf I did not wish to have in my company. It was Galáril, also a scribe. There was unspoken competition between the raven-haired Elf and I; both of us wished to be useful to the King, more so than the other. I wished to follow in my deceased father's footsteps, to be the King's sole scribe. Galáril boasted of his talents, and belittled both my father and I at every given opportunity. I hated him for his scornful ways; he hated me because I simply was, for my very existence posed a threat to his victory.
Galáril's back was turned to me, thankfully, so he did not know I was there. He seemed to be looking for something; what it was, I had no idea. Quietly I crept behind a bookshelf and watched him. It was a childish thing to do, but I did not want to make myself known just yet.
My rival searched the shelves containing the chronological history of Eryn Lasgalen, moving ever towards the volumes of the Third Age's earlier years. Few ever read these, for the history of our kingdom is known to all here. Galáril selected a volume, and quickly skimmed its contents. He nodded, seeming to be satisfied at last.
I decided to make myself known to Galáril; perhaps he would reveal his intentions to me.
I carefully walked back to the threshold of the library, and acted as if I had just strolled in. As I had planned, Galáril heard me enter.
"Galáril," I said with false formality, "may I assist you in some way?"
"I have managed well on my own, Elráwien, but I thank you for your concern," he replied, just as coldly.
"What have you selected, Galáril?" I asked, looking at the large book pointedly.
Galáril laughed, but it held no mirth. "What evil time is this that an Elf's private business must be known to all? I shall return the records when I am finished with them. Then, perhaps, the keeper of these books will rest easily." He said, scathingly.
My temper flared at this comment. How dare he mock me?
"I will rest easily when you have left my sight," I said in a low voice, struggling to control my anger.
"Your words cut into my very soul, fair maiden," Galáril said contemptuously.
"Why is there such scorn in your tone, and revulsion in your eyes?" Galáril reached over and placed his hand on my arm, smirking. I flinched and jerked it away, out of his reach.
"How dare you?" I spat angrily.
Galáril stepped closer to me, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"It has been rumored the King is in search of a scribe. I wonder who he will choose? A book-keeper, or an Elf skilled in his trade?" Galáril said viciously.
"Leave me." My stomach was knotted in fear, but my voice was steady.
"You fear the truth!" Galáril smiled triumphantly, and his green eyes glittered coldly.
"No!" I said trying to get past Galáril, who blocked the exit. I wanted to leave, and get as far away from him as possible.
"You fear the truth, and run from it," Galáril said, restraining me, "just as you fear and run from the past!"
I froze in silent horror, and simply stared at Galáril for a moment.
"Just as you fear the past," Galáril repeated, smiling coldly.
I pushed past him and ran from the library. I tore down the hall, and did not pause to look back. I ran, but with each step, the terrible truth just loomed closer.
With each footfall the words rang in my head: He. Knew. He. Knew. He. Knew.
Special Thanks to Tinkoo, who snapped me out of my lazy spell. I owe you.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, no matter how many times I wish Arda was my creation. *Sigh*
Having just finished my midday meal, I walked back to the library. The halls were mostly empty, and the only sounds were the soft echoes of my feet on the marble. I took my time, for few Elves had visited the library in the morning. I walked into the library and sighed in slight disappointment; it appeared to be empty. Solitude was pleasant at times, but even more so was the company of others, to me.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I saw the one Elf I did not wish to have in my company. It was Galáril, also a scribe. There was unspoken competition between the raven-haired Elf and I; both of us wished to be useful to the King, more so than the other. I wished to follow in my deceased father's footsteps, to be the King's sole scribe. Galáril boasted of his talents, and belittled both my father and I at every given opportunity. I hated him for his scornful ways; he hated me because I simply was, for my very existence posed a threat to his victory.
Galáril's back was turned to me, thankfully, so he did not know I was there. He seemed to be looking for something; what it was, I had no idea. Quietly I crept behind a bookshelf and watched him. It was a childish thing to do, but I did not want to make myself known just yet.
My rival searched the shelves containing the chronological history of Eryn Lasgalen, moving ever towards the volumes of the Third Age's earlier years. Few ever read these, for the history of our kingdom is known to all here. Galáril selected a volume, and quickly skimmed its contents. He nodded, seeming to be satisfied at last.
I decided to make myself known to Galáril; perhaps he would reveal his intentions to me.
I carefully walked back to the threshold of the library, and acted as if I had just strolled in. As I had planned, Galáril heard me enter.
"Galáril," I said with false formality, "may I assist you in some way?"
"I have managed well on my own, Elráwien, but I thank you for your concern," he replied, just as coldly.
"What have you selected, Galáril?" I asked, looking at the large book pointedly.
Galáril laughed, but it held no mirth. "What evil time is this that an Elf's private business must be known to all? I shall return the records when I am finished with them. Then, perhaps, the keeper of these books will rest easily." He said, scathingly.
My temper flared at this comment. How dare he mock me?
"I will rest easily when you have left my sight," I said in a low voice, struggling to control my anger.
"Your words cut into my very soul, fair maiden," Galáril said contemptuously.
"Why is there such scorn in your tone, and revulsion in your eyes?" Galáril reached over and placed his hand on my arm, smirking. I flinched and jerked it away, out of his reach.
"How dare you?" I spat angrily.
Galáril stepped closer to me, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"It has been rumored the King is in search of a scribe. I wonder who he will choose? A book-keeper, or an Elf skilled in his trade?" Galáril said viciously.
"Leave me." My stomach was knotted in fear, but my voice was steady.
"You fear the truth!" Galáril smiled triumphantly, and his green eyes glittered coldly.
"No!" I said trying to get past Galáril, who blocked the exit. I wanted to leave, and get as far away from him as possible.
"You fear the truth, and run from it," Galáril said, restraining me, "just as you fear and run from the past!"
I froze in silent horror, and simply stared at Galáril for a moment.
"Just as you fear the past," Galáril repeated, smiling coldly.
I pushed past him and ran from the library. I tore down the hall, and did not pause to look back. I ran, but with each step, the terrible truth just loomed closer.
With each footfall the words rang in my head: He. Knew. He. Knew. He. Knew.