Disclaimer: All of Tolkien's characters and places belong to him. I own Eleniel, although she probably wishes I didn't. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and reviews would be wonderful. Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed, you are the cause of much insane grinning ;D

Chapter Two

Two days later, Eleniel and Eldarion have finished clearing two sections, and are busy replacing the books on their shelves, having been numbered and recorded in Eleniel's ever-growing catalogue. The shelves have been dusted, and already a difference can be seen as they begin to fill; looking around her, Eleniel can almost believe that they might one day succeed in restoring the whole place. At present, she is crouched on the floor, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle to look under the stacks; it comes as something of a relief that there is nothing underneath, although she makes a mental note to check next time before filling the shelves.

"There's nothing down there that I can see," she says, standing carefully.

"Maybe I should have a look on the top," suggests Eldarion's voice, slightly muffled, from the other side. There is a scrabbling noise, the shelves wobble slightly and Eleniel moves back hastily; it is sturdy furniture, however, and the Prince of Gondor appears three feet above her head, looking rather surprised. He grins down at her, and Eleniel cannot help but grin back.

"I'd like to meet the person who took it into their head to leave books up there," she says, stepping back to keep him in view. "Can you see the whole lib – please, if you value my sanity, don't sta – oh, must you, your highness?" this last somewhat despairingly; Eleniel has learnt over the past few days that Eldarion Telcontar can have a distressingly low regard for his own safety.

"Sweet Elbereth," says Eldarion, "this place is vast. I can see the walls, though," he adds in what is obviously an attempt to be optimistic.

"Couldn't you sort of – kneel down and see the walls?"

The Prince looks down at her, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Lady Librarian, are you implying that my sense of balance is not reliable?"

"My lord Prince, I have not the faintest doubt that your stance is firm as the very rock of the Ered Nimrais themselves," sighs Eleniel, "and I fear that the floor is as hard."

Eldarion laughs, and obligingly kneels. "There. I shall not fall – it is a strange shape for a building, isn't it?"

Eleniel knows what he means. Instead of fitting the regular shapes of the buildings around it, the library spreads along the outer face of the Sixth Circle, underneath the posh and gleaming houses to either side of it. The narrow entrance forces visitors to walk down a steep flight of steps before they reach the foyer with it's great vaulted roof; from outside the city, it appears to cling to the walls, and the wings snake along to either side of it. "Very strange," she agrees, pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders.

Eldarion is gazing up, now, at the roof itself, all intricate carving and sweeping lines of stone. Eleniel takes the opportunity to smile at the smudge of dirt adorning his left cheek. He really is very strange, for a prince; Eleniel has been brought up under the firm belief that Royalty are not subject to the same things as ordinary people, but has been forced to drastically change her opinion after hearing Eldarion's very inventive language the day before, when the only two copies in existence of 'The Illustrated Guide to the Heraldic Symbols of the Third Age' fell on his unprotected head.

The prince in question disappears from view once more, and there is a rattle as he descends the ladder. "I'm not sure who built the library," he says, back once more on solid ground. "Do you know?"

Eleniel wrinkles her nose. "Well, according to Father, my family did. He used to say that somewhere in here are the deeds to this whole street, as well as land somewhere in Dol Amroth. Personally, I think it highly unlikely."

"Hm." Eldarion looks thoughtful. "I think that rent in these parts is paid to Lord Stelbin."

"It would be," says Eleniel sourly. Stelbin is her landlord, too, and the rent rises whenever he comes to the City. "I must go and find some more ink, my lord. Where shall we do next?"

"Maybe down the end?" suggests the Prince, gesturing to his right. "We may even find your mysterious deeds!"

"Unlikely, my lord," says Eleniel under her breath as she hurries back to her desk. She drops down on the floor to rummage through her aging bag for ink, reflecting as she does so that before long she will have to buy some more, not to mention more parchment; as she stands again, ink in hand, Eldarion shouts something incoherent.

"Sorry, my lord?" she calls. In answer, there is a resounding crash, which echoes around the library.

"Oh, ye Valar," breathes Eleniel, and sprints toward the sound, images of collapsed shelves and unconscious princes whirling through her mind. She skids around the corner and is momentarily blinded by the sun, weak as it is; she runs forward anyway, and gasps in terror when arms grab her about the waist.

"Stop, Eleniel!" says Eldarion's voice close to her ear. She blinks so that her vision clears, and looks down; a gaping hole in the floor is inches away from her feet.

"Ah," she says. "Erm – there's a hole in the floor."

"There is indeed," agrees Eldarion, releasing her. Eleniel steps back, her cheeks burning. "It would appear that if one presses a certain stone in the wall, it opens."

"I wonder where it goes?" Eleniel puts down the ink-bottle carefully and crouches downto peer into the hole; she can see a few steps winding their way down into the darkness, but nothing beyond that. She looks up at Eldarion, and they reach an unspoken agreement.

"Lucky that there are torches," says Eldarion, pointing, and Eleniel accepts the aged wood; he strikes a light, after rummaging in pockets for his tinderbox.

They descend into the darkness, Eldarion leading, waving his torch in front of him; the stairs are a narrow spiral, and soon they lose sight of daylight. Eleniel concentrates on not slipping.

When they reach the bottom, there is a feeling of space. The torches illuminate a cavernous underground room, carved from the rock; three dark entrances loom ominously. "It's an entire underground system," says Eldarion softly; his voice nevertheless is echoed and amplified by the rock.

"Which way shall we go?" asks Eleniel nervously. There is something intimidating about the dark, silent openings.

"Straight ahead," says Eldarion, kneeling to sketch something in the dirt of the floor; Eleniel recognises the Ranger symbols from books she has read.

"Somehow, there must be air down here," she says as they walk into the dark passageway; as if to prove it, a draught whistles past them.

"Yes," says Eldarion thoughtfully as the torches flicker. "But I don't see any openings. There must be ventilation shafts in here somewhere." He arches an eyebrow at her. "Your ancestors were very thorough, Lady Librarian."

"Why thank you, my lord Prince."

They walk in silence for a good few minutes before Eldarion clears his throat and says somewhat awkwardly, "Tomorrow I must tell the Council about these tunnels. They could be dangerous."

"What about the passage from the Library to the Palace?" asks Eleniel without thinking; there is the barest hint of a pause before the Prince answers.

"I see no reason to disclose that information."

Eleniel smiles to herself.

"It's whether any of them could be used as a route into the city that is the issue here," continues Eldarion. "I have no wish to be blamed for an invasion."

"Nor me," mutters Eleniel.

Ahead, the texture of the darkness changes, and a solid wall comes into view. They stop, and Eleniel watches the Heir run his hands over it, to no avail. "It would appear that the way is blocked," he remarks.

"Perhaps it's blocked by magic?" suggests Eleniel.

"In a city of Men? Unlikely." Eldarion runs his fingers through his hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Either someone blocked the passage, or there's a lever here somewhere…" he trails off.

Eleniel turns her attention to the sides of the passage. A suspiciously smooth patch of rock catches her eye; curious, she reaches out to touch it, and yelps in surprise when, with a grinding noise, it slides backwards. "Oh!"

"Best stand back," Eldarion warns, and hastily takes his own advice as the wall ahead of them begins to move, swinging inwards on some invisible hinge and letting in a stream of unbearably bright light. Temporarily blinded – in Eleniel's case, for the second time that day – they both shield their eyes.

When the dancing spots fade from her vision, Eleniel sees before her a grand, spacious room, where dustsheets cover the furniture and spiders spin webs from a huge chandelier in the centre. She recognises it instantly, and blinks in surprise.

"Whose house is this?" wonders Eldarion, stepping out into the room.

"No one's, sire," says Eleniel, and he turns to face her, one brow raised in query. "We're in the old house on Emerald Street. I used to play in here as a child."

"Emerald Street?" the Prince's brow furrows. "On the Fifth Circle?"

"Yes. I live around the corner," adds Eleniel, and he laughs.

"Wait, I have it now. The stories in your family also say that you own this house?"

"Well, yes," says Eleniel defensively, folding her arms. "It's also said to be haunted, which is why it's deserted."

Eldarion is shaking his head. "My lady, my lady – are there any other parts of this kingdom belonging to you that I should know about?"

"I am perfectly content with the Library," Eleniel says firmly.

Eldarion makes a mock-cringing bow, wringing his hands together and affecting a nasal whine. "In your domain, mistress, I am but your humble servant."

It takes them a while to find the lever to swing the wall back into place, but once they have done so Eleniel shows Eldarion the way out of the house; a window in the scullery with the catch rusted through. It is an undignified scramble, even more so than when she was twelve, but the Prince makes not a word of complaint; they soon stand at the side of the street, Eleniel trying to smooth her ruffled hair.

Emerald Street is directly below the Library, and the gate to the Sixth Circle is but a few yards away. The house is the largest in the neighbourhood, bigger even than some of those in the street above; the sweeping forecourt and imposing frontage give it the look of a lord's residence. Locals pass it on the other side of the road. Any deserted mansion will inevitably gain the reputation of being haunted, and this one is no exception.

"I must take my leave of you here," says Eldarion a little wistfully. "My father wished to see me – I think he is suspicious of my days being so suddenly filled."

Eleniel nods, something twisting in her stomach. Eldarion takes one looks at her and says sharply, "I do not break my word, Eleniel."

Eleniel meets his grey eyes, and believes him. "No, my lord. I'm sorry." He still looks rather hurt, so she adds, "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

His face relaxes into one of those charming smiles. "Yes. Would you like me to lock the doors at the library? – I go to the stables, not to the palace."

"Could you?" asks Eleniel in some relief. "And I must go and try to find some more parchment; we've almost used it up."

"I'll provide more parchment," says Eldarion. "Call it – funding from the City Council, who will never notice it's gone. Until tomorrow, then." He kisses her hand as always, gives her a brief, warm smile, and then walks briskly away from her along the crowded street, his head bowed. Eleniel stands and watches him until he rounds the corner, out of her sight; then, jostled by the people hurrying past her, she makes her way slowly home, her heart curiously light.