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. Thankyou, lovely people who've reviewed before!
Updates will probably be about once a week from now on, school being what it is. I'm off to London for three days (going to see Guys and Dolls YAY). Anyway. Er. On with the story :D
Chapter Five
Dearest Eleniel,
It seems an age since last I wrote! I hope that this letter finds you well. Indeed, I think that your last letter to me was just after father had passed away – a loss, dear sister, that you should never have had to bear alone – and you sounded most down in spirits. Your talk was all of dry and dusty scrolls.
Life here in the North goes on much the same. There is not a lot to be said for being a 'standing army', other than that you may impart to Elessar the extreme displeasure of most of his troops at the prospect of wintering here! The veterans tell me that I will curse the freezing mud. I suppose Elessar knows this; after all, they say that he was a Ranger, and they have it even harder than we.
Talking of the Rangers, who come and go around Fornost as they please, my thoughts turn to the days when we would creep into the stables with wooden swords and stalk each other though the hay. Alas, I fear that the weight of a sword of steel is far greater than a wooden one, and the wild-men who attack from the northern mountains not nearly as gentle as a contrite sibling (I still remember falling from the hay-loft, and the way that you read to me while I was unable to walk). But do not worry yourself unduly, sister; no injury has yet befallen me.
Breglir tells me that the wagons leave soon, so I must finish with all haste. Dear sister, take care of yourself (and Battleaxe). Do not waste away your life in the Library; you are living, and have no place among the words of the dead.
Your loving brother,
Taeglin
Eleniel's eyes are damp. Hastily, she swipes at them with the sleeve of her dress. The letter, written in her brother's careful hand upon poor-quality parchment, is newly arrived from the North in the baggage-trains that carry mail and the wounded back to the city. Eleniel folds it and places it in her pocket.
The Library appears considerably lighter this morning. The sun streams in through the round window, catching the rich colours of the wooden shelves. It is early yet, and there is no sign of the Prince, for which Eleniel is grateful; it has given her chance to read her letter in peace.
No sooner has she begun to wonder whether the lure of the Court has not proved stronger than anticipated when she hears the sound of voices from the passage to the Palace. She has barely a chance to leap to her feet before Eldarion emerges; there is a cobweb caught in his hair and dust on his nose. "Lady Librarian! How does this morning find you?"
"Well enough. I have a letter from my brother," Eleniel says with a grin, then her attention is drawn back to the passage entrance as a voice exclaims, "'Darion! This place is huge!" and a young woman with heavy coils of raven hair stumbles out, looking around in awe.
Eldarion sighs, although a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Idril, this is Eleniel. Eleniel, my sister."
Princess Idril spins around, and fixes Eleniel with a delighted smile. "This is the Librarian? – of course, I saw you yesterday! Eldarion's told me all about you. How do you do?" she holds out her hand, and Eleniel, who has been wondering whether she ought to curtsey, takes it with a feeling of relief. The handshake is firm, and Eleniel tentatively smiles back.
"It's an honour, my lady."
"Not for you, I shouldn't think, for I am hardly the most organised mind in the City! And please, call me Idril if we are to work together."
Eleniel feels as though she should object, but before she can do so Eldarion has interrupted them. "Eleniel? Do you have the records?"
"Oh, yes." Eleniel hands him the old records book from her desk, then picks up the new parchment. There is something slightly overwhelming about being in the same room as Idril; it is as though everything fades in comparison.
The latter falls into step beside her as they make their way down the Library. "I heard about how you cleaned the windows," she remarks, blue-grey eyes twinkling. "You are very brave!"
Eleniel blushes. "It needed doing. And I believe your brother thought me foolhardy rather than brave." She shoots a glance at Eldarion.
Idril laughs. "'Darion always has been over-cautious."
"No," protests her brother, "I am sensible. There is, I assure you, a difference. You, sister, have my share of daring." He narrows his eyes. "I hear tales of your wild riding through the woods of Ithilien."
Eleniel laughs as they continue to tease each other. By the time they reach the end of the Library, she has decided that she likes Princess Idril very much, and after two hours of solid work her initial reluctance about working with not one but two members of the Royal Family has all but vanished. Idril takes over the writing, her neat script much easier to read than Eleniel's flowing scrawl, and Eleniel devotes herself to looking things up in the old records; they are in the section on trade with Rohan, and some of the writing is in Rohirric, of which her knowledge is scant and theirs excellent.
When they stop for lunch, Idril orders the Prince to go and buy them food, and then as his long legs disappear up the stairs turns to Eleniel with a brilliant smile. "I understand that you have a brother?"
"Yes – he's in the North." Eleniel toys with the ends of her hair and Idril makes a sympathetic sound.
"It must be awful, living all alone!" she sits down in one of the armchairs and a cloud of dust arises. "Eldarion was away for – oh, years, with the armies in Khand, and then before that he was in Imladris. I remember how I moped around when he first left!" She grins ruefully. "Of course, I have my sisters, but – well. It must be harder for you."
"I do miss Taeglin," Eleniel admits, "but he's due home next year, and I'm busy; I don't have much time to mope." She suddenly realises what she has said, and her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh, not that I meant – I didn't mean…"
Idril laughs. "It's all right. I'm the first to admit that I am a thoroughly spoilt individual; when there's nothing to entertain me I am often too lazy to entertain myself." Startled by this burst of introspection, Eleniel looks curiously at her.
"I can keep you busy, my lady, if it's employment you lack, though I fear that I lack somewhat on the entertaining side," she says wryly, and Idril blushes.
"Oh, I must sound so awful! No, I must admit to being quite glad that Eldarion's discovered you. For his sake as well as mine, you know. He speaks very highly of you." Her gaze is disturbingly like the King's.
Eleniel ducks her head. "I'm honoured, really I am, I – I can't think why he would want to – well, he seems to enjoy it so much, and…"
Idril takes pity on her and abruptly changes the subject. "I hear tell that you have passages other than the one through which I was dragged this morning," she remarks. "Will you show me?"
"Gladly!" Eleniel leaps to her feet. "The Prince discovered it by accident; it's right down the far end…" she sets off down the Library at a brisk pace. Idril keeps step with her; the Princess is taller than she is, although Eleniel is by no means small. The Princess also moves with much the same grace as her brother, the hem of her long dress whispering against the floor, although there is something strange about her movements; it's almost as though the grace is forced, the result of hard-won practice rather than natural poise.
"I believe that 'Dari thinks there to be an underground system," Idril says eagerly as they turn the corner at the far wall. "He said that he tried to convince the Council. I'm not surprised that he didn't get far, knowing what – good grief, there's a hole in the floor!"
"I've already nearly fallen down it head-first," says Eleniel, lighting one of the old torches with Eldarion's tinderbox, still lying on the ground from their last expedition. "Here…" she passes the torch to Idril and lowers herself down into the darkness.
The air is clearer than last time, she is pleased to note when they reach the bottom of the steep steps. Behind her, Idril trips over her skirt hem and drops the torch, which miraculously carries on burning; Eleniel turns in surprise.
"So clumsy," mutters the Princess, scrambling to her feet, the mask of poise abandoned. She catches Eleniel's startled look and sighs. "I'm sorry. You'd think, being elf-born…" she gestures helplessly. "I have problems with stairs."
Eleniel takes the torch from her. "Are you all right? Is it – do you feel dizzy, or…"
"No," says Idril resignedly, "just clumsy. I was the most awkward child – the family joke is that my share of sophistication went to Eldarion, while I had his share of recklessness. And all other flaws, including an easily-lost temper, a lack of tact and a propensity to talk constantly." In the flickering torchlight, the Princess's face is flushed, and Eleniel, sensing that for once someone else is feeling more self-conscious than she is, places an awkward hand on her arm. Idril looks contrite. "I'm so sorry, Eleniel, I didn't mean to…"
"That's all right." Eleniel smiles at her shyly. "You're welcome to be as – as ungraceful as you like in the Library. I don't mind, and I'm sure that Elda – the Prince doesn't."
Idril's clear laugh echoes around the cavernous space in which they stand. "Why thank you! I shall bear it in mind; you could neither of you be more full of censure than the ladies at Court. I do not go a day but that I trip over something and some obsequious woman sniggers at me." She looks around, and her eyes widen. "Goodness! Which way shall we go?"
"Well, we've been down the passage straight ahead," says Eleniel. "It leads to an old house on the Fifth Circle, right by the Gate. Left or right?"
"Left," says Idril decisively, marching off in that direction. Eleniel follows her with the torch; they enter the passage, but have only gone a few feet before they find their way blocked by a wall of rubble.
"It must have caved in," says Eleniel, disappointed. She scuffs at the dirt with her toe. "Shall we try the other way?"
"I wonder where it led to?" wonders the Princess, following Eleniel back across the cavers to the right-hand passageway.
"Who knows?" Eleniel notices that the floor is not level; there is a definite slope to the passage. It becomes more apparent as they advance, until they find themselves edging forward cautiously on the rapidly-steepening incline.
"Why aren't there any steps?" pants Idril from above Eleniel. Her feet kick loose a shower of dirt. "Oh, sorry, Eleniel!"
Eleniel peers ahead. The torch illuminates only a little way, and all she can see is darkness. She lets her gaze drift upward and is surprised to see that the ceiling is high above them; the roof has remained level even while the passage slopes away. "That's odd. Do you see the ceiling? Almost as though the floor has sunk, or…" she trails off with a frown, as something on the edge of her hearing catches her attention. A murmuring, far below them, almost as though there are people down there…
A strong draught suddenly whistles past them, and there is a creaking, groaning noise, as of ancient machinery coming to life. Eleniel gasps as a high-pitched whine fills the tunnel, and slithers backwards on the steep floor, which is suddenly moving of its own accord, tilting steadily downwards as the grinding of massive gears echoes through the shaking passage. Idril yelps in alarm and grabs her by the arm. "Ai, Valar! Run!" she cries.
Eleniel drops the torch in the ensuing scramble, as the Princess drags her backwards. Down below them, there are shouts, which echo and then are suddenly cut off with a sound like the slamming of a massive steel door; the whine and grumble of machinery far below is cut of with it, and then the echoes die, and the only sounds are their gasping breath and the thudding of Eleniel's heart in her ears.
"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea," she says unsteadily to the all-encompassing darkness.
Idril's hand is still clamped onto her arm. Eleniel can feel her trembling. "It's – very dark."
"Yes." Eleniel has no idea where they stand, or where the stairs are. She moves forwards, Idril still clinging to her arm, and takes a breath. "Maybe – if we call, someone will hear…" she does not mention that they have left nothing to tell the Prince where they've gone.
Idril inhales sharply, and then bellows in a voice that is surely loud enough to be heard at the Citadel, "ELDARION! 'Dari, HELP!" then remarks to Eleniel in a tone that is nearly normal, "He should be back by now, don't you think?"
Eleniel waits for her ears to stop ringing. Even if the Heir is in Rohan, it seems unlikely that he can have failed to hear the Princess's enthusiastic holler.
There are muffled thumps above them, and then the Prince's voice floats down. "Oh, so that's where you… yes, all right, Idril, I'm coming…" and sure enough, the flicker of torchlight appears to their right, followed by an anxious-looking Eldarion. "Whatever happened? You're filthy, both of you! Did you come down here without a torch?"
"The passages are booby-trapped!" says Idril breathlessly as they ascend the steps into the blessed daylight. "There's some kind of weighted slide, if there hadn't been two of us we'd be – well, we'd be a long way down…"
"I heard voices," interrupts Eleniel. Eldarion's brows snap together. "Voices, at the bottom! Someone must know about those passages!"
"There was, there was a shout!" Idril says earnestly.
"So someone must know how to get down there without setting off that – whatever it was…"
"Maybe there's another set of passages down there, maybe…"
Eldarion holds up a hand, stopping their excited speculation. "Wait! You heard voices?"
"A shout. Someone was surprised." Idril narrows her eyes at him. "Didn't you hear the machinery?"
"Of course I did!" snaps her brother, the mask of calm dropping for a second. "The shelves rattled! The floor shook! I had no idea where you'd gone!" The change in his manner is almost frightening, yet somehow thrilling; this is the man who commands battlefields and instils fear into his enemies, the heir of Elessar and Captain of the White Tower.
Eleniel and Idril exchange glances. "Oh," says Eleniel, feeling very small. "I'm sorry, sire, we didn't…"
"Never mind." Eldarion exhales swiftly, the shutters are replaced and he turns to pick up his tinderbox. "I suggest we eat, and then get on with the work; I fear we must leave in time for the dinner at the palace after all. So much for our avoidance tactics, sister."
"Leave?" Idril's tone is disappointed. "Why? This will be an exceedingly dull affair, brother, and I shall have to entertain that odious man from Lebennin again."
Eldarion offers Eleniel his arm, and they start back up to the foyer. "I met Lady Celeglin at the Gate, and she –"
"Oh, dear Celeglin," says Idril in a falsely bright voice.
" – she informed me that there is to be some kind of announcement. I'm sorry, Eleniel, I was not aware."
"What was Celeglin doing outside the Court?" says Idril suspiciously from the other side of her brother.
Eldarion sighs. "She was, and I quote, 'enjoying the sights and sounds of the City'. I thought she'd follow me, but I managed to lose her by going to the stables and then doubling back. And don't look like that; she is not wholly unpleasant, Idril."
"Well, if she's seen you for the day then she's probably happy," grumbles the Princess.
"No doubt." Eldarion hands them the hot pastries, and makes them both sit down while they eat. Eleniel is the first to finish; she wanders a little away from the other two, to where she can lean against the window behind her desk and look down upon the southern face of the City. It still has not snowed, but the clouds are heavy and foreboding. Behind her, Idril chatters to Eldarion about people at court; not wanting to intrude, Eleniel pays little attention until she hears her name spoken and turns to see them both looking at her.
"I'm sorry?" she says, embarrassed. Eldarion laughs.
"We were wondering whether you would care to accompany us this evening. Obviously, presenting you formally at court is out of the question at such short notice, but I think we could safely pass you off as a noblewoman from some obscure land…"
Eleniel's blood runs cold. "No! No, I – it would be terrifying! And I know nothing of, well, of…"
"I don't blame you," says Idril bluntly. "These dinners are dreadfully formal. But if you would care to, then…"
"It's ever so kind of you," stammers Eleniel. "But no, thank you." Eldarion smiles at her, the earlier tension between them gone. She lets out a breath she hasn't realised that she's been holding; for some reason, having him think her thoughtless and silly is something she dreads.
"Perhaps another time, then. I should like you to meet the Queen, and I certainly cannot drag her through dusty tunnels; likewise Lhachel."
"Oh, yes!" exclaims Idril. "The three of you could discuss ancient texts. I should feel quite left out."
Eleniel has a sudden vivid mental image of herself, in her much-mended heavy-duty dress and shabby boots, being presented to the Queen amongst all the finery of the Gondorian High Court. She suppresses a shudder. Somehow, the thought of meeting Arwen Undomiel is infinitely more terrifying than that of meeting King Elessar.
The rest of the afternoon passes swiftly. Eleniel is startled to realise that, by the time the sun has sunk in fiery splendour beyond the mountains, they have accomplished a considerable amount of work between them; in fact, they cleared the end sections. It is with a feeling of virtuous pride, therefore, that she gathers the parchment and carries it back to the desk.
"If we cleared out some of these shelves, you would have somewhere to store the records," remarks the Prince, gesturing at the shelves beside the desk, which are overflowing with old papers and damaged books, a relic to days when the Library operated on a daily basis.
"Hmm. Maybe I'll do that this evening." Eleniel rolls her head, stretching her neck; it emits a sharp crack and the Prince jumps.
"Eleniel! Is that entirely healthy?" he protests.
"I need to find a stool to sit on. And maybe even a table," says Eleniel with a grin. Behind Eldarion, Idril sighs.
"I dream of tables. You have it easy, 'Darion, with that nice comfy ladder."
"You should have heard him complaining about blisters the other day," says Eleniel with a straight face.
"Enough, enough!" Eldarion throws up his hands in mock surrender. "I shall say no more! Come, Idril, I know you will want to dress for dinner." As if to underline his words, the muffled sounds of a bell ring out from the Citadel. It tolls six times, and Idril jumps to her feet.
"Oh, it's late! I'm late! Brother, I'll see you at dinner. Eleniel, until tomorrow!" She darts forward and hugs Eleniel tightly, then heads for the passageway at a run. It seems as though the light is a little dimmer at her departure.
Eldarion gives a rather self-conscious laugh and moves away. "I must leave too, or I shall also be late, and Lady Celeglin will be most displeased." His eyes meets hers, and Eleniel is struck once more by how piercing they are, like silvery rain on a summer's day. "Eleniel, I – I am sorry that I was – abrupt with you earlier. It was not my intention to shout, or – well." His smile is awkward. "I was worried."
Eleniel scrutinises him. "Sometimes – sometimes, I suppose, we all need to shout," she offers. Then, because he looks anxious, "I'm sorry, sire. I was foolish." She reaches for a stray sheet of parchment, to nudge it back into place, but he catches her hand and brings it to his lips, eyes never leaving hers, making disconcerting shivers run through her body.
"Until tomorrow, then?" he murmurs.
Eleniel nods, not trusting her own voice. He squeezes her hand once, and leaves.
The sun is all but gone, now. Eleniel sits down heavily behind the desk and with hands that shake just a little lights the old oil-lamp, then pulls her brother's letter towards her. If she writes a reply tonight, the wains will take it tomorrow.