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!
Erm – yes, it has been a while, hasn't it? There has been homework and then there was Oxford interviews (which took up most of my brainpower for a good few weeks!) but lo, 'tis nearly Christmas and I suddenly have far less work to do…:D
Chapter Seven
Three days later, the snow arrives.
Eleniel wakes up early, and wonders for a moment or two what has happened to the light. She is used to it being dawn when she gets up, but this morning the daylight seems dimmed, and what little sky she can see through her window is a dull, heavy grey. Battleaxe is a furry ball wedged firmly beneath her chin; when Eleniel makes as if to get out of bed, two yellow eyes fix her with a reproachful glare.
"I am not merely your bed-warmer," Eleniel tells her cat, goosebumps breaking out along her bare arms as she sits up. Battleaxe unfolds herself, stretches, and then jumps down from the bed to pick her way daintily across the floor; Eleniel pulls on the warmest assortment of clothes that she can find and follows her downstairs.
When, after a breakfast that is remarkable only for its scantiness – money is running low, once more – she steps outside, she sees a world shrouded in soft white, the flakes still falling silently and persistently from the sky. The ground crunches as she walks, and all other sound is muffled; there are always wagons on the move at this hour, and they roll past like grey ghosts. Eleniel digs her hands into her pockets and entertains herself with watching shapes in the snow while she walks; she is so absorbed that she does not notice the man walking towards her until they almost collide, and he catches her arm with a laugh.
"In a daydream, Lady Librarian?"
"My lord!" Eleniel exclaims, feeling her cheeks burn and feeling like a clumsy yokel. "I'm sorry, I – "
"No matter," says Eldarion with a smile. He looks tired. "I did not expect to see you so early."
"It was cold. Besides, the snow is lovely, if rather hypnotic."
Eldarion offers her his arm. "I was up early – there was paperwork that apparently urgently needed my attention. Idril is still abed; she was very, ah, merry last night."
"The dinner went well, then?" Eleniel shivers as they round the corner into Emerald Street. Eldarion takes off his cloak and drapes it round her shoulders, ignoring her half-hearted protests. The cloak is warm and lined with fur.
"The dinner? – Oh, that went well enough. The King made an announcement about the Midwinter celebrations. I think that we shall have to drag you to the Palace before then; my mother was asking about you."
Eleniel gives him a look, and he laughs.
"Or maybe not. Come, Eleniel, if we are to prove you are the high-born descendant of noble Librarians then you will have to be presented at Court!"
"I lack the necessary poise," says Eleniel firmly. "Or something. Can you imagine me in an elegant gown, dancing with princes?"
Eldarion stops short and presses a hand dramatically to his heart. "Ah, lady, you wound me! I have no elegant gown, but – " he seizes her about the waist with a wicked grin, "I can provide a prince! And onetwothree onetwothree…" Eleniel cannot stop herself from laughing as he waltzes her away up the street.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Some time later that afternoon, Eleniel is on her hands and knees underneath the heavy table that sits in one of the corners of the Library when Idril says suddenly, "Eleniel, you really must come to the ball at Midwinter."
Eleniel sneezes three times in quick succession and looks up through watering eyes. She can see the Princess's feet below the edge of the table, swinging backwards and forwards; Idril has evidently decided that it is time for a breather. Eldarion is dusting shelves; she can hear him whistling in the background. "Oh yes? Idril, I am not a noblewoman!"
The feet disappear, and Idril's face appears an instant later, upside-down. Her long hair hangs straight down and brushes the floor. "But you could be, for all we know!"
Eleniel sighs crossly and gathers the loose papers she has found under the table into a pile. "Idril, you are as bad as your brother! I'm flattered that you both think so highly of me, but really…"
A strange expression passes over the Princess's face; Eleniel attributes this to the effort of hanging upside-down. "But you are our friend," she points out reasonably. "And you are the – well, you run this important centre of our heritage as a kingdom!"
"And that makes me an important person?" asks Eleniel wryly. "Would Lady Celeglin agree with you?"
Idril is opening her mouth to frame a reply when Eldarion's amused voice says, "Sister, that is very inelegant. – Eleniel, I found something interesting."
"Something interesting?" Eleniel crawls out from beneath the table. "Of the literary variety?"
Eldarion drops a big, leather-bound tome onto the table with a crash. It is clearly very old: the pages crackle as he turns them carefully, the two young women leaning over his shoulder. "Look. A record of heraldries, going right back to the time of Elendil! All the noble houses are in here!"
"Well." Eleniel reaches out and fingers a yellowed page. The illustrations are faded, but the designs they form are beautifully drawn: a stylised swan, a running deer, a single star above a perfect flower, the petals so lifelike that she feels she should be able to reach out and stroke them. "It's beautiful."
"So many treasures," says Eldarion in hushed tones, turning the page reverently. His eyes are shining.
"Father will want to see this," says Idril, running her fingers over the shape of a leaping hare. "And – oh, Eldarion, you could try and match that locket you found with the symbols in here!"
"Must you always steal my thunder, little sister?" Eldarion closes the book carefully and hands it to Eleniel. "Lady Librarian, I should like to make a withdrawal. I believe the standard loan length is two weeks?"
Eleniel grins up at him. "It is indeed," she says with mock solemnity. "If you would like to proceed with me to the desk so that I may enter your withdrawal in the records, sir?"
Once back at her desk, Eleniel issues the first withdrawal with a great deal of aplomb, allowing the Prince to sign his name in flowing script across the crisp new page and reading the Library Regulations to him in the most dramatic fashion possible. Eldarion stands solemnly at attention in front of the desk throughout, while Idril sniggers behind him.
"…and Regulation Forty-one, as laid down by Lord Drusus the Archivist; that no man, woman or other sentient being shall in any way use the property of this most illustrious Library for any nefarious purpose. This shall be punishable by a ban from the Library forthwith. Regulation Forty-two, as laid down by Lord Drusus the Archivist; that no man, woman or other sentient being shall remove the Items in this Library without the knowledge of the Librarian. This shall be punishable by the distribution of that person's estate as the King sees fit." Eleniel closes the book with a snap and narrows her eyes at Eldarion. "The fine is fixed currently at the rate of, oh, a forfeit to be decided by the Librarian, which is likely to change without notice."
"So if 'Darion runs off with a book he hasn't signed for, he has to give everything away?" asks Idril with a wicked grin. "Remember me when you are forced to part with Bragosul, brother."
"I am infinitely more worried about our Lady Librarian's forfeit." Eldarion places the book carefully on the desk. "Shall we take a break, Eleniel?"
"Yes, I think." Eleniel glances out of the window; the snow is falling more slowly now. "Outside?"
"I love the snow," sighs Idril happily, gathering up her cloak and flinging it around her shoulders. Eldarion silently hands his cloak to Eleniel with a raised eyebrow that dares her to protest; knowing herself beaten, she accepts it gratefully.
As they climb the stairs, the shouts and laughter of children reaches their ears. Idril tugs her hood over her head, partially hiding her face, and they emerge into a whirlwind of flying snowballs.
Eleniel squeaks and ducks as a badly-aimed snowball hurtles towards her; it hits Eldarion instead, and the small grubby girl who has thrown it giggles maniacally and runs in the other direction. A richly dressed boy chases after her, ignoring the rather feeble admonitions of a couple, clearly his parents, standing in the doorway of the house opposite the Library.
Trying to walk in sensible fashion along the street proves impossible. Soon Eleniel, Idril and Eldarion are part of the battle, which quickly turns into a full-scale war. Eldarion and Eleniel end up crouching behind a temporary barricade of snow, the former roaring orders at a delighted impromptu army, while Idril helps the smaller children build a snowman. They all lose track of time long before the light starts to fade and parents begin to call more insistently for their offspring to come indoors; when Eldarion's army and opposition consists of only a few children from the lower levels, he negotiates a truce between the two sides and sends them off to their homes.
Idril looks up from her snowman as her brother and her friend stagger towards her. "Did you win?"
Eleniel flops down in the snow. "It was a truce."
"And if ever I need a really efficient army, I know where to look." Eldarion collapses beside her. "No questioning of commands, ingenuity without recklessness…"
"And to think, they probably dream of fighting alongside the Captain of the White tower," says Idril with a laugh. "We really should be getting home, brother. It is quite late."
"So it is." Eldarion clambers to his feet, and then offers Eleniel his hand, which feels warm around hers as he hauls her to her feet. "Idril, I think it best if you take the passage back to the palace."
"What about you?"
"I shall walk Eleniel home. The streets are dangerous in this weather, and the snow is falling more heavily now." As if to emphasise this, a gust of chill wind suddenly brings snow eddying around them.
"But I can find my way home," protests Eleniel. "It isn't dark yet…"
"It soon will be," says the Prince firmly, and looking at the western sky Eleniel reluctantly concedes that he is right. A bell rings out from the Citadel.
"Dinner-time," says Idril with a grin. "No fancy banquets tonight, thank the Valar. A quiet and civilised family dinner." She takes a step backwards, slips, and lands in a snowdrift.
Eleniel and Eldarion pull her up again, and as they do so the muffled sound of horse-hooves reaches Eleniel's ears; she turns as Idril exclaims under her breath, "Celeglin! – And with Lord Stelbin, no less!"
"Idril," says Eldarion warningly, and turns to bow to the riders. "My Lady Celeglin, Lord Stelbin, good evening."
"Prince Eldarion!" Celeglin, wrapped in white furs, gives a dazzling smile and dismounts, landing lightly in the snow. "Why, we were just at the Palace, hoping to find you there."
"I am honoured," says Eldarion quietly. Eleniel glances sideways at him; the Heir's polite, distant mask is back, and she finds herself unable to read his expression.
"Princess." Celeglin raises an eyebrow and curtseys formally; Idril inclines her head stiffly. "I must confess – I had not expected to find the daughter of Undomiel grubbing around in the snow with a commoner." Her laugher rings out in the empty street.
Idril bristles, and Eleniel kicks her surreptitiously in the ankle.
"I believe this is the girl from the Library," says Stelbin, a strange smile hovering around his lips as he leans forwards. "Eleniel, isn't it? Did you know, girl, that I intend to have that ruin knocked down after Midwinter?"
Eleniel finds her voice. "I was aware, sir." The lazy amusement in Celeglin's eyes prompts her to add, "but intentions are open to – other influences, are they not?"
Stelbin frowns sharply. "Watch that tongue of yours, girl. My Lord Prince, you're wasting your time here. Good day." He nudges his horse and carries on down the street.
Celeglin watches him go, then turns back to the others with a laugh. "So dramatic! Tell me – Eleniel, wasn't it? Shall you find work in the city? But wait, I lack a scullery-maid at present; would you be interested?" Her tone is mocking.
Eleniel decides to give as good as she gets. "Not at all, my lady. Would you be interested in dusting some shelves?"
Eldarion puts his hand over his eyes. Idril looks delighted.
"You presume too much," says Celeglin coldly, "on your – acquaintance – with his Royal Highness."
"And you presume too much, my lady, if you believe that such superiority as mere birth and wealth gives you the right to neglect common courtesy!" snaps Eleniel.
"How dare you, you little whore!" hisses Celeglin, taking a step forwards, and Eldarion's head jerks up. "You have no right, absolutely none, to…"
Eleniel glares at her. "I have every right. You are trespassing." Celeglin, surprised, looks down; she stands under the archway, just inside the gate. "Whilst you continue to stand in the grounds of this building, I shall talk to you as I please!"
"Why you…" Celeglin breaks off as Eldarion suddenly grasps her firmly by the arm and marches her out of the gate. "Oh! Sire, I…"
"Eleniel, will you please go inside?" Eldarion says pleasantly. "Lady Celeglin and I have a few matters to discuss."
Eleniel turns and walks inside, her ears ringing. Unseeingly she makes her way down the uneven stairs, one hand trailing along the wall, and when she emerges into the foyer she sits down on the nearest chair with great care, folding her hands in her lap.
"It's my Library," she says aloud, angrily, and is unable to stop a lump rising in her throat and the sob that follows.
Idril comes running down the stairs. "Eleniel? Oh, don't cry!" She wraps her friend in a fierce hug, and Eleniel clings to her gratefully, the tears coming faster the more she tries to suppress them.
"I'm not g-going to be able to stop L-lord Stelbin from knocking it down! And El-d-darion'll marry Celeglin and I hate her and Taeglin won't c-come home and it'll all be for nothing and…"
"That's all nonsense," says the Princess matter-of-factly, fishing out a handkerchief and offering it to Eleniel. "Eleniel, none of that's going to happen. Do you think that we would let you be without a home? And the fight's not over for the Library! If we can find the deeds then…"
"We'll never find the d-deeds! It – it's impossible, the Library's too big, it…"
"We will find them." Idril pulls back and looks at Eleniel seriously. Eleniel scrubs at her eyes, and Idril rubs her shoulder sympathetically. "You know, you look truly awful when you're crying."
"S-so does everyone."
"Elves don't," says Idril wryly. "And neither does Celeglin." She smiles dreamily. "They are having a terrific row."
"Eldarion and Celeglin?" asks Eleniel rather stuffily through the beginning of a headache.
"It's beautiful," sighs Idril happily.
Footsteps sound on the stairs, and Eldarion appears round the corner. "Eleniel?" He looks both tired and anxious. "Eleniel, she didn't mean…"
"Didn't mean it?" Idril is on her feet, eyes blazing. "'Darion, how can you say that!"
"She has asked me to convey her sincerest apologies to you, Eleniel, and to tell you that she jumped to conclusions wrongly." Eldarion ignores his sister and crouches down in front of Eleniel, meeting her eyes pleadingly. Eleniel, confused, looks down at him.
"Do you really – do you really think that? That she – was just mistaken?"
Eldarion looks utterly wretched for a second. "I have her word."
Eleniel leans back in the chair, suddenly tired beyond all measure. There is some deeper level to this – Idril's anger, Eldarion's resolute refusal to believe ill of Celeglin – that she cannot fathom, and she wants nothing more than to be at home and curled up in front of the fire with Battleaxe.
"I'm going," says Idril tightly, and brushes past the Prince to hug Eleniel. "Eleniel, try not to worry; Stelbin's a pig and Celeglin's not even worth thinking about. Brother, you and I will talk later." She sweeps off towards the passage and out of sight.
Eldarion quietly helps Eleniel to tidy things away in the Library, stowing the records on the newly-cleaned shelves behind the desk and the ink and quills in the drawers. It is getting difficult to see by the time they finish, and they take one of the old lanterns from the store-cupboard before they leave. Once outside, it casts a yellow glow around them, catching on the silent snow as it falls.
"Will you come tomorrow?" asks Eleniel tiredly as they make their way slowly along the street. Eldarion nods.
"Yes, we will. I – Eleniel, truly, would you mind if I brought the Queen to see you, provided the snow has stopped?"
"I'd be honoured, but – but not anything official, please, my lord."
"Nothing of the kind, I promise you." Eldarion catches her arm as they reach the sloping corner. "Watch your step."
Eleniel obediently pays attention to where she puts her feet. The packed snow is slippery; water has run down around the corner and turned to ice.
They are both silent for the rest of the walk. Eleniel resolutely does not look at Eldarion as they draw near her house; she does not want to see the look on his face as they pass the run-down buildings and tattered shop-fronts. When they reach her house, she turns to face him almost defiantly, mutely daring him to comment on the warped, shabby door and the broken window covered with an old sheet.
He does not comment, merely looks at her for a long moment before stepping forwards and briefly embracing her. "Goodnight, Eleniel. As Idril said, try not to worry. We still have time – think how much we've already accomplished!" He kisses her hand, smiles at her rather forcedly, and then melts back into the snowy night, the dim lantern soon lost to view.
Eleniel lets herself in and tugs the door shut behind her; the wood has warped from the wet weather and it does not close all the way. She does not see the dark figures that move away silently when she has shut the door, following the Prince up the hill to the Citadel.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In her warm, fire lit room, Idril, Princess of Gondor, sits on her bed staring moodily at the wall. When someone knocks on the door, she does not move; nor does her head turn when it creaks open and a tall, thin figure slips inside.
"Idril?" Princess Lhachel, the firelight catching on her red-gold hair, advances cautiously. "Idril, it's dinnertime. Is something wrong?"
Idril glances at her younger sister. Reluctantly, she smiles, and shifts aside on the bed to make room; Lhachel sits beside her. "No, I – nothing."
"I do wish that you would not argue with 'Darion," says Lhachel seriously.
Idril wraps her arms around her knees. "We just have our differences, sometimes."
"Celeglin," says Lhachel wisely. "Has she been mooning after him again?"
Idril stares at her sister, and for a moment considers telling her about their brother's declaration that he will marry Celeglin; Lhachel, despite being barely fourteen years of age, understands Eldarion better than any of them. She pushes the thought aside out of respect for his privacy. "Yes – yes, she has. She came to the Library."
"Will you take me there?" asks Lhachel at once, eyes shining, and Idril hides a smile.
"When you are fully recovered from that awful chill! It is very cold and dusty…"
"But think of all the books," says Lhachel with a dreamy sigh. Idril laughs and hugs the thin shoulders, resting her cheek on the shining head of hair, which falls in gleaming waves nearly down to Lhachel's waist. "And I want to meet Eleniel," she continues, slightly muffled. "She sounds nice."
"You would like her," agrees Idril.
"It's so romantic! You and Eldarion having to hunt for the deeds so that she doesn't lose the Library, and Stelbin the villain of the piece wanting to knock it down, and secret passages and…"
"You have a strange idea of romance," says a fresh voice from the doorway. Eldarion smiles at them both a little awkwardly. "Dinner is ready, I think."
Idril stares at him, and notices both the shadows beneath his eyes and the way he leans on the doorframe. She swallows whatever comment she had ready and follows him and Lhachel out of the room, drawing the door closed behind her.
The fire flickers. A shadow detaches itself from the corner and moves to the window on silent feet; it has nearly reached it when the door swings open again. It drops to the floor behind the bed.
Eldarion enters, candle in one hand, eyes wary. One hand holds a dagger, and he moves as silently as the shadow. Heghosts into the middle of the room and stands there, listening.
The wind whistles outside the window. The shadow holds its breath.
Eldarion shakes his head as though to clear it. "Nothing," he murmurs to himself. "Then what did I…"
"'Dari! Are you coming?" Idril's voice echoes back along the corridor outside. "Come, brother, or we will be late again!"
Eldarion rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and frowns. "Nothing," he repeats to himself, and leaves as noiselessly as he entered.
The shadow breathes again, and departs with a swirl of cold wind. The window closes with barely a click.
The Palace is shrouded in white, and no one sees the dark shapes through the whirling snow as they go about their business, silent messengers from window to window. The Royal family are being watched.