Unknowns

Naught much happened after the history of Pig Racing in The Shire was accounted to me, and it did indeed bore me to dust. It almost felt as if I could fall asleep yet again- maybe it was addictive. Yes, that had to be the reason. It was the only possible explanation for why everybody else slept so much. I could understand the need for a few hours a day, but six hours-that was excessive. Either way, due to my unwillingness to fall asleep I was treated to the feeling of dust pouring out of my ears as a result. No matter how much I enjoyed spending time with the two Hobbits, this had been a regretful idea. Maybe sleep was not so bad.

Once the highly detailed narrative had reached its end, the streets were quiet and the air cool. Night had fallen. Merry and Pippin's stomachs rumbled loud as thunder (well, Pippin's mainly, as he did most of the story telling-it was hungry work), so they helped themselves to the larder and prepared themselves superfluous amounts of foodstuffs. After all this time they still attempted to force me to eat, something I refused with zealous. But eventually, after being threatened with a kitchen knife (let it never be said the Hobbits are no resourceful, or have no potential to be ruthless), I gave in. I was given a piece of bread and cheese, no larger than my palm.

With trepidation, I took a bite. I immediately gagged. It was, it was so, so so so…dry, and weird. The taste was so strange. It was like the milk I tasted in air and the wheat I smelt in fields, yet millions of times stronger than that. Moisture filled my mouth and was immediately dried up. It stuck to my teeth and...uhhhg. I shivered, and forcefully swallowed a lump. The texture was akin to swallowing sandpaper coated in slime- something I was completely unfamiliar with, but it was how I imagined it would be. It was a purely disgusting overload to the senses. I shivered yet again. My mouth must have been drier than Haradwaith.

The latter's levity was slightly irritating. Possibly it was the slow careful chewing, or the disgusted look upon my face, but they seemed to find the simple concept of me eating the loathsome bread and cheese humorous. They had fallen off their seats (the thumps were very audible, even over the squelch of cheese), and they seemed quite incapable of quitting their antics anytime soon. "Thanks." I said dryly and monotonously. "What a wonderful experience that was."

Their laughter did naught but increase, as I searched the cupboards for something that I could drink out of. Let it be known that blind people and cupboards don't mix. As a result and in my desperation, I ended up using a bowl.


After unsticking themselves off the floor, the duo decided amidst many a yawn that it was their call to retire. They clumsily handed me some clothes, which were not my own. "For you, whilst they're being washed." Explained Merry. I was also handed a wooden crutch. "The healers gave that to us for your foot when you woke up, but the charming elf managed to forget it." They then herded me to a room on the second floor, which they insisted I take possession of even though I had virtually no need of it- save for dressing. Once again, I was struck by kindness. They had absolutely no obligation to do anything for me, yet they had. It was…strange. But nice. I liked it, I liked it a lot-and then I scolded myself for being so selfish, and made sure that I would do the same for others in future.

The room was simple, as far as I could tell- there was a large, yet single bed in the far corner, and what I believed to be a vanity cabinet near it- or it may have been a table with a picture above it. Further inspection would be required, as would the great bit of wood at the opposite corner to the bed end-was it a cupboard, or the back of the next room's fireplace? Without touching anything, I could not tell. But I did not dwell on the room's appearance for any more than a few seconds before I closed the door and began to change, suddenly feeling very dirty in my current clothing. They had not been washed in any way for months, though by no fault of mine.

A quick run over of the materials told me they were casual, and of commoners materials. The seams and weave were rougher than my own clothing, which I had borrowed/stolen from more well off households. Yet they were clean and smelt good, which was all that mattered to me.

The trousers fit well in leg, although they felt baggy around the waist-yet I could expect no less. All the clothing was undoubtedly fitted for one of the male gender. The shirt fit fine, save that I had not done up the lacings of the back, save the top loops to stop it from slipping off me. There were socks but no shoes, which I could live with; but the one thing that struck me as an annoyance was the lack of a tunic and cloak. How was one meant to possibly be modest without a tunic, or something to cover oneself? Not to mention that my wings would dangle around in the air for everyone to see without a cloak. Hoping would do nothing though, until I was struck by a spark of ingenuity/remembrance. I shrugged the long poncho- grey, dark blue or dark green I could not tell (they all absorbed so much heat!) – over the top, and my problems were solved. But now such petty dilemmas were solved, what to do with myself?


As it turned out when I returned down to the living area, there were bookcases on the walls containing a fair amount of material. I had failed to notice them before, being too intent on the pigs at that point in time, but now they captured my interest. Once would think: why would a blind person be interested in books? They serve no purpose to them, save perhaps firewood. But as has been established, I have never just been any blind women. After millenia of training myself to become increasingly sensitive, I am able to tell colours and where they are from touching them and feeling the heat that they have absorbed. Oft a tricky business, as one has to take in all the surrounding circumstances- but with the amount of training I had had, I had become quite accurate.

Now what does this have anything to do with bookshelves, you ask?

Well you see, this skill, this amazing blessing from Eru himself, allowed me-on the occasion when the words were large enough, and the print clear- to read. A blind person reading. Who could have thought?

The only problem was, that I had quite forgotten how to do it. I didn't really have the resources. Nor, after many years, could I quite remember my letters as well as I should have. Yes, you read correctly. A person of over six thousand is almost illiterate. Laugh, I beg of you.

It was high time to refresh my memory.

Hesitantly, I removed one of the leather bound volumes and placed it in my lap. I ran my fingertips over the cover, feeling for the bumps of a title. Tracing my fingers around them it read My*s and Le*ends of *e *ird Age. Mys and leends of e ird age. I knew that I could not remember at least two of the runes, and it frustrated me. I had not even gotten past the title! I would start by figuring out what the title was- then I would be able to get the runes.

Mys and Leends of e ird Age. What did it sound similar to? I knew that three of the runes were the same one repeated-they felt identical. Ird age, ird age, I knew something that sounded similar to that. Bird age? No, that didn't fit with the other ones. Also, I think I remembered what 'B' was.

Third age! That was it. It made perfect sense- Myths and leends of the third age. Or should I have said, Myths and Legends of the Third Age. So that was 'Th' and 'B' covered. Only half an alphabet left to go. I resigned myself to a long night.