The Night's Wanderer

39. Unexpected Letter

With a mostly uninterrupted evening sat at one of the wooden tables in the Royal library, candle flickering as the wax melted away, Morel let her eyes skim between scrolls and books in an unread dialect. 

Aragorn had taken Legolas and Morel there once again in search for a scroll he had seen days prior, soon losing Morel within Elven books and wax sealed parchment as she recognised the written dialect as her own. The collection stored away within Minas Tirith piled high against what Imladris had.

Here Morel could read more about her home and the ways of her people, specifically the relations they used to have with the Gondorian rulers as time had passed.

It seemed that even her parents had once visited the White City. Centuries before her birth but to see their names noted down on records still brought a small joy. Her people would still be remembered in the history of different Kingdoms, evidence that the elves of Falma Coar are not just from legends and bedtime stories. 

Thea had brought in a letter in silence, leaving it at the table side while the table remained empty. Morel was returning some of the books back to their shelves, hidden within the shadow clad bookshelves. 

On her return she picked up the cream envelope, eyes scanning the wax seal and the emblem concealed within it. A green clover, one she knew grew in the crack of Imladris's stone grounds, sat preserved in the white wax. A subtle sign who sent the letter without giving it away to any snooping eyes. 

Flipping it over her fingers worked to peel the seal off, eyes reading the unfamiliar writing on the front with her name. It seemed clumsy and forced to be that way, but after slipping out the letter from within Morel knew the sender for certainty. Delicate and steady cursive stained the cream parchment black with the same dialect from the books around her. 

Morel skimmed over the words, Arwen had decided that Morel would inevitably find out of her surprise through the Night Council so at least now she could tell her secret herself.

Using the elven dialect unique to Morel's Kingdom kept her words a secret from any outside eyes. The pair had learnt the old language in their youth, raiding the Imladris libraries for old books and scrolls from Morel's home. There were few; only old records and a small journal left by one of the past Falma Coar soldiers, but Morel's Lady helped out when they got stuck. 

Arwen had thought maybe one of the Fellowship would be acting as Morel's eyes, joking that their pronunciation would butcher the unusual language. 

Unlike most languages the elven dialect didn't follow common grammar rules or common pronunciation. It made sense if you spent your time learning it, and had someone who already knew it to converse with. If anything, Morel thought all very random and not thought over.

Tucking the letter back in the envelope, slipping it into the first page of her current read, Morel let out a small laugh while returning all the scrolls back to their shelves. Her current read and burning candle sat in her grasp as she wandered out from the maze of bookshelves. 

The idea that one of the Fellowship would have had to attempt reading the ancient dialect thoroughly amused her. She would abide by the wishes in the letter, it would become a pleasant surprise in the coming weeks.

Stepping out of the library, the door creaking before shutting properly, Morel wandered casually down the darkened halls. Hours had passed since dinner, a dinner full of Sam retelling their day to all the Fellowship.

Afterwards Morel said her parting before joining Legolas and Aragorn in their endeavours of scroll searching. They lost the elleth in the older political scrolls, leaving her be after finding what they sought as she ferried to and fro with old books and rolled up parchment.