Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 27 ~ The Library

The fabric of my crimson gown whispering against the polished floors is the only sound disturbing the silence as I slip in around the heavy wooden door and into the peaceful and quiet library. The floor-to-ceiling windows cast a warm glow over the countless oak bookshelves lining the chestnut-colored walls, the golden lettering of the titles along the book spines glowing in the fading light of the sunset. I've been visiting the Mirkwood royal library nearly every evening for two weeks now, usually after finishing training for the day and once I'd washed up and grabbed a bite to eat. It quickly became my favorite place to unwind, and I usually opted for a quiet evening in the library over one in my bedchambers. Most evenings it was completely deserted, and yet, somehow, it still managed not to be as completely lonely as my rooms. The books certainly made for good company.

Making my way across the dusty, emerald carpet spread over the floor I find my usual spot in a large armchair by one of the wide windows. My book waits half-open on the plush arm of the chair, untouched from when I left it there yesterday after reading late into the night. Despite the large library, the little alcove in which I had chosen to read in since first finding the library a few days after arriving in the palace is quite cozy, situated close enough to the crackling hearth carved into one of the countless walls to be comfortably toasty.

The Mirkwood library was a strange place at first, so different from the one back home in Rivendell that when I first discovered it, that I had spent more of my time wandering through it than reading one of the many books it was home to. I soon discovered that I preferred the warm, cozy atmosphere of this library to the bright, open space of Rivendell's, despite it being where I had grown up and learned to read.

There was almost something cold about the exposure of Rivendell's library; always full of silent scholars, every sound from the city below it carried up on a soft breeze through the wide windows that are always open, and the only source of light to read by being either the sun during the day or the distant stars and flickering lights of the city by night. Yet here, hidden amidst the thick shelves and snuggled in an armchair by the fire, I could disappear for a few hours, with no one for company but the stories woven within the pages of my book. Here, I could find some peace.

And with winter fast approaching, I found that there was no better way to spend an evening than by curling up in one of the giant armchairs by the fire, a good, thick book in hand and a toasty cup of tea sitting close by.

Opening the dense book, I snuggle into the plush pillows of the armchair, setting my steaming cup of tea on the small table next to me. This particular book had caught my eye as soon as I had spotted it crammed between countless other volumes on the dusty bookshelves a couple of days ago. As soon as I opened the thick red binding to skim the dense pages within it, I would have believed that fate itself had guided my hand to it. Because the book was filled with stories, old elven myths and legends, so similar to the ones my mother had always read to me as a child. I had immediately forsaken my wandering upon finding that book, not bothering to check any other shelves for something else, and wasted no time plopping myself into this very armchair and diving in.

It was hard at first, to read the stories and hear my mothers voice echo through my head at the familiar words. Yet after a few days, it has become less of an ailment and more of a medicine.

I missed her. And I missed my brothers, wherever they may be.

And the book seemed to recognize that hurt, and it understood. And with my mothers calming voice, it eased my pain, my frustration, my anger, and reassured me.

They will be fine. They will return.

I will see them again.

~~~