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The Librarian and the Elvenking – Part 3(5): Prisoner

Your cell was not a dark, damp hole as you had feared; on the contrary, it was rather cosy with a narrow but comfortable bed, a stand with a washing bowl and a screened off privy. In addition, a warden brought you food and wine which you hungrily devoured, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

When you had eaten, however, it soon became very dull. Your active mind craved stimulation, and lying idly on a bed for hour upon hour grew torturous after a while. If only you had a book! Or two, or five... Or a blank sheet so you at least could scribble something down yourself.

It was so lonely too. There were no other prisoners here, and the warden's office was in another room. Whenever he brought you food, you tried to strike up a conversation, but the ellon apparently was of the strong, silent type, for he never replied.

On the second day you began pacing your cell; back and forth, back and forth, almost like a trapped animal in a cage. While walking, you recited old songs and tales under your breath.

"Must you murmur so annoyingly?" The jailer spoke for the first time.

"Aye." You scowled at him. "Tell your king to let me out. I have done nothing wrong."

"Trespassing is wrong." He dropped your brakfast tray in front of you and stomped out.

When he brought your lunch a few hours later, you noticed he had put wads of wool in his ears. Feeling annoyed and unusually prickly, you raised your voice until you were almost shouting your recitation. The warden slammed the door after him.

When it was supper time, another ellon came with your tray. You hurried to the metal bars shutting you in, grabbing them excitedly. "Ú-eneth... Sweet Elbereth be praised! Am I glad to see you!"

"Fancy finding a librarian down here." He flashed you a smile; the first you had ever seen on his always so carefully neutral face. It brightened his features, enhancing his beauty even further – which should not be possible for one already so handsome. And had he had those dimples all along?

A flutter of emotions blossomed in your chest, but you sternly smothered them; he was married, for Eru's sake! You told yourself you were just happy to see a friendly face in this horrible place.

Ú-eneth opened the hatch to put your tray inside. You accepted it, but before he could withdraw his hands you caught one of them. "Don't go."

To your surprise, he didn't try to pull himself free. Instead he pressed your hand comfortingly. "I am sorry this happened to you. It must be frightening." Still with your hand in his, he stretched out his long legs and sat beside the hatch, leaning his back against the bars.

You mimicked his actions, trying to find a comfortable position on the cold stone floor. "I'm not afraid. Not as such. More... angry."

"Angry?"

"With the king. How can he imprison innocent bypassers without a trial? He must be an awful person. But don't tell him I said so, or I will probably rot here until Dagor Dagorath."

He was silent for a short while, but then he suddenly chuckled.

"What's funny?" You frowned.

"He is an awful person sometimes; I agree." He was still chuckling. "On this occasion, however, you must pardon the ellon. If he does not punish intruders, his subjects will find him weak and lenient."

"I just wish he would get it over with already. This place is so confining and lonely." You sighed. "I hate being alone."

"I know." He pressed your hand again.

"At least now you are here." You tried to sound more cheerful. "How did your wife like the Haradrim book?"

"Oh... that." He paused. "I was... not quite honest with you about her."

"No?" You were intrigued.

"She died. A long time ago."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." Now it was your turn to press his hand. "But you will be reunited in Aman soon, I'm sure."

"She is not– Uh... Thank you." His voice was strained, and you decided to drop such an obviously painful subject.

Busying yourself with your supper tray instead, you took a bite of a lovely fried partridge and a sip of red wine.

You twirled the contents of your goblet appreciatively, recalling that Ú-eneth often came to Dale to purchase wine for the Elvenking. "This is excellent. Your choosing?"

"Aye. From Dorwinion, if you heard of it?"

You hadn't, but he was happy to describe it to you. Dorwinion was a beautiful region in the east, just by the Sea of Rhûn. The climate there was perfect for growing wine; with long, sunny summers and cooling breezes from the lake, and a fertile, red soil, which yielded grapes with an unusually rich and potent flavor. Endless vineyards climbed the hills and banks of the lake, and in the surrounding human settlements, most of the inhabitants worked with wine one way or another; on the vineyards, in the many wineries or as coopers building barrels. The latter were freighted along the River Running to Dale and sold there.

"Even though all barrels are produced in the same area, choosing wine is not an easy task," Ú-eneth explained. "Each family produces their own brand, using secret recipes passed down from parent to child – and to further complicate matters, the quality of the grapes vary over the years. Rainy or cold summers add a sour flavor to the wine which I prefer to avoid. In my– In the collection here in the palace, I have spent a long time collecting the finest vintages, from the foremost vineyards – and many barrels are decades old. Even centuries, in some cases."

You listened with interest. Your friend certainly was passionate about his task! His tale made you long to travel to Dorwinion and see everything he described – but confined down here, you could go nowhere. It was maddening.

When Ú-eneth had finished talking, a silence ensued; one of those peaceful silences occurring between two persons who had no need to fill it with trifling chatter.

Slowly sipping the rest of your wine, your thoughts returned to his wife. Why had he pretended she was alive? Just an excuse to borrow the Haradrim book? You also wondered why he had stayed behind, if she died for such a long time ago, and not sailed west like so many others. Especially now after the war, scores of elves had gathered in the Havens, and all the oak woods for miles around the area had been felled to make timber for Círdan Shipwright's builders.

Maybe he had children?

You imagined Ú-eneth with an elfling on his lap, bouncing it up and down like on a pony, or perhaps reading aloud to it. The picture brought a smile to your lips at first, but then it made you think of books and you remembered your poor, abandoned mobile library. What was the weather out there? If it rained, the books would all be ruined. Hours upon hours of toil with ink and pen, all to waste.

"I wish I had my books." You sighed.

"You really do love them." He sounded amused.

"I do. This place would be easier to bear with a book as a companion. But now I also worry they will be damaged." You explained how you had left the carriage behind to escape the warg.

"How unfortunate."

When he said no more, you changed the topic to something less demure. "I didn't see you in the forest, at the hunting feast. Don't you like dancing?"

"I love dancing."

You expected him to elaborate, but he didn't. Instead he let go of your hand and rose. "I must leave now. I have... things to do. But I will return tomorrow." With mock gravity, he added: "Try to behave while I am away. The warden has complained."

"Oh!" You were a little embarrassed. "I'm normally very considerate."

"I know." He gave you another knee-weakening, dimpled smile.

"You should smile more often," you murmured.

His smile waned. "I wish I could." And then he left you to your thoughts.

♡

Cheered by Ú-eneth's visit, you felt a little happier the next day despite the loneliness. You even refrained from talking loudly when the warden came with your morning meal.

Already at noon your friend was back, bringing you your lunch and a bulky, heavy parcel. You took the package with curiosity, and when you opened it your throat constricted with happiness. "A book!"

Almost reverently you took out a large, leather bound tome, and read the golden Tengwar on its spine: "'Of the Sindar, by Melian the Maia.' How interesting to read her perspective! My knowledge of your elven branch is a bit sketchy." You met his gaze, and saw how pleased he was over your reaction. Grasping his arm through the bars, you pressed it warmly. "Thank you so, so much. You are a great friend in need!"

He broke eye-contact. "Not that great. But will you not look at the other two books?"

The next book was a romantic tragedy about two Silvan elves whose names you did not recognize, and lastly he had brought an art book. Turning up the first page of the latter, you gasped with awe. It pictured the bridge leading into the palace which you had seen the other day, and the detail was exquisite, from the moss and lichen on the old stones to the ripples on the water underneath. "Amazing," you breathed, stroking the surface with your fingertip.

The next painting was from what must be the Elvenking's throne room. The throne was high, crowned with huge elk antlers, and the ceiling was held up by tall pillars carved into the likeness of trees. This was where you would be brought to meet your judgement, whenever the king had time to spare for a lowly librarian.

On the third drawing you recognized the town square in Dale, and the following pages all had sketches of buildings and construction details from that town.

"Such talent! The artist must love architecture. Do you know who drew these?"

"Aye." He shrugged. "The king did. A long time ago, most of them."

"You took these books from the Elvenking?"

"Only from his library. It has been closed for many decades, but... I have access."

"The more I hear of that ellon, the more intrigued I get. Strict and dangerous, protective of his land – but also as it would seem, a book collector, and a brilliant painter." You continued a few pages, and then halted. The style had suddenly changed. The colorful buildings and architecture were gone and replaced with pictures in grayscales, with rain as the main theme – raindrops falling on water, on stone, on trees. There was a certain degree of darkness in all of them; black shadows surrounding the edges of the sheet, drawn in sharp, hard lines.

"I think these were made in anger, or perhaps grief," you mused, turning the leaves slowly.

"He drew them after the queen died."

You looked up at him sharply. "He lost his wife too?"

"Aye. That was why he closed the royal library. It used to be hers."

"I see," you said slowly, a suspicion forming in your mind. Ú-eneth... No name.... Hm. Could he be...?

But there was no use speculating. With time, you would find out.

Returning to the book, you browsed through the rest of the rain pictures and paused when the style changed for a second time. Now there were colors again, and the motif was a linden tree; painted so lifelike you could almost see it rustle in the wind and feel the earthy smell of its massive trunk. It was drawn from various angles and distances. In the final painting, a rope swing had been tied to one of the tree's lower branches, and an adorable elfling sat in it. His blonde hair billowed behind him and there was laughter in his blue eyes.

You were so immersed in the elfling picture that you almost jumped when Ú-eneth spoke again: "You asked me yesterday why I wasn't at the feast. The truth is, I cannot stand seeing all the happy families and dancing couples there. It reminds me of my loss. And my... involuntary solitude." His voice was low, and you knew without asking this was something he rarely spoke of – if ever.

Closing the book, you tried to meet his gaze, but he was looking at his hands, absentmindedly rubbing one of the white marks where he had worn rings the first time you met him. His wedding ring?

"Don't you have children?" you asked, the elfling in the picture still lingering in your mind.

"One. A son." He sighed. "He moved far away to... Well, to build his own life, or something of that ilk. But we were never close. He and I are... Different, I guess. He takes after his mother." Ú-eneth smiled weakly.

A son. Your suspicion from before strengthened.

"Even if you have no children or living relatives, you don't have to be lonely," you said. "Remember King Thingol and Melian." You patted Melian's book. "They adopted young Túrin after their daughter moved away."

"Are you suggesting I adopt a human?" His lips twitched. "Besides, that tale didn't end very well for Thingol, did it? Nor for Túrin."

"It was just an example. But take Lord Elrond then. He lost his parents, and later his adoptive father. He lost his brother and his wife, and his daughter chose to be a mortal and moved far away to Gondor. Did he get lonely? Nay. He made friends with all races. Whenever anyone had a problem, they turned to Elrond; the dwarves, the hobbits, the human lords, even you Sindar went there sometimes."

"Elrond! That ellon had no privacy at all."

"Maybe. But he was never lonely. And now he's hopefully reunited with his many friends in Aman, and with his wife."

His face fell. "That will not be the case for me."

You took his hand through the bars again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There is not much to say. Her soul lingered after she died, and settled here in the forest. In her favorite tree. She didn't choose Aman."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." You remembered the look on his face every time his wife was mentioned. Why had she refused to be reborn? He must ask himself that too, every day, every time he saw that tree. Perhaps blaming himself.

You wished you were wiser, and knew what to say in a moment like this.

Then you remembered another tale of old. "But you may get a score of grandchildren – like Finwë. I mean, his wife was not reborn into Aman either, so it's quite a similar case." Finwë was one of the early elves in Arda, whose wife Míriel died after giving birth to their son Fëanor. Her soul was so tired it stayed in the Halls of Mandos afterwards, and Finwë therefore was one of the few elves in history who ever married twice. With the addition of the children his second wife gave him, he got an extraordinarily large family in the end.

"I doubt I shall have seven grandsons – or any. My son seems disinclined to marry. He spends all his time with other races, and recently befriended a dwarf of all people!"

"You could make a new friend too. Why not – a librarian?" you suggested lightly.

He met your gaze briefly, and then dropped it. "You don't know me. If you did..." Instead of finishing the sentence, he slipped his hand from yours and turned away to leave.

"Then give me a chance to get to know you," you said to his back.

He hesitated, still with his back turned. When he replied, his voice was barely audible: "I guess I should. I cannot keep you in the dark forever... Much as I'd like to."

You wondered if he meant that literally or figuratively, but before you could ask he was gone.

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A/N:

Linden trees are my absolute favorites, and if my soul had to settle in a tree, it would definitely be that kind! They have such a light green color and cute, heart-shaped leaves, and their flowers smell amazing. ♡ I had linden leaves in my wedding bouquet, together with roses and cornflowers. :) And my pen surname 'Lind' means linden in Swedish.