Dreams of Power [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Hall of Lore

Eldarion sat on his silky sheets in loose clothing. He had slept late today. It was nearly noon, and he knew he had lunch with Nemir today, something he was not altogether eager for. So instead of getting dressed, he was reading reports about Rhûn. Eldarion had gathered every ounce of information readily available, only avoiding the difficult documents because he had neither the time nor the temperament to seek out the advice of the Professors and scholars.

A little knock sounded on his door, pulling him from his studies. He called for them to enter.

“Hello,” Amdirien smiled kindly. “What are you up to?”

Eldarion sighed. “Rhûn.”

She walked inside and closed the door. Joining her older brother on the bed, she placed her hand on the parchments and books.

“You have lunch soon.” She flashed him a slight frown. “Or did you forget?”

He shook his head. “I did not. I wish I had.”

“Nemir isn't all that bad,” Amdirien rebuked him. “Certainly better than being married to someone before you meet them.”

With a smile, he nodded and closed the book before him. “I suppose you are right.”

Amdirien chuckled and nodded. Getting up off the bed, she left the room and her brother. She had other matters to attend to, specifically the three younger hobbits in town. She had spotted them outside playing in the courtyard. As she made her way there, child laughter and squealing was heard.

“Good morning, Elanor.” Amdirien smiled as the hobbit woman turned around from where she sat on the white steps.

“Ah, Amdirien!” Elanor grinned widely. “Good to see you this morning.”

The woman joined her at the steps, sitting next the hobbit. “I see Fíriel and Elfstan are enjoying themselves.”

The children in questions, ages three and six respectively, were running in circles around the courtyard guards. Tag was the game of choice this morning.

Elanor laughed. “Yes they are. If Fastred and I weren't already settled in the Undertowers, we might have liked living here.”

With a nod, Amdirien replied. “We would've loved that. Sídhil could use the friends.”

“She's got Lady Malika now,” Elanor reminded her. “Those two have been spending a lot of time together in just the few short days they have been here.”

It was true. Malika and Sídhil had gotten into bunches of trouble just the day before when the daughter of Aragorn took the Haradrim girl to see the lower town. It was forbidden to go without escort, and Aragorn had been forced to punish Sídhil for it.

The two women were interrupted when Círeth and Elboron came walking down the steps discussing something intently.

It was Elfstan who interrupted them. The boy of six ran straight behind Círeth, using her legs as a shield from his three year old sister. He gave a squeal as Fíriel dove between the ranger’s legs and tried to tag him.

“I'm so sorry, Círeth!” Elanor sighed in embarrassment.

The ranger paused, chuckled, and looked at the hobbit children who had now run off. “They have spirit.”

Elanor laughed. “That they do.”

Elboron and Círeth continued on their way. Círeth held a sack, inside which was an ancient looking weapon. On its hilt was carved the silhouette of an eagle’s head. She still remembered that day when she got it. It had been her second search for clues regarding Barahir in Rhûn. The strange ranger-like figures in black had left it for her as some kind of offering apparently. Now they needed to figure this out.

“You sure about this?” Círeth asked Elboron as they made their way down past the first level to the second, where the scholars, loremasters, and professors were housed.

Elboron’s mouth twitched up in an amused smile. “I do not fear the professors as you do.”

Círeth huffed. “I cannot stand their constant bickering. I do not fear them.”

“Of course not,” Elboron corrected himself with a smirk.

“You are here because you are diplomatic,” Círeth explained. “I could always do this by force.”

Elboron shook his head emphatically. “Bad idea.”

With a smirk, she continued on. “You know, wring a few necks. Good fun, too.”

As Elboron shook his head, they reached the main building where scholars kept their work. The one they were looking for was Hissael, a man who had dedicated his life to ancient languages and artifacts. Also infamously hard to work with, Elboron knew they had to tread carefully with this scholar.

Círeth knocked loudly on the big, heavy, wooden door. Elboron noticed her tapping foot as she waited impatiently to be aloud in. He smiled.

A middle aged man in long brown robes opened the door. He squaked out, “What?”

Elboron saw Círeth raise an eyebrow, causing him to rush to answer before her. “I am Elboron, son of Faramir your steward, and this is Lady Círeth, daughter of Elrohir and Míril Fëanoriel, and niece of the King. We come seeking consultation with Hissael.”

“I am Baralinor.” The man nodded, looking not impressed at all. “Hissael won't be happy.”

“Why not?” Círeth grumbled. “Too busy?”

“Yes,” Baralinor nodded, leading them deeper inside the House of Lore. “He hates consultations.”

Neither responded, taking in the scene around them. There was a main hall, filled with books and wood tables and a large fireplace at the far end. Mulling about were many men and a few women of all walks of life. There were three men of Khand, several Haradrim, an elf or two, one dwarf, and men and women of Minas Tirith. Based on hair color and height, Círeth guessed there were two Rohirrim as well. Lamps and candles sat everywhere, lighting the room but causing a smoky hue.  The pipe smoking of the men and dwarves only added to this. Only a few windows allowed for natural light. No one wanted to damage the previous parchments.

Baralinor led them to a door on the left, deeper into the individual rooms of scholars. Every loremaster had a two room suite; there was a bedroom and a workspace for each.

“Hissael!” Baralinor rapped on a door as they came to it. “Open up.”

“I'm working!” came the response from within, muffled slightly by the door.

Baralinor shrugged at the two nobles before turning back to the door. “Elboron son of your Steward needs to speak to you. Consultation!’

They heard something fall to the ground and moments later a man, tall with dark hair and blue eyes, came to the door. He ripped it open with such speed that the breeze it made blew his hair around.

“I am so sorry!” Hissael apologized profusely to Elboron and Círeth. “Please, come in!”