The elven huntress sat on the floor of the ornate library, carefully laying out maps of Breeland and other places less tranquil. Her calloused hands lovingly smoothed the ancient parchments across the plush carpets, the fire crackling reassuringly near at hand. Close by was an inkwell and a fresh scroll, primed for her observations.
The woman sighed softly...it had been a long time since she had felt this content.
Yesterday had started so badly but become so lovely as she luxuriated in her friends and lovers...so many important, magical things had been said. After she had given her room at the Pony to the young Horsemistress, Cynwind, she had wandered the fragrant night a bit, but found her steps had led her back to the Pony and Lady Arahen and the discovery not only that friend Avi had yet another sister, but that Hobbits have their young in litters. That was a fact she would need to keep in mind in the future.
From there she had been honored to attend upon the Daughter of Orodreth in seclusion, and the warm memory of their time together was still causing her to smile as she perused the maps. In due time she shook her head to end her reveries and return to the task at hand. She must think...those she loved depended on her.
As she took up her quill, a memory throbbed within her, of all those years ago in Imladris. That was the last time she had pursued serious scholarship, and considering how strongly the past was on her mind right now, it was impossible not to find herself returning to her youth...when she was no longer a girl but not yet a woman. A student. The smell of the library, the feel of the rough quill in her hand, the pressure and possibility of a blank scroll...all these things were unchanged from that time. Why then did things feel so different?
Of course. SHE was changed. Deeply changed. She had left her youth and the ivory tower behind, though it was an ivory tower no longer...and she was no longer an ivory tower either. She had been marked, scarred, shaped...utterly transformed by hate and love and death and passion and blind unreasoning evil. She had been smashed and rebuilt a hundred times over since she had been an apprentice scholar and huntress in Imladris, learning the ways of books and beasts...learning the beauty and terror of those around her as well. Now SHE was beautiful and terrible. She had slain hundreds, thousands. She had saved even more. She was a soldier, a huntress, a heroine, a revenant, a dream, a nightmare. She was a lover and she was a slayer. She was nothing she had expected to be and everything she had been doomed to become.
She shook her head again...and began to write....her pen scratching across the scroll, the sound echoed like claws on the stone steps of Moria. The quill left a long trail of azure ink, like the blood of some vile sea beast.
"WHAT WE KNOW AND DO NOT KNOW"
"A mysterious Southron leads a band of Brigands, their symbol is a Red Hand. The local brigands fear him greatly but he fears nothing. He slew the farmer Ackerley and has threatened my new sister Ingfled. He challenged me directly in the Pony...but was that really him? Ackerley felt he took orders from afar...but from who? Isengard? Angmar? Harad? Mordor itself?"
She nodded and continued.
"A blue clad assassin, perhaps of Dol Amroth, wielding many daggers and bearing a black star, attacked a man of Trestlebridge in the Pony who had fled an orc attack. We do not know why. Was he connected to the Brigands? The Orcs? Fille's past? Where is he?"
Another nod.
"A group of rangers prepare a raid into Angmar, which they plan openly in the Pony. Did that attract the Assassin? Will the Brigands try to frustrate the goals and expose themselves? Are they all that they seem?
Another nod.
"A Southron woman claims to know Fille and makes veiled threats. Fille claims they had never met. Mistaken identity? Coincidence? Enemey action? Is she involved with the Brigands or the Assassin?"
Another nod.
"Xandilif arrives and agrees to my request to explore the Greenway for the Southron too easily. There are matters hidden. She must be under orders. What are they? Who has given them? The Host of the West? The Ithilien Rangers? Dol Amroth? Why does she stay silent? Can I trust my own sister when she does not trust me?"
Another nod.
"A young daughter of Rohan arrives fleeing a horrible crime and appeals to our kindness and succor. Can she be trusted? Could she be a ruse? In league with the assassin? In league with the Brigands?"
Another nod.
"Where is Cilyniton?
Too many questions...not enough answers.
Xanderian closed her eyes...her head swimming...this was all too much and the azure ink was driving away her previous contentment. She lay down upon the plush carpet and wished she were kneeling before the Lady Arahen again, or bathing with Fille....she wished she was back in Imladris in her glade and that everything around her was alive instead of dying or dead. She wished that she had answers. She simply wished...
and then she was asleep.
She dreamed of a vast library, of her Master scolding her for errors and tardiness. She dreamed of the day that her place in the library was required for one more deserving, one whose birth foretold great things. She dreamed of the shame as she walked through the halls of the Homely House and through the mighty doors, everyone being so kind and so false. She dreamed of watching her parents sail...holding Xanir by the hand as he cried and asked why they had left him. She dreamed that she had no answers.
She dreamed that she had never had any answers.
"Xanderian....have you been here all night?"
Sleepy eyes opened to behold Fille sitting beside her, stroking her hair, smiling in amusement at the sleeping woman covered in maps and azure ink.
The elven huntress nodded, rising slowly to embrace her dearest friend, tears in her eyes..."I was seeking answers...but perhaps I do not really need them after all."
