Imladris

Entering the hall, Fervain casts her gaze over those present.

The journey from Greenwood, or Taur-nu-Fuin as outsiders may call it,  had been long and arduous, her body aches and her mind hungers for interaction with those of Elven kind.

Tentatively, she continues to walk toward the elves gathered, they all stand close to several overly large fire places near to the back of the hall.

Truly, there was no more collection of yore that was vaster than those found in Imladris! To this Indralas had submitted defeat, even as he had boisterously claimed his knowledge would remain unsurpassed by all his peers here, in the valley where no shadows lie.

Indeed, even as he had greeted the hauntingly quiet library – no words were exchanged in the greeting, of course, nothing but a nod of recognition – there were nothing that could deter him in the endeavour to categorize, arrange, submerge and feast upon every cover, every leaf, every parchment, every book.

 The second time we met, we spoke of freedom. In the grand halls of his kin, once most of the guests had left, he showed me the wonders they'd collected. Among the treasures there was a small songbird in a cage – something meant to lighten a room I suppose, or bring joy to those within. I wondered how they could bear to confine something so sweet – to deprive it of room to fly and yet still expect it to bring them joy.

The road stretches out before me, dipping between high sides of rocks before it turns the corner and peters out in the open moors. The sun warms the earth under my feet, and a soft breeze blows, shaking the tops of the firs as it passes, although the trees of the valley at my back remain still – sheltered by the mountains that surround. I tilt my face up to the sky for a moment, shutting my eyes and relishing the touch of the sun.