Uilossiel

The first breath of spring had arrived some days ago, blown upon the gentle west wind rolling into the Valley of Imladris. The eaves dripped with melting snow, hung with rapidly dwindling icicles that glittered in the mellow sunlight. Patches of green appeared in the fields which once had been blanketed in snowy white. And in every garden, sharp green spears thrust upwards through the soil, bearing the promise of bloom and growth. Already a few brave blossoms of nínim hung drooping from their slender stems, suspended above the ground like white tears falling upon the snow.

Gwanûr,

The snow white petals of her royal roses cuddled the tip of her nose as she inhaled their lofty scent. These had always stood apart from their more colorful brethren - not as heady in scent, but still retaining the elegant integrity of the rose. Danel's instructions on the scents of Thargelion came in good time, just as the edges of her lavenders and herbs began to crisp and dry.

Uilossiel leafed through the multitude of books upon the shelf. Three handsome bookshelves, deftly carved of lebethron wood, stood within her room. Two flanked the large bay window in front of which her writing-desk stood. If she stood facing the window, the third bookshelf was to her right, on the wall beside the fireplace. She had a meticulous system of arranging her books and papers on these shelves. If the placement of anything was disturbed, she felt as if the fabric of the universe had somehow been tampered with, and would not rest until all was in order again.

Firelight played over worn parchment as Uilossiel sat within the Hall of Fire, engrossed in a book. She turned the page sideways, eyes roving over a diagram of various bone fractures, and how they were to be set and bandaged. She frowned in concentration, pencil tapping her chin thoughtfully. She had not known there were so many different kinds of bones in the body, nor had she ever given thought to how they might be broken, and later mended.

Uilossiel stared numbly out of the window, blinking like an owl caught in the bright sunlight. All of Imladris was blanketed in snow, which reflected the light in a million splinters of brightness. There had been a sharp frost the evening before, and silver patterns danced across the window-panes, curling in fanciful shapes. Oblivious to the grandeur of the winter morning, she rested her chin on one hand and continued to gaze blankly through the windows.

A comforting sense of forgetfulness was draped over him like a shroud; drowning out all fears and all questions in a warm and dark embrace. Yet it was not a sense of peace that filled his limited perception, for peace is a state of being that is dependent upon the existence of another, alternative state. Without war or conflict what meaning does the word peace have? Perhaps then oblivion would be correct; an absence of all sensation except darkness. Although despite the emptiness around him, not all was still and silent.

The lavenders poked their pale petals through the arrangement of green herbs, among which they nestled themselves. From their many vantage points around the room, laid over tables, draped over shelves, they spread their light scent throughout the room, welcoming everyone with a peaceful atmosphere as they entered.

Slamming her book on the table in frustration, Uilossiel pushed back her chair and stood up, scowling. What use were books and letters when two of her house were lost in the Hithaeglir, possibly dead by now, and the Arrows were daring the peril of the mountains in order to search for them? Hands clasped tightly behind her, she paced before the large bay window which faced north and east, towards the craggy peaks of the Hithaeglir.

"Uilo! Why is your door locked?" Tancamir rapped irritably on his sister's door. There was no response except a faint scratching sound, as of quill against paper. He knocked again, this time more forcefully. When no answer came, he put his ear to the smooth oak wood. He could hear intermittent humming, and a few frustrated sighs, as well as the rustling of parchment.