Where now the East-Emnet Library?
It has fallen into Fangorn.
Lost Library of East-Emnet
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In the glory days of King Elessar, King Éomer has aspired to raise his people out of their semi-pastoral Homeric primitiveness and had founded several instutitions for the teaching of runes and other letters. Alas, they did not survive three new mounds on the Barrowfield.
Children of the forest who were felled like leaves and gathered for the edification of horse riders are now returned to their parents as armed revolutionary Huorns encroach into the lands of the axe-wielders.
Eat earth. Dig deep. Drink water.
- Points: 4 777
Tree
Posts: 3136
Joined: Sun May 17, 2020 7:54 pm
I found the Palace of Green Shelves, when we approached it about noon, deserted and falling into ruin. Only ragged vestiges of books remained on the shelves, and great sheets of the green facing had fallen away from the carven wooden framework. It lay very high as a ruined tower upon a turfy down, and looking eastward before I entered it, I was surprised to see a large estuary, or even creek, where I judged the Entwash had been damned. I thought then—though I never followed up the thought—of what might have happened, or might be happening, to the living things in the Forest of Fangorn.
The material of the Palace proved on examination to be indeed rotten wood, and along the face of it I saw an inscription in some unknown character. I thought, rather foolishly, that Weena might help me to interpret this, but I only learnt that the bare idea of writing had never entered her head. She always seemed to me, I fancy, more human than she was, perhaps because her affection was so human.
Within the big carven doors—which were open and broken—we found, instead of the customary hall, a long gallery lit by many side windows. At the first glance I was reminded of a museum. The tiled floor was thick with dust, and a remarkable array of miscellaneous objects was shrouded in the same grey covering. Then I perceived, standing strange and gaunt in the centre of the hall, what was clearly the lower part of a huge bookshelf. I recognised by the oblique title sections engraved upon the shelving that we were in a Dark Dwarvish section of a Library. And here was a Dwarvish skull, upper bones lay beside it in the thick dust, and in one place, where rain-water had dropped through a leak in the roof, an Elvish skeleton lay propped upon a desk. Library readers who had perished in the act of reading!
My Library hypothesis was confirmed. Clearly we stood among the ruins of some latter-day Elostirion Library!
The material of the Palace proved on examination to be indeed rotten wood, and along the face of it I saw an inscription in some unknown character. I thought, rather foolishly, that Weena might help me to interpret this, but I only learnt that the bare idea of writing had never entered her head. She always seemed to me, I fancy, more human than she was, perhaps because her affection was so human.
Within the big carven doors—which were open and broken—we found, instead of the customary hall, a long gallery lit by many side windows. At the first glance I was reminded of a museum. The tiled floor was thick with dust, and a remarkable array of miscellaneous objects was shrouded in the same grey covering. Then I perceived, standing strange and gaunt in the centre of the hall, what was clearly the lower part of a huge bookshelf. I recognised by the oblique title sections engraved upon the shelving that we were in a Dark Dwarvish section of a Library. And here was a Dwarvish skull, upper bones lay beside it in the thick dust, and in one place, where rain-water had dropped through a leak in the roof, an Elvish skeleton lay propped upon a desk. Library readers who had perished in the act of reading!
My Library hypothesis was confirmed. Clearly we stood among the ruins of some latter-day Elostirion Library!
Eat earth. Dig deep. Drink water.
- Points: 4 777
Tree
Posts: 3136
Joined: Sun May 17, 2020 7:54 pm
That night Weena and I slept in a special collections room that had as yet no trees growing within it. As Weena snored gently by my side I cast my mind back to our first encounter, far away in a northern realm. I had walked into that hidden valley unknowing, for my path was only to the mountains and was surprised indeed to hear singing. I walked on, curious and alert. Presently I saw one of the Rivendell Elves, one who remained after the last ship had sailed - a faded Elf of our our own age of the world.
She was a slight creature—perhaps five feet high—clad in a purple tunic, girdled at the waist with a leather belt. Sandals or buskins—I could not clearly distinguish which—were on her feet; her legs were bare to the knees, and her hair was curly and black. She struck me as being a very beautiful and graceful creature, but indescribably frail. Her flushed face reminded me of the more beautiful kind of consumptive—that hectic beauty of which we used to hear so much.
In another moment we were standing face to face, I and this fragile Firstborn thing, lost in her futurity. She came straight up to me and laughed into my eyes. The absence from her bearing of any sign of fear struck me at once. Then she turned to the two others who were following her and spoke to them in a strange and very sweet and liquid tongue.
There were others coming, and presently a little group of perhaps eight or ten of these exquisite creatures were about me. One of them addressed me. It came into my head, oddly enough, that my voice was too harsh and deep for them. So I shook my head, and, pointing to my ears, shook it again. She came a step forward, hesitated, and then touched my hand. Then I felt other soft little tentacles upon my back and shoulders. They wanted to make sure I was real. There was nothing in this at all alarming. Indeed, there was something in these pretty little people that inspired confidence—a graceful gentleness, a certain childlike ease. And besides, they looked so frail that I could fancy myself flinging the whole dozen of them about like ninepins.
And then, looking more nearly into their features, I saw some further peculiarities in their Dresden china type of prettiness. Their hair, which was uniformly curly, came to a sharp end at the neck and cheek; there was not the faintest suggestion of it on the face, and their ears were singularly minute. The mouths were small, with bright red, rather thin lips, and the little chins ran to a point. The eyes were large and mild; and—this may seem egotism on my part—I fancied even that there was a certain lack of the interest I might have expected in them.
As they made no effort to communicate with me, but simply stood round me smiling and speaking in soft cooing notes to each other, I began the conversation. I pointed to my mouth and then to my belly. Then, hesitating for a moment how to express my hunger, I made a chewing gesture. At once a quaintly pretty little figure in chequered purple and white followed my gesture, and then astonished me by imitating the sound of thunder.
For a moment I was staggered, though the import of her gesture was plain enough. The question had come into my mind abruptly: were these Elves fools? You may hardly understand how it took me. You see, I had always anticipated that the Elves of Middle-earth would be incredibly in front of us in knowledge, art, everything. Then one of them suddenly asked me a question that showed her to be on the intellectual level of one of our five-year-old children—asked me, in fact, if I needed to break wind! A flow of disappointment rushed across my mind. For a moment I felt that I had rediscovered the Lost Homely House of Imladris in vain.
A queer thing I soon discovered about my little hosts, and that was their lack of interest. They would come to me with eager cries of astonishment, like children, but, like children they would soon stop examining me, and wander away after some other toy. I noted that almost all those who had surrounded me at first were gone. It is odd, too, how speedily I came to disregard these little people. I was continually meeting more of these fading Elves, who would follow me a little distance, chatter and laugh about me, and, having smiled and gesticulated in a friendly way, leave me again to my own devices.
Yet that day I made a friend—of a sort. It happened that, as I was watching some of these little people bathing in a shallow, one was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main current ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate swimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange deficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the slightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing who was drowning before their eyes.
When I realised this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes, and, wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her safe to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and I had the satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her. In that, however, I was wrong.
This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little Elf-woman, as I believe it was, as I was returning to my camping ground after an exploration of the Rivendell Library, and she received me with cries of delight and presented me with a big garland of flowers—evidently made for me and me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my appreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little stone arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature’s friendliness affected me exactly as a child’s might have done. We passed each other flowers, and she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I tried talk, and found that her name was Weena, which, though I don’t know what it meant, somehow seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning of a queer friendship which lasted a week, and ended—as I will tell you!
She was a slight creature—perhaps five feet high—clad in a purple tunic, girdled at the waist with a leather belt. Sandals or buskins—I could not clearly distinguish which—were on her feet; her legs were bare to the knees, and her hair was curly and black. She struck me as being a very beautiful and graceful creature, but indescribably frail. Her flushed face reminded me of the more beautiful kind of consumptive—that hectic beauty of which we used to hear so much.
In another moment we were standing face to face, I and this fragile Firstborn thing, lost in her futurity. She came straight up to me and laughed into my eyes. The absence from her bearing of any sign of fear struck me at once. Then she turned to the two others who were following her and spoke to them in a strange and very sweet and liquid tongue.
There were others coming, and presently a little group of perhaps eight or ten of these exquisite creatures were about me. One of them addressed me. It came into my head, oddly enough, that my voice was too harsh and deep for them. So I shook my head, and, pointing to my ears, shook it again. She came a step forward, hesitated, and then touched my hand. Then I felt other soft little tentacles upon my back and shoulders. They wanted to make sure I was real. There was nothing in this at all alarming. Indeed, there was something in these pretty little people that inspired confidence—a graceful gentleness, a certain childlike ease. And besides, they looked so frail that I could fancy myself flinging the whole dozen of them about like ninepins.
And then, looking more nearly into their features, I saw some further peculiarities in their Dresden china type of prettiness. Their hair, which was uniformly curly, came to a sharp end at the neck and cheek; there was not the faintest suggestion of it on the face, and their ears were singularly minute. The mouths were small, with bright red, rather thin lips, and the little chins ran to a point. The eyes were large and mild; and—this may seem egotism on my part—I fancied even that there was a certain lack of the interest I might have expected in them.
As they made no effort to communicate with me, but simply stood round me smiling and speaking in soft cooing notes to each other, I began the conversation. I pointed to my mouth and then to my belly. Then, hesitating for a moment how to express my hunger, I made a chewing gesture. At once a quaintly pretty little figure in chequered purple and white followed my gesture, and then astonished me by imitating the sound of thunder.
For a moment I was staggered, though the import of her gesture was plain enough. The question had come into my mind abruptly: were these Elves fools? You may hardly understand how it took me. You see, I had always anticipated that the Elves of Middle-earth would be incredibly in front of us in knowledge, art, everything. Then one of them suddenly asked me a question that showed her to be on the intellectual level of one of our five-year-old children—asked me, in fact, if I needed to break wind! A flow of disappointment rushed across my mind. For a moment I felt that I had rediscovered the Lost Homely House of Imladris in vain.
A queer thing I soon discovered about my little hosts, and that was their lack of interest. They would come to me with eager cries of astonishment, like children, but, like children they would soon stop examining me, and wander away after some other toy. I noted that almost all those who had surrounded me at first were gone. It is odd, too, how speedily I came to disregard these little people. I was continually meeting more of these fading Elves, who would follow me a little distance, chatter and laugh about me, and, having smiled and gesticulated in a friendly way, leave me again to my own devices.
Yet that day I made a friend—of a sort. It happened that, as I was watching some of these little people bathing in a shallow, one was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main current ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate swimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange deficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the slightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing who was drowning before their eyes.
When I realised this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes, and, wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her safe to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and I had the satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her. In that, however, I was wrong.
This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little Elf-woman, as I believe it was, as I was returning to my camping ground after an exploration of the Rivendell Library, and she received me with cries of delight and presented me with a big garland of flowers—evidently made for me and me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my appreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little stone arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature’s friendliness affected me exactly as a child’s might have done. We passed each other flowers, and she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I tried talk, and found that her name was Weena, which, though I don’t know what it meant, somehow seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning of a queer friendship which lasted a week, and ended—as I will tell you!
Last edited by Chrysophylax Dives on Sat Jul 06, 2024 2:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Eat earth. Dig deep. Drink water.
- Points: 4 777
Tree
Posts: 3136
Joined: Sun May 17, 2020 7:54 pm
She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be with me always. The next morning I set off for the Mountains, to take the abandoned goblin pass to the Great River, and she insisted on following me. It went to my heart on the journey to the Mountains to tire her down and leave her at last, exhausted and calling after me rather plaintively. I had not, I said to myself, come into Middle-earth to carry on a miniature flirtation. Yet her distress as I walked on was very great, her expostulations at our parting were frantic, and I found myself turning around and waiting for her to recover her strength. Altogether, I had as much trouble as comfort from her devotion. Nevertheless she was, somehow, a very great comfort. I thought it was mere childish affection that made her cling to me. Until it was too late, I did not clearly know what I had inflicted upon her when I had threatened to leave her on the Mountain road. Nor until it was too late did I clearly understand what she was to me. For, by merely seeming fond of me, and showing in her myopic, futile way that she cared for me, this unreasoning Elvish creature slowly released me of my feeling of being utterly alone, gave to me a feeling of coming home, even as together we made the great journey from the North to the South of Middle-earth.
It was from her, too, that I learnt that fear had not yet left the world. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the oddest confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made threatening grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she dreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness to her was the one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate emotion, and it set me thinking and observing. I recalled how, in Rivendell, these little people had gathered into the great Homely House after dark, and slept in droves. To enter upon them without a light was to put them into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out of doors, or one sleeping alone within doors, after dark. Yet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the lesson of that fear, and in spite of Weena’s distress, I had insisted that the two of us had nothing to worry about each night as we drew up our boat and set up camp on the East side of the Anduin.
Our journey had indeed been uneventful. Yet our nights alone troubled her greatly, though in the end her odd affection for me triumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including the penultimate night, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm. But my story slips away from me as I speak of her. I return to the end of this last fateful night in the ruined Green Library of Rohan, where I sat musing on our queer relationship as Weena snored gently by my side.
It was from her, too, that I learnt that fear had not yet left the world. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the oddest confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made threatening grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she dreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness to her was the one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate emotion, and it set me thinking and observing. I recalled how, in Rivendell, these little people had gathered into the great Homely House after dark, and slept in droves. To enter upon them without a light was to put them into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out of doors, or one sleeping alone within doors, after dark. Yet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the lesson of that fear, and in spite of Weena’s distress, I had insisted that the two of us had nothing to worry about each night as we drew up our boat and set up camp on the East side of the Anduin.
Our journey had indeed been uneventful. Yet our nights alone troubled her greatly, though in the end her odd affection for me triumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including the penultimate night, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm. But my story slips away from me as I speak of her. I return to the end of this last fateful night in the ruined Green Library of Rohan, where I sat musing on our queer relationship as Weena snored gently by my side.
Last edited by Chrysophylax Dives on Sat Jul 06, 2024 3:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Eat earth. Dig deep. Drink water.
- Points: 4 777
Tree
Posts: 3136
Joined: Sun May 17, 2020 7:54 pm
I must have dozed off, and awoke with a start about dawn. I had been restless, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned, and that sea anemones were feeling over my face with their soft palps. I woke with a start, and with an odd fancy that some greyish animal had just rushed out of the chamber. I looked around for Weena, and she was not there!
I jumped up and ran down into the great hall, and so out upon the flagstones in front of the palace. The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky black, the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless. And down the hill I thought I could see a ghost. Several times, as I scanned the slope, I saw a white figure. Twice I fancied I saw a solitary white, ape-like creature running rather quickly down the hill, and once near some ruins I saw the creature again, dragging some dark body. It moved hastily and seemed to vanish among the bushes. The dawn was still indistinct, you must understand. I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early-morning feeling you may have known. I doubted my eyes.
But the sun rose on an empty vista. Weena had vanished!
I was alone in the Lost Library of East-Emnet.
I jumped up and ran down into the great hall, and so out upon the flagstones in front of the palace. The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky black, the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless. And down the hill I thought I could see a ghost. Several times, as I scanned the slope, I saw a white figure. Twice I fancied I saw a solitary white, ape-like creature running rather quickly down the hill, and once near some ruins I saw the creature again, dragging some dark body. It moved hastily and seemed to vanish among the bushes. The dawn was still indistinct, you must understand. I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early-morning feeling you may have known. I doubted my eyes.
But the sun rose on an empty vista. Weena had vanished!
I was alone in the Lost Library of East-Emnet.
Eat earth. Dig deep. Drink water.
