One Thousand Books

Title: One Thousand Books, or, Let’s Hear It For The Little Guys 2/3
Author: Eawen Penallion
Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: Saelbeth, Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor (implied)
Beta: Nienna
Timeline: FOTR, Rivendell.
Disclaimer : JRR Tolkien owns these elves, I am just playing with them.
Archive: OEAM, Melethryn AFF


Author’s Note: This story was inspired by an episode of the SF TV series called ‘Babylon5’, which features two very minor characters and follows them around the station during a tense conflict. The major characters are featured as incidents or ‘meetings’ in their daily work. I have transferred it to Rivendell, at the time of ‘Many Meetings’ and ‘The Council of Elrond’ (FOTR), and my elves have made it slashy. BTW, The B5 episode is ‘A View from the Gallery’, series 5, and the characters were Mack and Bo.


Chapter 2

Melpomaen decided to take a less direct route to Lord Elrond's office, wanting to take in some of the beautiful late autumn sunshine. Thus he was crossing the inner courtyard when he spotted two of the periain talking in the gazebo. He scrutinized them carefully for, apart from Bilbo, he had very little experience with the visitors from the Shire. These two were the younger hobbits, Frodo's cousins. He smiled and was about to quietly walk by when one of the hobbits called out to him.

"Hello there!" It was the younger of the, th, the one called Pippin, and he crossed the courtyard to Melpomaen. The librarian bowed, hand over heart.

"Greetings, Master Hobbits. How may I help you?"

"Oh, I am not sure that you can. We were wondering where Strider and Gandalf are. Do you know?"

It took a moment for Melpomaen to realise that they were referring to Estel and Mithrandir.

"I believe that they are conferring with Lord Elrond regarding their journey. They are probably in his study."

Merry s his his head and turned to Pippin. "See, I told you so! I wish that I could be there too," he added wistfully. "I would have liked to have seen those maps, just to see the way that Frodo and Sam must take."

"And us too! You don't think that we are going to let them go without us?" said Pippin sharply.

Melpomaen admired the spirit of the young hobbit, but he seriously doubted that Lord Elrond would agree to any such thing. "Are you fond of maps?" he asked, curious to know what drove these small creatures. He knew that Bilbo was an avid collector of knowledge but had been led by him to understand that a curious hobbit was a curious thing in the Shire.

Merry nodded eagerly. "Oh yes - well, no, not particularly. But I *do* like to plan things. When Frodo had to leave the Shire, it was I who organized the house in Buckland, near Crickhollow."

"Aye," interrupted Pippin. It is Merry who organizes me - I would have never have come this far without him."
pomapomaen could see the close friendship between these two cousins and it put him in mind of his own friendship with Saelbeth - though as that thought reverberated in his mind, a second, sudden thought came clearly to him. 'We are much closer.' He shook his head. Now, where did *that* come from?

Returning his attention to the hobbit, Melpomaen made a sudden decision. He brought forth the atlas from under his arm and, moving towards a nearby seat, undid the fastening ribbons and opened it.

"Well, if you wish to view maps, then perhaps these will help you. I was just bringing this book to Lord Elrond, in the hope that it would help in the planning of their - your - journey. See, they are maps of Gondor and its surrounding neighbours."

"Boromir's country!" Pippin exclaimed. Melpomaen laughed, and with his finger started to point out all the major landmarks.

"See, that is Minas Tirith, Minas Anor as it once was. It is the main city of Gondor, and from its white walls one can see the land of Mordor, the dark and evil country of the Dark Lord."

"Sauron."

Melpomaen shook his head. "Speak not aloud the name of the evil one, young Master Merry. For names have power, and that is not a good name. Now, that is Mordor, a bleak country, black and ashen."

"How does one get in there?" Merry asked. Melpomaen moved his finger to the north-eastern border of the country on the map, following the delineated line of the mountains.

“Here are the Black Gates, huge constructions guarded by foul creatures. The plain in front is the Morannon, and nearby is the plain of Dagorlad, where the battle of the Last Alliance took place.”

“Where Isildur cut the Ring from Sau- the Dark Lord’s hand?”

“Yes. Many fell in that battle, both of Elves and Men. A sad, evil time.”

Pippin shuddered. “I don’t think that I want to look anymore,” he whispered. Melpomaen realised how dark the discussion had become and thus tried to introduce a light tone.

“There are other, happier places to be seen on this map, Pippin. See, here is Gondor’s fort, Pelargir, and if you follow the river Anduin, then the eastern coastline, you can see the principality of Dol Am. Ju. Just north of that is the elven port of Edhellond.”

“Gondor looks very big,” exclaimed Pippin, pointing across the expanse of paper. “What is that area there?”

“That is Rohan, mellon-nín. The land of the Horse-Lords, allies to Gondor. They are a nomadic people for the most part, but their king holds court in Edoras - here.”

The three heads bent forward, the two smaller jostling for the best position in which to view the map. It was the older, calmer hobbit who pointed to an area north of Minas Tirith.

“Is that woodland?”

Melpomaen laughed. “Nay, pen-neth, that is the great forest of Fangorn. It is not a place for young hobbits to visit, for it is said to contain deep magic, a magic of the earth. The very trees are imbued with it and are said to a have a life-force that we do not yet understand.”

Pippin shivered, but Merry just nodded eagerly. “It is like the Old Forest at Buckland. The trees there are alive - and dange! We! We know, for Tom Bombadil rescued us from them!”

“Aye, Iarwain Ben-adar is most powerful and ancient. I had heard of his involvement in your journey,” agreed the librarian. He looked up at the sky and saw that Anor begubegun its descent in the sky. He began to fold the map back together. “I must away, for I had meant to deliver these maps to my lord much earlier. I hope that they were helpful to you.”

“I am most likely to forget them, but Merry will remember!” laughed Pippin.

“Yes indeed, thank you, said Merry. He hesitated. “I am sorry, we forgot to ask your name.”

The librarian smiled. “I am Melpn.” n.” The librarian was startled when the hobbits’ faces lit up.

“Oh, you are Saelbeth’s friend!”

“Yes. Er, how did you know that?” he asked in puzzlement. He did not like the knowing look that the two hobbits exchanged, nor the hidden mirth in their nonchalant replies.

“Oh, Bilbo told us.”

“Yes, we’ve been - trying to learn more about elves.”

“What your long lives are like.”

“How you think, and do things.”

“And how you - feel. About - people. Love. Romance. Things.”

Merry looked sharply at Pippin, as if to say that the young creature had said enough - or too much.

“Just - curiosity!” Merry said, scratching his head innocently. “Education.”

“Knowledge, you might say,” finished Pippin.

It was enough. It was too much. And Melpomaen could take no more. He made his bow.

ust ust be on my way, Master Hobbits. I am sure that I will see you again soon.”

One last smile and Melpomaen continued his errand to his lord’s study. In the shelter of a nearby colonnade he turned to take one last look at the periain, and scowled when he saw them laughing and waving at him.

Just what had that gossipy old hobbit said about him - and Saelbeth?

****

“This is probably the last day of this year that we will be able to do this,” commented Melpomaen, looking over the expanse of lawn before them. “The winter is nigh upon us, and only our lord’s power is holding back its excesses.”

Many must have shared Melpomaen’s sentiments, for the garden was well used that day. The two elves had opened wide the doors from the library onto the terrace overlooking the grounds, and had brought out some of the p of of books to the table set there. They could see from their vantage point that the Lady Arwen had brought out her pencils and paints and was busy sketching and painting her interpretations of the trees in their bright fall colours. The two younger hobbits were wrestling on the grass in sport that reminded Saelbeth of kittens at play, and the other two were walking with Gandalf amongst the many and varied floral displays. The Mirkwood prince sat quietly at the base of a large horse-chestnut tree, reading a book and, from time to time, looking up and smiling gently as he slipped into a contemplative mood. Finally, from beyond a hedge, they could hear much talk and occasional clangs of steel as Gimli and Boromir exchanged views and demonstrated the virtues of axe and sword.

Melpomaen looked at the volumes that he and Saelbeth had brought out into the garden. They had worked hard in this past month, in between their other duties, and had now made major inroads into the seemingly unending procession of books.

“Do you ever wonder where Erestor got these books from in the first place?” he pondered, lifting one and turning it over in his hands. “Some are mind-bogglingly dull. Look at this one - ‘Accounts and Payments of the Mayoralty of Dale’. Who in their right mind would keep such a book?”

Saelbeth smiled. “Whoever said that Erestor was in his right mind? You know how obsessive he is about his books.”

“Well, you should know - you work with him most of the time. I don’t know how you have the patience. His finicky ways would drive me crazy.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am very much his protégé. I am very much like him.”

Melpomaen’s head shot up. “God’s, no! In no way are you like him! I couldn’t be Erestor’s secretary, never mind his best friend. *You* are nothing like him, mellon-nín, for you I truly like. You are very different.”

“How?”

“Well, you just are!” Melpomaen was flustered by the question, because he had never really thought about the reason he and the blond elf were friends. “Well, you are very thoughtful and generous, for you brought us a fine picnic. More importantly, you laugh at my jokes, *and* you remember to bring the wine on a boring job!” Flipping back the cover from a wicker basket, he pulled out a bottle of red wine and brandished it in the air. Saelbeth laughed.

“Elbereth, what a testimonial - eat, drink and be merry, for Saelbeth provides!”

Melpomaen laughed again, this time drawing out two glasses from the basket. Hearing another clink, he looked into its depths.

“There are many more glasses in here, ‘Beth. Who are they for?”

Saelbeth gestured to their fellows who were enjoying the autumn sunshine.

“I guessed that we would not be alone, therefore I brought plenty fll. ll. There should be a second bottle of wine also.”

The librarian stared at the fair-haired secretary, his look softening as did his voice. “Ai, Saelbeth, you are a very special elf.”

He was surprised at how quickly Saelbeth coloured, the blush swiftly covering his face. Saelbeth bent to pick up another book.

“Another on flora.” He flicked through it. “Some very nice illustrations, too.” He placed it on a nearby pile. Glancing up, he saw Melpomaen still staring at him.

“What?”

“What ‘what’?”

“I mean - why are you staring at me?”

Melpomaen started, for he had not realised he had been doing such a thing. He glanced furtively at the romping hobbits, still tussling in the grass. He was glad that they hadn’tn hin his - distraction. Goodness knows what mischief they would have woven about him. He turned back to Saelbeth.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was only thinking.”

“Well stop thinking, and start pouring. I’m thirsty!”

Chuckling, Melpomaen did just that. He also brought a glass to Arwen, even as Saelbeth called the two young hobbits over.

“My lady,” he said with a little bow and a large grin. Arwen smiled back, though there was wistfulness in that gentle gesture.

“Thank you, Melpomaen.”

Melpomaen leant a little lower and said softly, “He will return safely, my lady. Your brothers are with him, and they love him.”

Arwen’s eyes widened at this unusual demonstration of compassion from this normally cynical Noldo.

“Thank you, Melpomaen. Your words are very welcome.”

Melpomaen shrugged his shoulders, not quite regretting his words but feeling somehow that he had relinquished some power; that his outer shell had crumbled slightly. “Blame Saelbeth, Lady Arwen. I think he is having a bad influence on me!”

Arwen looked across at the blond elf, whose eyes were following Melpomaen’s movements. She smiled slyly.

“About time, too!”

Melpomaen was bewildered. Did they think that he and Saelbeth were joined at the hip or something? That Saelbeth had that much influence over his actions? He was gradually becoming aware of a shift in others’ perception of his relationship - no, his *friendship* -with Erestor’s secretary, but for the life of him he couldn’t see why. As he walked back to the little ‘library’ and the hobbits gathered rouhe ehe elf, Melpomaen was determined to place this *friendship* back on its old footing - in everyone’s eyes. He grinned wickedly as he saw Saelbeth watching him, and winked in warning.

“Hey, Saelbeth - how many hobbits does it take to change a candle in a wall sconce?”

Saelbeth knew his role in tmerrmerriment and to the hobbits’ surprise he replied, “I don’t know, Melpomaen. How many?”

“Three. One standing on the second’s shoulders to reach the sconce, and Master Bilbo to ‘record this event for poster!”
!”

The joke was so mild a play on the stature of the hobbits, and Melpomaen’s countenance so jolly, that the periain took no offence but joined in the ensuing laughter. Then did a joke fest ensue, with the hobbits giving as good as they got, and laughter resounding through the gardens. Legolas rose from his solitary contemplation and came to join Arwen, partaking of the little feast and smiling gently at the happy group.

Soon the food was finished and Merry and Pippin volunteered to remove the remnants to the kitchen. The librarian and the secretary resumed their task, lifting the books and dusting them, then setting them on the appropriate piles.

“Over four hundred books to do!” moaned the dark elf. Saelbeth smiled reassuringly at his friend.

“More than half done, and *much* less than five hundred to do!” he replied.

“You are an incorrigible optimist!”

“And you a devout pessimist!”

“Ai, you view a glass as half full.”

“And you as half empty.”

“So who is right in their view of the world? You or I?”

Saelbeth shook his head. “Both and neither. The reality is, the work has to be done. Taken with a light heart and willing mind, it is accomplished all the sooner.”

“It hate it when you are right - prissy elf!” Melpomaen grinned. He suddenly looked around at the books sorted onto the piles. “Oh, I just had a thought - where is that book on flora that you found earlier?”

“Right here. Why”

“Well, Master Samwise is a gardener, is he not? I see him admiring the flowerbeds here. Maybe he would like to look at it?”

Saelbeth nodded. He looked about the garden, but only Arwen and Legolas were now in his sight, seated across the lawn behind Melpomaen. “Perhaps he will return. I will put it to the sideey cey cey continued with the dusting, lightly chatting and commenting on the books. At one, Melpomaen snorted loudly.

“Well, here is a misnomer! ‘Noble Acts and Brave Deeds of the Sindar in the First and Second Ages of Middle Earth’! Ai, what a pompous title for such an irrelevant tome. And it is quite sizable too! What in Arda did they find to put in it, for surely such acts must number very low, considering the nature of our Sindar kin!” He did not notice Saelbeth’s discomfort, for he continued in his sarcastic commentary, enjoying the flow of his own wit.

“Save for the fact that the Lord Elwë got sidetracked and they missed the boats to Valinor, what else of worth have the wood elves done; communing with their beloved trees, and communicating with the rabbits and field mice! Far better to have used the paper to record the noted acts of the Noldor, with our fine and varied history. What say you, meldir?”

Saelbeth made a non-committed sound, and bent his head over his books again. After a few minutes he stood up, looking strangely awkward in his motions.

“I think that I will go and find Master Samwise and give him this book. It would be best that he uses it sooner rather than later, for the fine days and the beautiful flowers will not last for much longer.”

His tone was flat, and he did not look at Melpomaen as he turned to make his way back to the house. The librarian stared after him in surprise at such an abrupt leave-taking. The surprise was compounded when the Mirkwood prince suddenly appeared from behind him, ignoring Melpomaen. He strode purposefully after the retreating figure of Saelbeth. Melpomaen yelped as a fist rapped sharply on his head.

“Ow, what was that for?” he whined. Arwen moved to stand in front of him, hands on hips and eyes ablaze.

“Well firstly in chastisement for the *huge* insult you just gave to Legolas and his kin, then in the hope that I might knock some sense into you! Really, Melpomaen, for someone who is supposedly learned in the ways of books and lore, you are incredibly dense -and an amazing contradiction. First you showed great generosity of spirit to me, and in remembering that book for Sam. *Then* you deride the heritage of your best friend!”

“Saelbeth…?”

Arwen nodded angrily, pointing with her hand to the figures of Saelbeth and Legolas, now in close talk near to the entrance to the house.

“Aye, Saelbeth! Are you blind as well as stupid? Who do you think Saelbeth most resembles? Can you not see the kinship of race, as he stands nigh a Sindarin prince?”

It was as if blinders had been removed, and Melpomaen’s jaw dropped as he the the true features of his friend. Lithe and supple of body and frame, Saelbeth’s pale gold hair fell in long waves down his straight back. The soft green shades of his robes, like all the earth colours he favoured, suited his complexion admirably, and only now did the dark elf realise that Legolas wore the same shades. Melpomaen suddenly remembered Saelbeth’s clear green eyes, so startling on first encounter, and admired by the librarian - in a detached fashion, of course. His heart fell when he realised his huge mistake.

“But he never said - I didn’t know… I thought he was a fair Noldo!”

Arwen snorted derisively. “Just how old are you, Melpomaen? One thousand? Two thousand?”

“Over seventeen hundred,” he admitted in embarrassment.

“And you came from Edhellond. Well, you may be surprised to learn that Saelbeth arrived in Imladris when my parents married, as part of my mother’s retinue. He came at the request of my grandfather - who as your failing memory might *just* remember, is a Sindarin prince too! And Saelbeth’s family have been loyal to Celeborn sincegrangrandfather resided in Doriath in the First Age.”

Melpomaen gulped. “Then Saelbeth is over three thousand years old…?”

“Try four thousand! Oh, and before you make any further comments on the bravery of the Sindar as a race, I would take the time to read that book you hold. And the next time that you feel the need to reflect on the nobility he Nhe Noldor, reflect upon the Fëanorian oath and curse, and the tragic consequences. I say this as one who boasts both races in my lineage.”

He voice softened as she saw the distraught look on Melpomaen’s face. He was watching as Legolas escorted Saelbeth indoors, comforting him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“So many times you have looked at him, Melpomaen, and yet you have rarely *seen* him. If you can cast aside that cynical nature which you have so fervently cultured, and open your mind, you would find a treasure beyond price in your - friendship - with Saelbeth.”

She moved away, as if to gather her belongings, then turned to the dumbfounded scholar one last time.

“Oh, and Melpomaen - open your heart too, to free you to the truth. For within that tender organ you may find something that you have long denied, but which would bring you joy beyond reckoning - if you have the courage to face it.”


Elvish:

periain - hobbitl)
l)
mellon-nín - my friend
pen-neth - little one
meldir - friend