One Thousand Books

Title: One Thousand Books, 1/3
Author: Eawen Penallion
Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
Type: FPS
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Warnings: Slash, very bad humour!
Pairing: Saelbeth/ Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor (implied)
Beta: Nienna, with grateful thanks
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 1


“One thousand books! One thousand! And all to be dusted, catalogued and sent to the appropriate libraries! Ai, what did I do to deserve this?”

Melpomaen shook his head, regarding Erestor’s secretary with a wry expression on his face.

“You mean, what did *we* do.”

The tone was accusatory, and Saelbeth lifted his hands in an expression of helplessness.

“Well, I truly do not know why, save that he has been in a bad humour for over nine days now.”

“Ah.”

Melpomaen nodded, bending down to retrieve the first book, flicking through the pages to release the dust. Saelbeth stared at him.

“ ‘Ah.’ What does ‘Ah’ mean?”

“It means ‘Ah, I see,’” came the response. A flick of the wrist and the book was dust-free. The dark-haired elf lifted it up to look at its title. “The healing rooms for this one, I think,” he said, placing the book separately oe fle floor. Saelbeth picked up a duster and selected his own book.

“ ‘Ah, I see’ what? What do you see?”

“Erestor.”

“Erestor?”

“And Glorfindel.”

Saelbeth narrowed his eyes. “Glorfindel?”

Melpomaen nodded, setting the next book on the floor to start another pile. “Yes. Erestor and Glorfindel.”

Realion ion dawned in Saelbeth’s eyes as he perused the spine of a new volume. “ ‘The Dirges of the Second Age’. Where on Arda does *that* go?”

Melpomaen reached out a hand for it and placed it on one of the now many piles of books scattered across the wood floor.

“He has been gone for nearly eleven days, you know.”

“Never! Has he really been gone for that long?”

“Yes, it seems that *they* are out there.” There was silence for a moment.

“Oh.” Another moment. “ ‘They?’”

“Them.”

“Ah, I see.”

Melpomaen snorted, knowing full well that Saelbeth didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“The Black Riders, dimwit!”

Saelbeth blushed and an affronted look crossed his face. “I *knew* who you meant!”

A sceptical expression now appeared on the librarian’s countenance. Saelbeth protested.

“I did! Anyway,” He leaned closer to his friend as if to impart a secret, “did you see who arrived last night?”

Melpomaen leered conspiratorially. “Yes! Oh indeed, something *big* is happening,” he whispered in return, but then straightened, and reverted to his normal voice. “But it doesn’t concern *us*.”

Saelbeth caught his meaning. “Oh no, indeed. No, it is not *our* job to worry at all.” He leant down to pick up another book, his dusting cursory; then he tossed it onto a pile.

“No, we are only the little people.”

Saelbeth nodded sagely. “But vital.”

“Ai, vital!”

“Never seen in the momentous histories.” Tome placed on pile.

“No, indeed.”

“But there, nonetheless. Important in our own way.”

The librarian indicated his agreement, throwing a smile in his friend’s direction. “Very important.”

At that moment the sound of voices floated through the open door to Erestor’s study. The study had been empty but a short time before. The words were soft but clear.

“… the sight was magnificent! As white horses, rolling down the ravine, sweeping away all before their path!”

“Aye, I think that touch was Mithrandir’s from what Elrond said.”

In the storeroom, Melpomaen nodded, for that was to whom he had been referring earlier. The deep voice started again.

“Oh, he’s here at last, is he? The periain were truly worried.”

“Yes, he arrived late yesterday. Bad time of it, from what I heard.”

“I thought he went to see Curunir?”

“That is what went wrong. Elrond will tell you later. He’s with Bilbo’s nephew at the moment.”

“Aye, Estel was very worried for him. Took a Morgul blade, poor little thing! I damn near dropped it when Estel showed me the hilt. Ugh!”

The two friends heard the clink of glasses. ‘Miruvor,’ Saelbeth mouthed, but Melpomaen waved him to silence as Glorfindel spoke again.

“Mmm. My thanks, meleth.”

“My pleasure.”

“I need something to warm me.” The voice had become seductive, something echoed now in Erestor’s tones.

“Really? Are you cold?”

“Chilled with the danger. Cold work, fighting Úlairi.”

“Really? Elves don’t normally feel cold…”

A deep laugh. “*I* do. I need something to warm me…”

“To warm you, or your bed?” Erestor was purring now, the growl rumbling in his throat. Glorfindel’s laugh was very welcoming in its tone.

“Both, meleth-nín. Care to volunteer?”

"Why not."

There was a rustling noise, as if robes were being ruffled, then an exclamation.

"Not here!" Another deep laugh, then a click as the outer door opened.

"After you, my dearest counsellor."

"With pleasure, my loving seneschal."

The two elves in the storeroom looked at one aer, er, seemingly reluctant to break the silence. Finally Saelbeth cleared his throat.

"'A History of the Flora of the Greenwood, and its Properties.' Now, where does that belong?"

Melpomaen nodded to a pile in a corner.

"Those are the ones for the Healing Halls," he said calmly. Saelbeth placed the book carefully on the precarious tower, then sat back in satisfaction.

"Thank you, my dearest librarian."

Melpomaen's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "My pleasure, my *friendly* secretary."

And with that, the two elves bent over their work once more.

****

"Ow, my back is still aching!" Melpomaen moaned, rubbing the offending arch of his spine. "Four days! Four days and we've barely started!"

A glass of deep red wine was handed to him, its depths reflecting the light of the roaring flames. Hal Hall of Fire was aptly named. Melpomaen winced at the heat ensuing from the immense fireplace.

"Who threw on that last log? Does he want us to melt?"

Saelbeth eased himself onto the bench beside his workmate, being careful not to spill a drop from his own glass. He took a sip before answering.

"Don't know, don't care. I just don't want to see another book again in my life."

"I have to."

"Poor you."

"So do you."

A grimace. "Don't remind me."

They sat quietly for a moment, letting the chatter of the room wash around them before Saelbeth spoke again.

"Good feast, wasn't it?"

"Mmm. Liked the roast pork."

"Really? I though it was a bit fatty. Did you try that new dish? The one made from mushrooms?"

Melpomaen nodded. "The ones with garlic? Yeah, nice."

"No, no. The new one. The pressed mushrooms."

"Life is too short to press a mushroom. Which one do you mean?"

"It is the one that is supposed to look and taste like meat."

A snort. "Like meat? Why do they want to make something that tastes like meat? We always have meat available anyway."

"No, no - this is supposed to be healthier. Better for you. Helps you live longer."

Melpomaen raised and eyebrow. Saelbeth blushed when he realised what he had said.

"It's for the humans too!" he said defensively. "Anyway, it is supposed to taste like meat."

"What does it taste like?"

Saelbeth smirked. "Chicken."

"Really?"

Saelbeth laughed. "It's a joke! Whenever you are asked what something new tastes like, you say 'Chicken'."

A pause. "Why?"

The secretary sighed in frustration. "You just *do*! It's a joke - oh, never mind, forget it. Hey, it looks like he finished!"

Melpomaen looked around the room, trying to see what the secretary was talking about.

"Who?"

Saelbeth pointed across the floor. "Bilbo." They heard applause, and conversation floated across to them.

"Now wd bed better have it again."

The little hobbit got up and bowed. "I am flattered, Lindir. But it would be too tiring to repeat it all."

Melpomaenged ged Saelbeth. "Little sycophant!"

Saelbeth looked towards the gathered elves. "Who, Bilbo?"

"Lindir!” He took another sip of wine. “Was it any good, the poem?"

The secretary shrugged, wincing as his shoulders complained. "How should I know? I was talking to you."

"I see Estel got involved again. Helping Bilbo, I mean. Nice little fellow."

"Who, Estel?"

"No, Bilbo!" Melpomaen nodded his head to indicate the hobbit and the ranger. "Cleans up nicely, doesn't he?"

"Who, Bilbo?"

Melpomaen slapped his palm to his forehead. He sometimes wondered just how many times Saelbeth had been dropped on his head as an elfling.

"No," he said patiently. "Estel."

Saelbeth shrugged. "I suppose so. He needs to do it more often, he usually stinks after he's been on his travels. Hey, how long waat pat poem?"

"What poem?"

"Bilbo's."

It was Melpomaen's turn to shrug. "I don't know. Six, maybe seven stanzas." Saelbeth moaned, leaning back against the wall, head flung back in despair. " 'Beth, what's wrong?"

"Argh, he'll want me to write it up. For the archives, you know."

"Oh." Melpomaen paused. "Will it take long?"

Saelbeth nodded.

"Oh." The librarian nudged his friend. "I'll help, if you want."

Saelbeth turned to look at his friend, a tiny hint of hope in his eye. "Thanks. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to help me?"

Melpomaen shrugged. It was expression he had overused that evening, but it seemed appropriate and anyway, it eased the ache in his shoulders.

"You're my friend."

"Oh." The dark-haired librarian did not catch the hint of disappointment. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Melpomaen stretched his arms and back, arching in an almost seductive manner. Saelbeth looked away, squashing unbidden thoughts. This was Melpomaen, remember? One final shake, and Melpomaen yawned.

"Ai, I think a hot bath, then bed. Are you coming?"

Saelbeth blinked. Bed? "What?"

"To the baths. You really should, otherwise that backache won't go away."

"With you?"

"See anybody else asking you?" Saelbeth shook his head. "Come on, then."

They were leaving the Hall when the Lord of Imladris called them over.

"Melpomaen!"

Saelbeth looked at his friend, who just shook his head. He had no idea what the elf-lord wanted either. They made their way across to where Elrond was sitting with his sons.

"Melpomaen," the elf-lord began. "I want to thank you for that book you found. It was very useful and indeed, instrumental in my treating our young hobbit."

Saelbeth stared at the librarian, but Melpomaen just bowed.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond, but it was Saelbeth who truly discovered the book."

Elrond nodded. "My thanks to you also then, Saelbeth."

Book? What book? Melpomaen tugged at his sleeve. Realising what he was indicating, Saelbeth sketched a quick bow and uttered a few non-words before Melpomaen steered him away.

“What book?” he asked, puzzled.

“The one that you found the other day.”

“The one that I found?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. They had barely catalogued one hundred and fifty books, but already their titles were but blurs. Melpomaen could see the confusion on Saelbeth’s face and relented.

“The on Mon Mirkwood plants.”

Enlightenment. “Oh, *that* one!”

“Yes.”

A moment’s thought. “Why did you give credit to me, then? I only dusted it. It must have been you who spotted its use.”

Melpomaen shrugged.

“We are ‘buddies’’.”

“We’re what?”

“It is a word that I read in a human book. It means ‘friends who help each other.’”

“Oh.” Saelbeth sighed wistfully. “Friends.”

“Aye, ‘pals’.”

“ ‘Pals’?”

“Another human word. Hey, look over there.”

They were traversing the narrow paths to the bathing house, their way illuminated by burning torches as well as the light of the full moon. Saelbeth looked over to where Melpomaen hadicadicated. On a narrow stone bridge, framed by Ithil’s disk, stood Estel and Arwen, Elrond’s daughter. Saelbeth smiled at the beautiful picture they presented.

“He’s not going to like that.”

Saelbeth turned. “Who?”

“Elrond. He’s not going to like that.”

“Oh. No, I suppose he isn’t.”

“Can’t blame him. I mean, he gives a human child a home, feeds him, educates him – and what does he do? Goes chasing after a female one hundred times his age. His only daughter, too. No, it’s not going to happen.”

“What isn’t?”

“Those two.” Melpomaen gestured to the two figures on the bridge. The pair had not noticed them, and now Arwen seemed to be unfastening something from around her neck. “What is she doing?” he whispered. Saelbeth looked closely.

“It’s her necklace. She’s giving it to him. How romantic.”

“How stupid.”

Saelbeth looked at Melpomaen, somewhat shocked at the cynical sentiment.

“Why stupid? It seems romantic to me.” elpoelpomaen shook his head. “He is human. He’ll die one day.”

"He is also Isildur's heir."

"Well, that's not exactly a recommendation, is it? *He* had the chance to destroy the One Ring but no, he thought he'd keep it as a nice bit of jewellery. Idiot human."

Saelbeth frowned. "Have you got something against humans? Or is it just Isildur and Estel?"

Melpomaen thought for a moment. "No, not really. I think that it is just that their actions make me so angry. They have no respect for their lives, or the lives of others. So many elves died in the Last Alliance, so many of our kin who should have been immortal; who should have lived until the end of Arda. I resent that Isildur threw away their sacrifice, by *not* throwing the Ring into the molten heart of Orodruin."

In his tirade Melpomaen did not notice the bleakness come across Saelbeth's face, an indication of deeper emotion, quickly suppressed. The secretary cleared his throat as he tried to clear his thoughts.

"Estel may carry Isildur's blood in his veins, but he is not Isildur. Mayhap he can reclaim honour for his lineage by his deeds?"

"And claim Arwen? Maybe."

Melpomaen looked across the stream to the two lovers on the bridge. They had melded into a kiss. Saelbeth thought the sight most beautiful.

"Foolish hopes," said Melpomaen. "Come on, Saelbeth, let's l the them to their foolish hopes and dreams." The librarian turned to his friend when Saelbeth did not move. "Coming, 'buddy'?"

"I don't know," Saelbeth said in a low voice. "I don't really feel like a bath now."

The librarian snorted. "You're hooked on this romance, aren't you? Ah well, enjoy it. Come on, the bath will truly ease your aches. Anyway, we have to set up our bet. You *are* going to attend the council meeting, aren't you?"

Saelbeth nodded. "Yes, I am taking notes for Erestor."

Melpomaen grabbed his hand and started to pull him along the path. "Me too, as a junior advisor. So, what will it be? I say, five eyebrows and two 'Dooooms'! What say you?"

Saelbeth laughed. Melpomaen could always lighten his heart, even as he had the power to lower it.

"Oh, eight eyebrows and three 'Dooooms' is my wager!"

And so the two friends continue the their way, but not before Saelbeth had cast one last lingering look at the now-empty bridge, and the beauty of the full moon beyond.

****

Melpomaen sat on the floor in an alcove of the library, surrounded by piles of books. Piles and piles of books. For one who professed to love books and had chosen his career accordingly, he could have cheerfully kindled a fire amongst them. And the worst thing was, he was alone. Well, wasn’t *precisely* alone for beyond the alcove, in the main portion of the library, Elrond’s sons plotted their travels.

“I feel that our normal route may be closed to us, gwanneth,” said Elladan. Though he spoke in hushed tones, to elven ears his speech was clear and since the brethren knew that he was there, Melpomaen did not feel as if he intruded on their conversation.

“So which way shall we go? Not under, for that way is closed to us. I fear its passages are lost forever.”

“In that we think alike. But I propose - here.” A crackle of parchment indicated that a document had been consulted.

“Aye, I agree but - at this time of year?”

“Not with a patrol or the rangers would I venture there, but we are of hardy stock, dear brother? Think you not that *we* could traverse it?”

“I don't doubt it - not with you at my side, gwaniaur.”

At that moment the library door opened and Melpomaen heard the princes offer a greeting to the newcomer.

“Well met, Saelbeth. How fare you this day?”

“I am well, Lord Elladan. I am seeking Melpomaen.”

“Oh, he is in the alcove yonder, buried by books and none too pleased, I think!”

There was an embarrassed tone in the secretary’s voice when he spoke.

“Aye, I should have beenpingping him some hours ago, but I was delayed.”

Melpomaen heard his tardy friend’s footsteps coming towards the alcove when Elrohir stopped him.

“We are making a journey to lands that you know well, Saelbeth. Would you like us to carry any greetings for you?”

Melpomaen stretched so that he could see the tall elf’s figure framed in the arch of the entrance. He was almost a shadow, but the light from the large windows in the expanse of the main hall caught the white lights in Saelbeth’s fair hair. ‘Funny,’ thought Melpomaen. ‘I have never noticed those glints before.’ Saelbeth was answering Elrohir, and Melpomaen realised that he had missed the beginning of the response.

“ … no one to whom I can send a message, save those whom you know so well, and to whom I owe so much that a mere message could not convey my words. I know that your trip needs to be swift and will be fraught with danger. I will not burden you with unnecessary letters,lordlords.”

Elladan’s tone was gentle and understanding. “Then we will give such greetings as we know that you would send in less urgent times, old friend.”

Saelbeth bowed, and Melpomaen sat back quickly, taking up a book into his hand. He did not want to be seen as an elf with flapping ears, albeit peaked ones. Already he felt hard done by, for his morning had been boring and lonely without the gentle chatter of his friend. His words then were unwittingly sharp-edged when Saelbeth came to sit in front of him.

“You took your time. What happened, did you oversleep?”

Saelbeth cringed a little at the question, but tried not to show his hurt in his voice.

“Nay, I have been with Master Erestor all morning, transcribing the notes from the council. I sent word to you by Lindir. Did he not find you?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The following silence was frosty and Saelbeth picked up a duster and a book, ready to continue his task.

“Which is the pile for the history of Númenor? For this belongs there.”

A silent finger pointed to Saelbeth’s left. The secretary placed the book where indicated, then picked up another.

“ ‘A Journal of Recipes from Southern Eriador’. Would the cooks appreciate that more than the library shelf, do you think?”

Melpomaen’s shoulders lifted in what Saelbeth could only assume was a shrug. He could take it no longer, he decided.

“I am sorry that I was late,” he said. “I did not know that the transcripts would take so long. Indeed they are not finished, so voluble was the council yesterday. Master Erestor is continuing even now.”

“So why are you not with him then?”

Glad to get a response from his friend, Saelbeth said, “He could see that I was distracted, and he told me to take myself off and do something else useful. So I have.”

Melpomaen looked up. “You came back to me?”

Saelbeth coloured and bent his head to avoid meeting Melpomaen’s searching eyes. “We have barely started. I could not abandon you.” He paused, then said quietly, “I could not abandon my ‘buddy’.”

The dark-haired elf grinned. “Thank you - ‘pal’.” Saelbeth grinned and looked up in return.

“By the way, I counted in my notes - you won!”

“Won what?”

“The eyebrows - and ‘Doooom’!”

Snickering could be heard from beyond the alcove entrance, and both the blond and the dark-haired elf were startled. Melpomaen looked at Saelbeth, then started to lauHis His mirth was so infectious that Saelbeth chuckled too. A voice floated through the opening.

“Aye, Elrohir won our bet, too!” called the lord’s eldest son.

The laughter had broken the icy atmosphere and Melpomaen smiled penitently at his friend.

“I am sorry for my behaviour, meldir. I was a mixture of things that brought me low - these books,” he cast his arms wide to indicate the mass of literature about them, “and yesterday’s meeting. Ai, the portents accruing from those discussions and decisions make my blood run cold.”

Saelbeth leaned across the floor sympathetically, pressing his hand to the librarian's knee. He patted it gently.

"Aye, I think that all who attended came from that council with heavy hearts. Yet, as heavy as our hearts are, heavier still the burden on the little hobbits' shoulders."

"Too true! Mithrandir, plus two hobbits, to attempt the journey to Mordor! 'Tis folly, yet a noble one. I wonder who will go with them."

"Estel, for sure," mused Saelbeth. "And Boromir, for Gondor faces that evil land. As for the others. I believe that Lord Elrond and Mithrandir will long ponder that question."

Melpomaen lifted a quizzical eyebrow, so evocative of that of their lord, and gestured with a motion of the head to the outer room and the elves therein. Saelbeth did not know whether Melpomaen was querying the possibility of the twins joining the fellowship, or the prudence of continuing the topic with the warrior brethren so near. Either way, Saelbeth gave a quick shake of the head to indicate the latter, and he decided to change the topic.

"Well, here is a book that is highly appropriate - an atlas of maps of the region of Gondor."

"Over here," Melpomaen reached out his hand. "I'll keep them to one side, to give to Lorrondrond later." Saelbeth did not move, and Melpomaen looked up questioningly. "What is wrong, meldir?"

Saelbeth looked bleakly at his friend, then shook his head, trying to reassure the dark-haired librarian.

"It was just a sudden sense of - foreboding. This is the beginning of the end for this Age. I feel the power of our race is fading. As I once saw the end of the beginning, so I fear that the Black Gates of Mordor will see another army stand there to face the darkness. I fear - what will happen there."

Melpomaen was alarmed. This was not the light-hearted conversation he expected from his long-time friend. He was used to Saelbeth's almost simplistic outlook, his gentle and naïve nature. He, Melpomaen, was the dark, cynical elf, and this reversal of roles frightened him. He tried to dismiss those fears.

"Ai, mellon-nín, let us not dwell on such dark subjects. Imladris is safe and protected by both its Lord and by Lord Glorfindel and our valiant troops. In any case, whatever the future brings, it will not be our fate to fight in Mordor. An army would not have much use for pen-pushers such as you or I. No, be at peace, Saelbeth."

He looked once more at the atlas in Saelbeth's hand. Rising from his place on the floor, he took the book from the hand of his friend.

"I will take this to Lord Elrond now, I think. The lord may be glad of it, and Mithrandir too, to prepare for the Fellowship's journey. I will not be long."

Saelbeth nodded, his eyes following the graceful movements of the librarian as he exited the library.

The twin lords had not yet left the main library and, after the outer door closed, Elladan came into the alcove. Saelbeth looked up at him.

"He does not know, does he, Saelbeth? You have not told him."

Saelbeth shook his head miserably. "No, my lord. There is no point, for it happened so long ago. It is but ancient history to such a young soul." He raised his head. "I will not trouble him with old war stories. Anyway, he has no interest in my past."

"But you wish he had? I wager that he does not even know your age or origin - or your deeds."

Saelbeth's eyes flashed. "No, my lord, and he will not learn of it. Not from you, and not from me. Do you hear me, my lord?"

Elladan stared back for a few moments, then nodded in acquiescence. He retreated to his brother, leaving Saelbeth alone.


Elvish:

Úlairi - Ringwraiths
periain - hobbits
meleth-nín - my love
gwanneth - younger twin
gwaniaur - older twin
meldir - friend
mellon-nín - my friend