Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Well, it’s been a long time since the last update! I’ve been incredibly busy, and I’m glad to have this finally posted. Happy New Year, everyone!

Chapter Eighteen: Looking for Answers

The first thing to do, Eowyn knew, was to find someone to read the black book with, for there was no chance at all of her reading it alone. She needed a hobbit or two, perhaps all of them. But no, Merry was probably with Pippin, and it would be unfair to excite the injured Took further. So, to Arwen it was. Right.

She made her way quickly to the royal apartments, clutching her books and practicing her most innocent look in case she met Aragorn. As she rounded the corner, she very nearly ran into a small, unhobbity person.

“Lady Eowyn!” Bergil cried, jumping back. “Oh, good! My lord King asked me to come and find you. Queen Arwen wants to see you.”

Eowyn smiled at him. “Ah. Perfect. Thank you, Bergil. Shall we go?”

The royal apartments were bustling with dinner preparations when Eowyn and Bergil arrived, maidservants bustling everywhere, carrying various articles of clothing to be cleaned in their arms. They paused to let Eowyn through the door, than quickly exited the room, looking thoroughly put out about something.

“Are they gone?” came a shout from the bedroom as the door shut behind the maids, the voice that of Aragorn.

“Yes, but for Bergil and myself,” Eowyn replied, glancing at Bergil in puzzlement. The lad just grinned at her, looking delighted. “Arwen wanted me?”

Aragorn came out of the bedroom, looking frazzled. “First my day is interrupted by the temporary loss of my wife, then by accident prone hobbits with a penchant for sticking their noses where they’re not wanted, and finally by a gaggle of maids who think that Arwen and I are completely incapable of dressing ourselves. As though we haven’t been doing it to years! Things are going to change in this place, Eowyn, I tell you that in certainty! And soon. Help me with this, Bergil.”

Bergil grinned again and helped Aragorn button the cuffs of his fine velvet tunic, a feat which despite his protestations the High King had not yet accomplished. Eowyn wondered at the change in their relationship; the last time she had seen Bergil and Aragorn together, the lad had been walking almost half-bowed and as serious as an old bone. Now he was acting like one of the hobbits. A little more formal, perhaps, but not permanently bent at the waist in respect.

“Arwen’s in the bedroom, Eowyn. Go on, she wants to speak with you,” Aragorn said, nodding over his shoulder at the door across the room.

Eowyn nodded and left him to dressing, ducking through the ornately carved door into the bedroom.

Arwen was standing in the middle of the room, smoothing the long sleeves of her lovely purple dress. She looked regal and beautiful as always, though more elegantly dressed than usual. Realizing that Aragorn was dressed much the same way, Eowyn belatedly remembered that dinner that night was talking place in the Hall of Feasts, the great formal dining hall. She glanced sheepishly down at her own plain blue dress and sighed ruefully. She would be hard-pressed to run back to her room to change before the entrance procession.

“Hullo, Eowyn. Has Aragorn managed to scare off the maids at last? He’s been ranting for at least an hour. Oh, dear, not that dress, not for the Hall of Feasts. I think I have something that you can wear. Let me see.”

Arwen dived into her wardrobe in a way that would have been supremely inelegant for Eowyn, but which looked supremely graceful in the elf, and Eowyn listened to her rummaging around and muttering to herself in Elvish.

“Bergil said you wanted me,” she said to Arwen’s backside, breaking into the musical flow of words. “What’s going on?”

Arwen’s voice was muffled. “I wanted to know if you were able to find out anything while I was asleep. Although you seem to have awakened not long ago, judging from the way you are still yawning.” Eowyn sheepishly put a hand over her mouth as Arwen emerged from the wardrobe clutching something long and velvety. “Here we are. Go behind the screen over there to put it on.”

Eowyn took the gown and went behind the indicated screen. “You’re right, I only just woke up about an hour ago, and went to see Faramir. Actually, I did find something, when he showed me his mother’s room. Gandalf hinted that I might want to find something out about Lady Finduilas.”

“What did you find out? And do you need help with those laces?”

“No, I’ve got them. I found a diary.”

Eowyn emerged from behind the curtain and surveyed herself in the long mirror. The dress Arwen had lent her was ocean blue, a gown with flowing sleeves over a shift of fire red. The sleeves of the blue gown hung loose from the elbows and were embroidered with an intricate flower design. It was ethereal and elvish and Eowyn loved it more than she was willing to admit. Unfortunately, Arwen, who was perched on the bed, bouncing slightly and looking terribly excited, demanded her attention.

“Really? Whose? Alatarial’s?” Arwen asked.

Eowyn shrugged, adjusting the shimmering skirts and tugging at the low bodice, attempting to make it rest a little higher on her chest. “I don’t know, I only just found it and then came straight over here. I thought I’d show you instead of reading it on my own, because I have a suspicion that this was the book that pushed Lady Finduilas over the brink into depression and I do not want to read it alone. And don’t forget that we have to find out what the hobbits and Bergil found today.”

Arwen nodded, bounding gracefully up and striding to her jewelry box at the dressing table. “Yes, though apparently Pippin all but bashed his skull in while exploring the empty wing. They found some sort of secret room, but I couldn’t get much information out of Estel. The man has the ability to be terribly tight-lipped when he wants to be. Even my seductions won’t get much out of him.”

Eowyn blinked at her friend. Seduction was not a word she liked to equate with the King and Queen, as true as they may be. As though she realized her slip of tongue, Arwen beckoned Eowyn to join her and pick out a necklace.

“These people are gluttons. Jewels equal wealth, something I don’t think I like about Gondor. Perhaps Estel will change that custom along with the others he plans on eventually over-throwing.”

Eowyn grinned. The peoples of Gondor had not quite reckoned on getting a force of nature for a king, that was for certain. She was not certain what the customs of Gondor were, but she was dead certain that if Aragorn would not tolerate maids helping him dress, he would not tolerate traditions that had no real purpose.

“What sort of traditions?” she asked idly, picking a necklace of some deep blue stone and clasping it about her neck. She did not think that it was one Arwen had worn before.

Arwen fiddled with a powder brush, anger flashing over her lovely face. “Traditions of the sort where barbarity is hidden behind a façade of decency and civility. Some of them make me wonder why the Valar even keep the mortal race intact. The one that infuriates me the most is that the King’s heir is not supposed to be fed or even held by his mother after his birth until the King has seen him and approved. I told Estel that if he even considers upholding that tradition, I would not bear him children. I will not support such lunacy, nor make my children suffer for it!”

Eowyn stared at her friend, wide eyed. “You’re joking!”

Arwen shook her head grimly. “No, I am not. And I made him swear an oath to overturn that tradition. In light of the things we have been learning lately, I thought it the best course of action, although I know that Estel was just as disgusted by that one as I. But I am beginning to mistrust this place, and I will not conform to it. It is a new age. Now come, let us go to the Hall of Feasts, and let us be merry. We will tackle the book after supper.”

Still speechless, Eowyn followed Arwen back into the sitting room, where Aragorn and Bergil were waiting for them. Aragorn was sprawled in an armchair, smoking his pipe and solemnly staring at an elegantly woven tapestry, while Bergil darted about extinguishing the candles and banking the fire.

“Well, the ladies are finally ready,” Aragorn drawled, turning his bright and sardonic gaze on them. “And just in time, too.” He paused and took a closer look at both of them, the teasing light in his eyes being replaced by own of concern. “Are you two all right? You both look a bit pale.”

Eowyn shrugged, finding few words to describe the lingering tightness in her chest, the result of Arwen’s revelation. Why had she thought that such traditions would have faded with age? Fashions changed, culture did not. It took someone strong and out of legend to change it.

“Don’t worry, dear heart, it wasn’t any past mystery we were speaking of. We were discussing the tragedy of certain traditions, and how fortunate we are to have a wise man as ruler who will change them.” Arwen fixed a strong look on Aragorn. The King grinned at them both, and slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. He looked vastly relieved.

“Don’t worry about that, Arwen, my love,” he said. “I informed the council already that I would not tolerate such. Don’t fret.”

Arwen smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “He would really prefer us running about the empty wing, I think, Eowyn.”

Aragorn set his book on the side table with a snap. “Not without a guard. Now come along, Faramir and Imrahil will be climbing the walls if we don’t arrive soon. And Frodo may be the Ringbearer, but he is possessed of quite a scathing tongue when deprived of food. I, for one, do not feel like being bawled out by a hobbit. Shall we?”

*****

Merry had yet to decide whether it was good luck or bad to be seated beside Gandalf in the Hall of Feasts. The White Wizard certainly was intimidating, sitting there muttering to himself. Merry sent him an anxious look and wished that he were back in the Company’s house with Pippin and Legolas, playing cards by the fire. Unfortunately, Gandalf caught the glance and decided to speak.

“I must ask you, Meriadoc, why you and Pippin feel you must go gallivanting off into the empty wing when you have a perfect source of information at your daily disposal,” the wizard stated, glowering down at the hobbit. “It’s most unnatural, even for you.”

Merry felt a little affronted by that. “I am not unnatural, Gandalf! And we do not go gallivanting off, as you put it. We go on educational detours.”

Gandalf laughed and took a piece of bread from the basket in front of him. It was piping hot, and Merry reached out and grabbed a piece for himself, intending to dip it in his soup. If, of course, the soup was the kind one could dip things in.

“I am talking about the Librarian you have become acquainted with, lad,” Gandalf replied. “He is a gentleman most willing to talk, if you ask the right questions.”

“He just gave us books,” Merry replied, beginning to feel annoyed. “And if you seem to know so much, why don’t you just tell us?”

Gandalf shook his head and gazed skyward. “And what, precisely, do you wish to know?”

That was more like it. Merry opened his mouth to speak, found no words to say, and closed it again with a snap. Well, bugger. This was more difficult than he would have thought. Buying himself some more time, Merry stuffed the bread in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. What did they all want to know? There was so much going on that he felt a little overwhelmed.

“Well,” he said at last, swallowing. “I suppose the most important questions here are: was Lady Alatarial murdered, and if so, by whom; and what does all this have to do with Lady Finduilas?”

Gandalf gave him a look that was far too serene for a wizard about to clear up the mysteries of the past. “In that case, I would ask the Librarian. He knows more about this than you could possibly imagine. He has rooms in the sixth circle, near the Great Library. You can go there after dinner, as I imagine it will not run very late.”

Merry moaned and dejectedly rested his elbows on the table. Not another midnight excursion! He doubted that he had had a real, good night’s sleep in days. He sighed and glanced down the table towards Eowyn. The White Lady was sitting between Faramir and Lothiriel, across from Queen Arwen and Strider. He would have to catch her after the meal and ask if she would like to go with him. And perhaps Pippin would be up to a walk, too. Some fresh air would be good for the lad. Yes, they would go after dinner.

“Which part of the Sixth Circle?” he asked Gandalf resignedly.

The wizard looked strangely pleased. “By the little park. You will not miss it, Meriadoc, I assure you that.”

Merry was not reassured, but as Gandalf would not respond to further inquiry, he had to be satisfied.

*****

“I do believe, Master Merry, that you are bent upon having Aragorn rage at you.”

Legolas stood and watched in amusement and resignation as Merry and Pippin donned their grey cloaks and prepared to go in search of the Librarian. Pippin’s headache had abated with a swiftness known only to hobbits, and the lad had cheerfully submitted to Merry’s idea.

“Nonsense, Legolas, we’re just going out for fresh air and a bit of tea. Nothing wrong with that,” Merry said, giving the elf a look that dared him to tell Aragorn. “Besides, Gandalf told me that it would be wise.”

Legolas sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “All right. But don’t come weeping to me if something untoward happens. All I will be able to say is ‘I told you so’.”

Merry gave him a withering look and swept out of the house. Pippin looked at Legolas and shrugged.

“He’s a Brandybuck, Legolas. They’re worse than Tooks when it comes to being told what to do,” he said with an air of the long suffering. Legolas laughed as Pippin waved and followed his cousin.

“What would you have me tell Lady Eowyn if she comes looking for you?” Legolas called, and Pippin paused.

“Tell her that we will be back and come to find her,” he said, and darted after Merry. Behind them, Legolas shook his head and closed the door.

The night air was chilly, in keeping with the cooler days they had been having. The hobbits hurried along, out of the Citadel and down into the second circle, past the Great Library and the little park near to it and finally to a stand of rich looking row houses. Merry stopped a man who was passing them and asked which was the house of the Librarian. The man pointed the way and Merry and Pippin thanked him and hurried up the stairway indicated to the Librarian’s front door.

“Well, here we are,” muttered Merry, and knocked firmly on the door.

The knock sounded mute on the door, fading almost as soon as Merry pounded. It was as if the door swallowed the sound before it could disturb the occupants. Merry and Pippin glanced at each other, bemused. It was as if the Librarian did not like loud noise even outside of his library.

They waited several moments, but there was no indication that their knock had been heard. Merry shrugged and decided it would likely be best to return the next day, and was turning away when the door was suddenly pulled open behind him.

“Good gracious! It’s the younger heroes!”

The librarian gazed down at them shrewdly, taking in the bruise on Pippin’s forehead, the grey cloaks, and the furtive looks on both lads’ faces, and sighed.

“I see you two have been upon some shenanigans since I last saw you. Come in, then. I’ll make us some tea.”

For such a little man, Merry thought, it was surprising how much power he wielded. Perhaps it was simply his demeanor; the Librarian certainly had an air of authority about him. The hobbits silently followed him into the small flat and sat at the table he indicated.

The flat was small but grand, all polished floors and long windows. There were stacks of books and parchment everywhere, set in haphazard piles that were ordered only to the Librarian’s eyes. There were sketches and paintings tacked to the wall in a way that was distinctly unlike anything to be seen in the noble rooms of the Citadel. It was a lovely, calm place, reminding the hobbits of a cross between Bag End and Rivendell. Cozy and grand at the same time.

“What brings you two out this time of night?” the Librarian asked, crossing to a corner of the room that certainly had to be a kitchen, for it had a stove, a scarred table and an icebox, though it was a smaller kitchen than any hobbit would have handled. He turned his back to them and they heard the comforting sound of a tea tray being prepared.

Pippin looked questioningly at Merry. What were they doing here? The Brandybuck had been decidedly vague back in their house, though that had likely been because Legolas was there. Now Merry was leaning on his elbows, looking slightly nervous.

“Gandalf said that we should ask you about the, er, well, the empty wing. He said that you would be willing to tell us if we asked the right questions.”

The Librarian came back to the table, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and cups and wearing an amused look on his face.

“That I certainly can do. But you must ask me the right question.”

Merry frowned as the enigmatical little man set the cups on the table and began pouring the tea. Steam curled up into the still air, mixing with the smoke from the candles for a moment before fading like a whisper. Question? Just one? What on earth could that be?

It was a moment before any of them spoke. The librarian seemed perfectly calm, stirring his tea and eating a biscuit with care to catch the crumbs. Then Pippin, who had been unnaturally quiet since leaving the Citadel, spoke up.

“I suppose that the only question we can ask you, Master Librarian, is will you tell us what you know about Alatarial and Lady Finduilas?”

The Librarian smiled and inclined his head to Pippin. “They say the White Wizard called you a fool, Master Took. But only a fool could ask the right question. Yes, younger masters, I will tell you. Now.”

TBC