The light in the library was surprisingly low or so it seemed to Legolas as he wandered down one of the many book-lined corridors. He wondered how people hoped to be able to read with the light so dim, Legolas could barely make out the titles without brushing his nose up against the spines of books. He thought perhaps the art of reading in the near gloom could be a secret that only those who spent most of their time in the library knew and the thought made him grin privately to himself. The other explanation could of course be that they carried with them the little lamps all neatly lined up at the entrance and then, once they had found their quarry, they carried it to one of the well-lit desks. While the second option was indeed the more likely of the two Legolas couldn’t help but prefer the first, the idea of a secret to do with the library made the whole experience far more exciting.

Legolas had always been an active elf and he could never sit in one place for too long, he much preferred being outside with the rest of the guard or training with his bow or mastering some other weapon which had drawn his fancy. He spent his time exploring the forest and, whilst he enjoyed the peace and quiet and had always loved to read tales of times long gone, the amount of time he spent in the library suffered for it.

But he was braving its depths now, wandering its dimly lit halls in search of Merilien.

It had been some time since he’d last seen his sister, the last time being at some council meeting or another where he had had report what the guards had found on patrol and even then they had barely spoken to each other. Legolas was not surprised by the lack of contact, out of all his sisters Merilien had always been the most distant and Legolas had accepted even as a child that she was one sister he never had a hope of growing closer to. Not that you have much chance with the other two either, a nasty little voice commented in the darkest corner of his thoughts, they are all as good as strangers. He ignored it and continued to check each aisle in the hopes of finding his sister; just because they barely ever talked did not mean that Legolas should avoid his familial duties. Merilien may well be all but a stranger to him but she was still his sister and Legolas still held on to the childish affection he felt for all his sisters when he was younger.

Anyway, he hoped that his stories of Rivendell’s library, which even he recognised as both extensive and impressive, and Erestor, who had reminded him of Merilien in the way he seemed to care for books and solitude above all else, would spark her interest and allow for some friendly conversation.

---

Merilien 

Merilien went silently down the corridor, heading for the library. An oil lantern was in her hands, guiding her with its orange aura towards the depth of the vast archive of books. This was going to be another of her adventures.

For Merilien, the world of knowledge and lore was her very own adventure ground, where she was the heroine while there was nobody else in the story but figures and characters in the leaves of books. Her understandings and personal knowledges were her horse and sword against the world, her sharpened mind was her helm that processed all information to keep her out from erroneous ones. Her enemies were everywhere: a topic that she absolutely knew nothing about, a word or segment of writing that she didn't understand, a mathematical problem or some philosophical paradox that tricked her into long periods of contemplation - Merilien was sure that she would conquer them all in some ways.

And Mirkwood's library was her battlefield.

The light was surprisingly dim down here. Merilien hoped that she brought a torch or some more oil with her, but again she wouldn't like to waste time by going up again. She supposed that she'll have to do with her lantern. For most elves this was a forbidding place, with its shadows and high shelves looming across all directions. But from what Merilien had heard, the one thing they absolutely couldn't bear was the silence. At times occasional sounds that were made little creatures down on the ground could be heard, but other than that it was all tranquil, eerie silence. But Merilien feared none of them. She knew every inch of the ground and all of the books, and the library was like a second home to her other than her chambers. The silence was her companion, and the book shelves were good friends who brought her knowledge.

She settled at a corner of the table where there were hardly any dust - her usual seat. She planned to finish a bit of new readings today, and then she was going to review some old poetry. Merilien walked over to get the new books - deliveries from Rohan where horse lords live and Minas Tirith, the White City. She always found human lore interesting to read, and these volumes were fascinating especially - for they were written by the hands of Men without any filtering of the opinions of elves and dwarves. These were lent to the Mirkwood's library for half a year by her special request, but Merilien didn't want to go through it too fast. New books were precious and she had to save some for future.

Men always valued time. Half a year - enough time for her to go over these things, but she needs far more time to study and analyze them. It was just two seasons, yet it seemed so precious to men. Merilien supposed this was so because they were only allowed a limited amount of time in Arda. Unlike elves with their lives that seemed to go on and on forever, men could only live for less than a century. Sometimes Merilien wondered what did that feel like for them, to know that you could only live for these much time and then cherishing every moment of your life past. It must be happy - most men said that their lives were 'worth it' (an idea she gathered from A Look on Laws and Customs of Gondor by Arahaelel). Unlike elves, who often died or sailed away all sentimental and weary.

She tranced onto the flickering light of the lantern, reminiscing about her childhood long past. She remembered times where she used to play with Aroreth, and how two of them had shared their thoughts as young girls. Such memories must be precious for a man, Merilien assumed. Everything changed after her mother passed away, and not for the better. But Merilien was content, if not satisfied with what she was now.

At least she had the knowledges to arm herself.

She began to go through the volumes, and was soon sunken deep into it. She finished her allowed portion of this day fast, and Merilien walked over to get those poetries. She coughed when she took the book by its spine, for the dust and the smell was unbearable. Merilien carried it to her table by the light, but she didn't sat down. Instead she carried the lantern up in her hands and began reading it when walking back and forth.

She was soon in an exultant mood. This was a collections of poetries written on the herbs and healing skills that she found absolutely beautiful. When she picked some sections that she read to Almarelle, the girl was so happy that she was speechless. Merilien went through it, and somehow she began reading them in such a joyous and passionate tone that none in Mirkwood would believe that it was Merilien speaking when they heard it. She enjoyed reading the entry concerning the herb Athelas most, for it was always adorned by her even as a child.

Ir i thûl vorn thuia
A guruthos galar
A caladath gwannar
Tolo athelas! Tolo athelas!
Cuil nan ben firiel
Min gam aran havel!

But that was when she heard footfalls not far away. Merilien ceased immediately and looked towards the sound's direction. Her vigilance rose at once.

"Who's there?" She called out. Merilien didn't want anybody to discover in a mood like this.