Havens by AdmirableMonster

Exploration

The lorehouse is a comfortable place for Dírhaval to be.  Ever since he was young, he has been coming here, searching for stories, searching for histories.  He knows the way the light filters in through the thin rectangular windows high above the shelves, and he knows the peculiarities of its organization—a consequence of fifty years of different archivists, all with their own ideas on the best way to find tomes.  What he doesn’t know is where to look for any writing on Elven gestural systems.

The Elf—his Elf, some part of Dírhaval is already insisting proprietarily—has finally been taken to the keep.  Dírhaval himself brought him over.  Dínaras kindly lent not only his donkey, but also his cart for the Elf to rest in.  He was clearly being missed—within a few minutes after their arrival, several of the refugees, and the queen herself came out to greet him.  Just as clearly, the Elf was a little overwhelmed by the attention, and before he was swept away, he asked Dírhaval to come back for him later.

So Dírhaval is waiting for him—the lorehouse is close to the keep, and it’s a convenient place to explore ways to better communicate with a new friend.  Two of the other loremasters—all of them Mannish, for somehow there have been no other Elven loremasters in Sirion before this one—are helping Dírhaval search for the information.

He’ll find it, he knows.  Elves are long-lived, and Dírhaval is quick to learn.  He’s already thinking of the few gestures he’s learned in the past day and thinking about ways one could write a poem with one’s hands.  What would the equivalent of a rhyme be?  Rhythm, now, that translates easily, but rhyme will need to be translated.  Perhaps his Elf will have some thoughts?

They can write to each other, he thinks, that will make the learning easier.

“Dírhaval!” one of his friends shouts.  “I’ve found a book on it!”

A map, Dírhaval thinks joyfully, a map to carry him closer to t(his) new, shy loremaster.