Where The Stars Are Strange (Shiva x Egoiste!)

[Shiva the Cat]

Through the burning golden sands of the south, the Azim winds like a string of sapphires and emeralds, from the shadowy mountains of the northeast to the sparkling waters of the sea. While a multitude of settlements dot the river's banks, especially near the terminal mouth at Umnar, the mighty city-state of Azimnar stands above them all.

Built around the only bridge still standing over the vast waters, by the dawn of what would one day be known as the Second Age, Azimnar was not only the primary trade center of the land some called Harad, but also a place of learning and history. Situated directly across the river from the King's Palace on the northern bank, the Great Library of Azimnar rose proudly over the southern part of of the city, and housed countless scrolls on topics ranging from agriculture, to mathematics, to law and order. And in a dark sepulcher at the very heart of the temple-like structure, it was even rumored there were records of far distant lands, where creatures other than Men built their own great cities and dwelt in a state beyond time, never aging and holding regular converse with the Old Gods.

Of course, the House of Tobáz denied the existence of any such scriptures, and were quick to chase away any minds that inquired too deeply about knowledge beyond a commoner's necessity. Only the King himself was entitled to know the complete contents of the Great Library, and to the Tobáz family's relief, the current one, Barsal the Clever, was much more concerned with growing his treasury than his collection of scrolls. So the noble House of Tobáz continued to rule the library as they had done for centuries, carefully curating and preserving the texts, while guiding the people of Azimnar to whatever information they chose to share.

The Tobáz family was hardly the only noble clan in Azimnar, but they held a curious position of rank. Socially they were certainly near the top, but unlike many other noble clans who were content to luxuriate in their own grand houses near the riverside and live off the profits of country estates up and down the river, every member of the House of Tobáz was expected to work in the library from early childhood. Even those who were too old and infirm to perform any real task still took it upon themselves to sit in the great courtyard and direct lost researchers to the correct buildings for their work. Only the pregnant women and mothers of young children were granted a temporary reprieve from work, and once their little ones were old enough to become library pages, they too were expected to take back their posts between the aisles of shelves and long ebony tables.

Not all members of the House of Tobáz were scholars, necessarily. Those with more physical prowess were usually put to work guarding the premises, and it wasn't unheard of for the strongest of the guards to eventually be recruited into the King's Army, though the Tobáz family did view such abandonment as a somewhat serious betrayal of the clan. Likewise, they frowned upon those far travelers who had gone out in the world in search of new scrolls for the collection, and ultimately married into the richer merchant families of the south. Should any of these 'traitors' attempt to return to the hearth of their kin, the only occupation that would be open to them would be the menial custodian work of the Great Library: maintaining the walls and roof, scrubbing the bird droppings from the courtyard, sweeping the endless hallways, and other such base labor.

Naturally, very few people who had left the Tobáz family ever returned. To fill the gaps in this lowest level of labor, the family would often hire beggars or adopt orphan children, barring them from the library's knowledge but giving them a home in the servants' quarters of the ancestral mansion, located directly behind the Great Library itself. It was no life of glamor for these poor unfortunates, but it was still better than dying of starvation in the streets or dehydration in the desert.

On a bright spring morning, one such orphaned servant, a little girl no older than eight or nine, scampered through the marble corridors of the library to the Hall of Maps, where a young woman dressed in the signature amber linen of the House of Tobáz was poring over a beautifully illuminated scroll of the western coastline. Hearing the little footsteps approaching, she raised her small round face and pursed her lips, clearly annoyed at the intrusion.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked in a melodic tone that might have been sweet if it weren't so edged.

The servant took a step, clearly frightened of the librarian despite the woman's rather diminutive height and slightly plump frame. “I-I'm sorry, mistress. But the Head Librarian would like you to assist one of the scholars. He is waiting in the Hall of Green.”

The librarian's dark brows knit together as she expelled a displeased puff of air. “It is not my duty to assist scholars, Mya. Please inform my uncle that tasks of that sort are his son's job, if he can possibly be coerced to do it.”

The little girl began to pick at the brown linen of her shift, her sandals grinding softly against the floor. “Master Elil is busy. The Head Librarian asked that you specifically help this one. He is...he is a stranger, Mistress Belseri.” A shiver ran down the child's back. She had only gotten a glimpse of the strange man before Lord Enkil had sent her in search of his niece, and the girl prayed she would not have to return without her.

Seeing the child's reaction, Belseri's expression softened, and she reluctantly rolled up the map. Damn that Elil. As the son of the Head Librarian, her cousin was far too often allowed to shirk his duties, and could often be found napping in the darker, cooler corners of the library, while Belseri and the other librarians were forced to cover for him. She would have to speak to Father about it later, the young woman decided as she carefully placed the map back in its cubbyhole. At the very least, this latest offense would add to her ever-growing stack of reasons why she shouldn't marry Elil during the next harvest festival, as many in the family had desired.

It was not uncommon for different branches of the House of Tobáz to be joined in matrimony, as it would save the trouble of having to teach any newcomers to the family about the customs and traditions of the clan. It had been an open secret for years that young Elil had desired Belseri, with her thick mane of black hair and mahogany eyes. Had he been more interested in her keen intellect and precise study methods, the librarian might have returned his feelings, but all she had seen in him for years was a spoiled and lazy (if handsome) brat who cared nothing for the immense trust that would be placed in him when his father, Head Librarian Enkil, finally sailed on his last voyage down the Azim.

Enkil himself was waiting for Belseri in the Hall of Green, the botanical center of the library that was often used as a conference hall for visiting nobility. But the man beside the Head Librarian was no noble of Azimnar, and there was something alien about him that made Belseri's sandals stop abruptly in their path.

Without missing a beat, the Head Librarian extended a gnarled hand towards her, wrapping it around her graceful wrist and pulling her closer to the stranger with surprising strength. “Ah, here is Librarian Belseri. I am sure she can assist you with your needs. By your leave.” Belseri's uncle made a sweeping bow to the stranger and immediately retreated, leaving the young woman standing bewildered before the man.

For a few moments, the librarian's gaze was fixed upon the man's eyes. Most citizens of Azimnar had eyes like hers; large and in varying shades of brown. Occasionally foreigners with blue or green ones could be seen in the city streets, but even theirs didn't quite have the cast of this odd visitor's.

Realizing she had been staring, Belseri immediately dropped her head in respect, and when she raised it again she instead fixed it on a point beyond the man's shoulder, giving him the impression of eye contact without actually looking at him. “Good morning to you, sir. How may I assist you today?” she asked in a voice that was much more kind and submissive than she had used with the poor servant girl.

 

[Egoiste!]

It had been a long time since Mairon had walked these lands. Many lives of men had passed since, and much had changed. That part of Endórë over which so much blood had been shed now lay beneath the waves, and the isle of Andor had been brought out of the deeps for the Edain to dwell upon, and though he knew of that land only by rumour it was said those who dwelt there had been given rich rewards by the Powers, and grown great among the denizens of Arda. Yet those men who had once served his master had fled hence, and claimed the unharvested lands, and were taken as kings by their wild and lawless kin who still dwelt there, yet in the main Endórë remained lawless, and its people ungoverned, and it seemed they were afflicted and forgotten, and troubled by the evil things which had been devised long ago who, as soldiers bereft of cause, had become a menace. Yet the city of Azimnar showed these men too had advanced in their arts and knowledge, if more slowly, but it was not meet that men should rule men. Still Mairon had time, and patience. He had come to the city to learn. Such troves of knowledge existed nowhere else save among the Eldar of Lindon where the High-King, son of Orodreth, ruled, who had the council of Finrod's sister, and he did not wish to come within his lands. Though the future concerning the Eruhin was always uncertain, as none within Arda had been enjoined in their creation, as with all else, or in truth knew their purpose within the compass of its fate still whenever his thought dwelt on the distant king Mairon felt ill at ease, and sensed he would, in future, encompass in some part the destruction of his great purpose if he were not destroyed first. He thought this of the Edain in the same terms, and to that unease was added an undying hatred for the humiliation he had endured for the sake of the outlaw Beren. Such a grudge might have seemed strange to men, but for Mairon the past was as pages in a book that is being written, and he had but to turn back the pages, and could re-live all the events of his long-life, which spanned many long ages, reaching back even into places where time was not counted, yet once the ink was dry the story could only be re-read, never changed. It had been more than six-thousand of the brief years of the sun, which he accounted only a short space in all regardless, yet the memory was as one that had occurred that same day.

Of course his origins, and his true name had been kept secret from the men of Azimnar, yet in his accustomed form the tall, fair-skinned stranger stood out starkly among the Easterners, and he had given himself the name of Khôr-Aglaril, presenting himself as an exile from the land of Númenor, and he had gifted their king Barsal a ring of true-silver both to support his claim, for that metal was found nowhere else save beneath Caradhras in the deeps of the Dwarrowdelf, and as a bribe to secure entrance to their library.

For anyone familiar with tales of the men of Númenor, a tall people of lordly bearing with piercing sea-grey eyes and dark hair who remained in the flower of youth and lived beyond the span of other men, the stranger did not entirely match such stories. Though he was tall, and possessed a strong and regal bearing, and wore fine, but not extravagant clothes in the Western style his long hair was not dark, nor were his eyes grey, but both were radiant, like molten iron, and those same eyes seemed to carry a profound depth of memory and knowledge, and though his clothes were not suited to the clime he seemed unconcerned with the heat. His features were handsome, flawless in fact, as if they had been carved out by a skilled artist, and it would have been difficult to guess his age, yet he did not seem to have the effect on the city's young women that one might have expected of such a handsome stranger. It may have been the air of remoteness about him, and a sense of cold intelligence that most found far too penetrating to be entirely comfortable with.

The old librarian seemed wise, after his kind, and surprisingly clear-sighted. His mind was open at first. Perhaps not unlike his library. Cluttered; half-nonsense, half-wisdom. It seemed he perceived something about the stranger, and Mairon felt the immutability of his now-closed mind and bowed his head as Enkil excused himself after pulling the young woman forward. She seemed sharp as well, if less cluttered, though the stranger was wary of pressing with regard to her mind, and made only the most fleeting, ephemeral contact. He fell back on less precise cues; her posture, expression, and tone of voice. She was necessary. Mairon wasn't certain why yet, but he was certain, and the stranger smiled, an affected gesture of warmth in an attempt to put her at ease.

'I wish to learn more of your great city,' he spoke earnestly, 'and your generous king has given me leave to study here, but perhaps you could teach me some things more swiftly-' he leaned over slightly, his hands clasped behind his back as he attempted to meet her wayward gaze, 'I am a stranger, and fear I may have given offense already, or does Enkil often hurl young women before strangers that he might better escape? Also, how does one address a noble lady in Azimnar?'

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The stranger spoke like one of the tall men that sometimes came up the river from Umnar, where the white ships docked after their long voyage across the sea. Belseri had spoken with such men on a handful of occasions, and never could decide whether or not she liked them. Certainly they had an air of wisdom and learning about them, and there was something attractive about their lilting accents and their silvery-gray clothing. But their expressions always seemed grim, and there was an off-putting sense of pride in their manners that displease not only Belseri, but most citizens of Azimnar. Why was it the tall men always seemed to look down upon their dark-skinned hosts, yet still seek out their trade and knowledge all the same?

Belseri had suspected this stranger would be another creature of the same breed as the tall men, and yet when he spoke to her she could not detect any notes of arrogance or self-importance in his tone. There was something sweeter in it than she had ever heard in the tall men's voices as well, and while his strange eyes did pierce her in a way that made her heart clench, she didn't get the sense he was looking down at her (his height aside, of course). No, he was approaching her the way any scholar of Azimnar would have approached a librarian: with respect and an eagerness to learn. That meant his origin aside, Belseri owed him the courtesy and service of her position.

With a concentrated effort, she finally did look him straight in the eyes, and offered him a small, slightly amused smile at the stranger's reaction to Enkil's quick departure. "The Head Librarian only rarely meets directly with visitors, and I am afraid his daily duties do not allow him the leisure of directing tours as thoroughly as he would like. But I am his niece, and a Senior Librarian, and I would be more than happy to show you anything you like, Sir...?"

She paused, curious as to the stranger's name, and allowed several moments to see if he would give any before continuing. "As for myself, while within the walls of the library all members of the Tobáz family may simply be addressed as 'Librarian.' Or you may call me Librarian Belseri, if you like. And should we ever cross paths outside these halls, 'My Lady' will suffice."

The odds of such an encounter seemed minimal though. Ever since the incident last year only Master Enkil and his heir had ever been invited to the palace, and due to their hardworking nature the Tobáz family were not inclined to giving parties as many of the other noble families were. Only those young people of the clan in search of a spouse or a surreptitious escape ever attended events at other noble houses as well, and while Belseri might have enjoyed the occasional such distraction, she had not received an invitation to one in months.

She looked too much like Reshkigal, after all.

Shaking her head, the librarian focused on the task at hand. "Is there any particular area of study that interests you? History? Architecture? Engineering?" Belseri continued, gesturing for the visitor to follow her towards the main corridor of the library. "This hall of course is our botanical center, but there is also a hall of preserved beasts that may interest you..."

She paused as they reached the central atrium of the complex, where an impeccably detailed scale model of the city sat perched on a wide pedestal rising out of the floor, with real water flowing like a fountain through the replicated Azim in the middle. A proud smile spread across Belseri's face as she looked over her homeland, easily picking out not on the library rising up on the hill of the southern bank, but the amber-domed House of Tobáz nestled behind it. "You did say you wished to learn more of the city, did you not?" she asked in an amused voice. "Well, here it is at your fingertips. What would you like to know?"