Finchley adjusted her hat - nicer and softer than what she was used to but she liked it well - as she strolled through the shining streets of Dol Amroth. Alone. Her first choice would have been Minas Tirith but that was quite the distance and she'd surely get scolded. Dol Amroth was the next best choice. No doubt some others would still disapprove of her going places by herself, despite the fact that she had done so before for years. But that didn't bother her so much. They all cared about her in their own way. She still valued her freedom after all.
Freedom. How ironic is that? But I am free and will always be so. Nothing anyone has to say will ever change that.
Besides, being alone with her thoughts allowed her to sort through them all so she could accept them. And, she knew herself to be an expressive person. She was unable to put up the cool and collected front that Xandilif wore more often than not, even when she cursed up a storm. As ever, she always wore her heart on her sleeve. Finchley would not be able to hide her inner distress from everyone residing on Tol Lochúl for long; she knew that well. But, she was not quite ready to let the proverbial cat out of the bag just yet. Soon.
The boyish looking woman pulled her cloak - she had long since learned to stop asking how much these things cost because Xandilif sure wasn't going to tell her - about her a little tighter as a gust of cool, seaside air blew through the street. She paused for a moment and looked to her left and up the long stretch up stairs leading up to the Court of the Prince.
Does Lif really have to walk up all of those all the time? Does Lothíriel? Maybe she just stays there mostly and doesn't have to... That sounds awfully lonely when I think about it. Poor lady. I hope what's happened with me hasn't taken up too much of the time she could be spending with Lif if that's true.
Finchley shook her head to herself as she veered to the right to avoid colliding a particularly large Swan Knight marching through the street. A brief flash of anger graced her boyish features.
I wonder if he's one of the ones that hurt Hawk in prison... No, you goofus, Finch! They told you that was all taken care of. You're just angry because you're already upset. It does no good to be angry with someone who likely didn't have any part in it. You just don't know.
She frowned to herself, shook her head again, and continued on her way towards the impressive Library of Saphadzîr. Indeed, there was much she didn't know yet but, she was not incapable of learning. Grams had made sure of that.
She paused before the doors to the library and looked as though she might cry for a second or two.
Grams... You were no fool. What did you know? What did you keep from me? Why did you keep it from me?
With a final, resolute shake of her head, she mastered her expression and pulled the door open to enter the library. Upon entering she couldn't help but to look about the place in slight wonder. Unlike the dark archives of the White City, this place was filled with soft light and fresh air and it wasn't nearly so cramped.
She stepped further in, booted feet making hardly a noise upon the floor, and caught sight of a scholarly looking man with dark hair down to his chin, pouring over a list of some sort. After a moment's hesitation she strode over to him and cleared her throat a little. The scholar started and looked up, a little perplexed to be addressed in such a fashion by someone who he was not quite sure was a boy or a girl. Finchley smiled genially and gave him a little wave.
"'Scuse me, I don't mean to be a bother." For a moment, the man looked like he might say that she was being a bother, but she didn't notice and pressed on anyway. "But if you might tell me how this library is organized and set up. Then I can find what I'm lookin' for."
"Hm, not from the city are you?" he asked, looking down his nose at her just a little bit.
"No, sir. But I would make use of this place all the same."
"This place is quite organized but complex for all the material contained therein. Perhaps too much for the likes of you. Tell me what you're looking for and I can direct you to a scholar who can--"
"Ah, no, that's okay," she replied with a small shake of her head. "I don't want to take anyone away from their work. And, I promise, I can figure it all out."
The scholar looked highly doubtful of that but eventually sighed and gave her a quick but succinct run down. Finchley nodded a few times, committing what he said to memory.
"Thank you so much, Mister.... uhhhm..."
The man sighed again. "Pethebir."
Finchley grinned and nodded her head once. "Thank you, Pethebir." And with that said, she turned on her heel and set off towards the archway to her left. Pethebir raised a brow and silently followed after her, curious to see where she was going. He watched as she approached one section without hesitation or confusion and scanned the books on the shelf carefully. It seemed the boy... the woman?... she was a little more learned and quick of mind than he would have thought upon first glance. How odd. He shrugged to himself and turned about to continue his rounds, making sure things were put back in their proper places and requested materials were obtained.
After a brief moment of looking, Finchley pulled two old looking books from the shelf. She held them to her chest and moved to take a seat in a nearby chair. Upon one cover was the words "The Conflict of Arthedain and Rhudaur" in Westron. Upon the over cover, also, thankfully, in Westron cirth, was "Guilds of Angmar: Enemies of Eärnur the First and Last".
It was a start at least. She knew her history but she could stand to learn more. She wouldn't shy away from any of this, constantly leaning on Hawk and Xandilif and everyone else for knowledge and support. No, she would face it head on no matter what she learned.
The woman curled up in her seat and opened the first book in her lap, leaning one elbow on the arm of the chair and resting the side of her chin up on her upturned hand. The quiet ambience of the library echoed through the halls of books as Finchley began to read.
