Sarmëtecil was a Noldë, and proud, as such folk are wont to be, but even she trembled slightly before the stare of the Lady of the Pillar. "It is true, my lady. Great heaps of log-books are simply missing -- erm, not to be found at this time." She ran a finger under the collar of her burgundy tabard, which now seemed uncomfortably tight.
"What," Manadhlaer began, but fortified herself with a swig of tea before she continued. "Do you mean. Missing."
"It is our hope that in time, we may locate --"
Manadhlaer silenced her secretary with a further glare. "How many rounds of the sun has it been, Sarmë? And you are saying we simply do not have the log-books of the northern expedition? What were the practices of my predecessor in this role? It makes me long for the times of Lord Parnard, who documented everything -- the shallow and petty things included, but at least those were humorous enough to be diverting."
Sarmëtecil spread her hands helplessly. "Shall I put some extra hands on the job? It is, again, entirely possible that they were mis-shelved, or miscategorized."
"How?" It was a genuine question. If there was one thing the scholars of the Pillar were good at, it certainly was not self-defense -- the last lesson given by two fine warriors had ended with actual injuries -- but it absolutely was cataloguing every last speck of paper-dust in the echoing halls. Manadhlaer clarified. "We know, or we think we know, who ensorcelled poor Narumirë -- he was seen skulking about too quickly after the incident to have been doing anything but waiting for the attack to succeed. And we found, rather later, Men of Angmar. It is critical at this point to find those logs! Just as our false friend used Narumirë, someone else may have been using him."
"Lady, with Sorontar missing --"
"No one is more keenly aware than I that he is missing. I never thought that feeding baby birds would be among my duties. And yet he reports to the Lady Ambassador, who is abroad. I wish, Sarmë, I wish so very much that Lord Tindir had not just dashed off in haste to... I do not know what he is doing, really, but I must assume that he and Fëamíril mean to confront the guilty party." Manadhlaer sighed and swirled the dregs of tea in her cup. It was a priceless artwork, like all ceramics produced in Imladris, and yet though the tea had been prepared and poured by her own hands, the cup still made her uneasy.
"He is young and rash," Manadhlaer added, glossing over Sarmëtecil's being younger yet than the warrior from Lindon. "And yet I want to sit down with him and revisit this -- that he may, after all the tentacles of this hideous affair have been untangled, have the benefit of all of our knowledge to date about the provenance and effects of the you-know-whats." The two were alone, but had lapsed into the habit of mentioning certain things only by euphemism. It seemed safer.
"And you think the missing logs would have held some sort of key, my lady?"
"They would have been better than nothing." Manadhlaer ignored the Order's cat rubbing its head on her ankles. "An untranslated piece of literature -- or incompletely translated, I should say. A missing scribe. The Lady Ambassador away, and the Lady Healer too. And the topic is sensitive for both Elvealin and Gilinnen, which makes my heart shrink from prying about it."
"There is the prisoner."
Manadhlaer snorted. "There she is indeed, growing paler by the day under Hammer Hall. If the choice were left to Estarfin, and I have no doubt Veryacáno, she would already have taken flying lessons. And I cannot conceal my own feelings in the matter well enough to extract information from this vile Second-born. But -- that decision is not for any but the Lord to make, for it will have repercussions either way."
Sarmëtecil nodded, a bit slowly, as the weight of the situation settled on her. "Shall I at least prepare the map-tables?"
"That seems a good plan, or good enough given the problem. Do not let them stop looking! Do not excuse any but poor Daeruth. And if you see Men in Lord Elrond's house, be polite, be gracious, but if they seem fell or boast of warlike deeds -- extricate yourself by any means necessary." Manadhlaer paused -- that did, after all, seem rather broad. "Necessary and safe. Our priority is the safety of our kin."
The slightly built secretary needed no instruction to avoid running about the halls stabbing people, but she nodded her agreement again. "My brother is busy with his perfumery, Lady, but he will walk me about if I wish it."
"Yes, I can smell it on you." Manadhlaer smiled despite herself. The scent of lilacs in wintertime was rather a giveaway. "It is kind of him to do so, and he has our thanks."
As soon as Sarmë had gone, Manadhlaer put her head in her hands and stared down at the ledger on her desk. It was still like bad arithmetic. The bare facts of the situation seemed to add up to more than the sum of the parts. What was missing? Not just some logs, and not just Sorontar.
The Pillar Hall cat meowed for attention, and Manadhlaer replied as if Pica were quite as sensible as one of the Quendi. "You are right, of course. I shall free my mind a bit. Perhaps I should just name the bat."
