To Lindir, If, hypothetically, one was the daughter of, say, Lord Melkor, and this aforementioned daughter wished to donate various personal records detailing House Bauglir's perspective on the War of Wrath and other similar conflicts to the library of Rivendell, how would she do so? Would they even be accepted? -Elenohtar
"If, hypothetically, one was the daughter of, say, Lord Melkor..."
Do you hear that? That is the sound of the very fabric of my sanity fraying at the edges.
The sheer audacity of this sentence—the casual, offhanded way it has been constructed, as though you are inquiring about the weather and not subtly implying the existence of Melkor’s progeny—has quite literally removed years from my lifespan.
I must assume you are well aware of the historical, theological, and existential weight (dread) that such a statement carries, and yet you have placed it before me with all the delicacy of a cat dropping a dead bird at my feet.
I am staring at this message with a level of disbelief I did not think myself capable of experiencing anymore. If I could take physical form within the confines of this parchment, I would be clutching my temples and pacing the length of the library like a scholar on the verge of a cataclysmic epiphany. Do you understand the implications of what you are suggesting? Do you wish to witness a librarian have an existential crisis in real time?
…I must sit down.
You cannot see me, but know that I am staring at this missive with the weight of several millennia pressing upon my soul.
Hypothetically, you say. Hypothetically.
Hypothetically, if one were to possess historical records from House Bauglir—if such things were to exist beyond the ruins of time—one would, of course, need to take into account that the very mention of such a collection is enough to turn a scholar’s hair white and cause a library warden to faint outright.
I, however, refuse.
I cannot turn platinum, like Thranduil, nor silver-grey like Celeborn—I like my hair. It is a perfectly respectable shade of brown, untouched by the horrors of forbidden lore or the weight of historical atrocity. I have spent centuries preserving my dignity, my composure, and yes, my natural hair color, and I will not have it stolen from me by the mere suggestion of a Bauglir family archive. I have endured many things in my time—scribes spilling ink upon first-age manuscripts, Elrond’s children terrorizing the shelves with their youthful curiosity, Glorfindel’s baffling approach to “organizing” poetry collections—but this? This may be the final test of my endurance.
That said… should one wish to donate such records, and should they be verified as authentic, the proper course of action would be to bring them to me. Personally. Discreetly. With much care. And with advance notice, so that I may ensure I am adequately fortified with tea, wine, or both.
If you cannot find me, seek out Eredin—he will know where to direct you. He may also require some advance warning, for I suspect he will be as pale as a sheet when I inform him of this inquiry.
Now, if you will excuse me, I must go lie down and contemplate the absolute magnitude of what you are implying.