[Kransha]

Idruil stroked his beard knowingly, his hazel-colored eyes looking nonchalantly up at the ceiling of the library as he mused silently, muttering inaudible words under his breath. He had, by now, completely lost track of his location within the library complex and was simply strolling as briskly as his legs could carry him, trying to distance himself from the darkest, most neglected section of the place, where he’d been. It was far too gloomy and he now sought to elevate his dreary mood from the depths it resided in. Taking one last look at the library, he strode out of it, not taking another glance at the hallowed halls behind. He stopped right outside the door, breathing in the fresh air of the world and letting the new atmosphere settle around him. He still desired that light of happiness to lighten his current mental load, and decided to take a more active part of finding it, rather than just letting it come to him.

As if in answer to his question, the veiled silhouette of a figure caught his eye. He looked down, craning his neck to glance around another corner made by a protruding pillar that marked the library’s side, one on either side of the entrance, and assessed the figure within moments, looking from foot to head. The figure was heading towards him, parallel to the library walls, walking slightly faster than a strolling pace. He was not of Gondor, a fact he immediately recognized having been all over the nation’s fiefs and never seen such a man who hailed from any of those parts. He had a darker look about him, with noticeable orbs of brown for eyes and a relatively handsome gait. He finished his assessment as the man walked right past him, ignoring his presence. The man of Gondor was bored enough to attempt a dialogue with anyone, and since the library and area around it seemed almost deserted, who else could he speak to throughout the empty and stretching lengths of these streets? He drew yet closer, inspecting the fellow in further detailed. He halted in his tracks suddenly, one foot hovering above a step, and stared with a confused intent at the man’s face. It was certainly not that of any man from anywhere within the vicinity of Gondor and, in fact, Idruil was almost positive that it was the look of a foreigner or, to be more precise, and Easterling.

He paused very visibly, considering whether to take another step towards the man and make his presence fully known or to retreat into the mist of library shadows, to the seclusion of his familiar volumes. He didn’t truly dislike foreigners, but he had his petty prejudices to deal with. His father had been slain upon the field of Pelennor in the onslaught of Haradrim and Easterlings while he looked on from the high levels of Minas Tirith as a man defending. He did not hold grudges against those he had not met, but Idruil still felt uneasy about openly addressing the man. He was really too much of a cynic to care. Idruil did not take to flinching from others, though he did like his solitary nature and kept his privacy unhindered.

As all these thoughts rushed through the rivers of his mind, the Easterling, who had his back turned to Idruil and was walking in the opposite direction, drew farther away. Idruil, sighing and resuming his accustomed frown, walked briskly up alongside the Easterling, though just slightly behind the other man. At first, he wasn’t quite sure if he had anything to say to the man. He was fervently tempted to bring up something about the fact that he was an Easterling, but Idruil knew how very impolite and belligerent such an openly disdainful statement would be. He considered asking him a question, but couldn’t think of any query that didn’t sound awkward.

For the time being, Idruil was content to simply walk beside and behind the Easterling, hoping that some spirit of fate would take pity on him and have this man of the east lead him on, possibly to something worthwhile he could do with his remaining time in Minas Tirith.