#baronyofthesilverwolf

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The library was usually one of the quieter corners of Silverwolf. It had always existed, of course, because a proper manor had a library whether anyone made much use of it or not, although more recently, Art had begun to take a particular interest in its contents.

Books had been rearranged, neglected shelves rediscovered, and a certain amount of quiet curation had begun to transform the room into something more than simply another expected feature of an old manor.

This afternoon, however, anyone passing through the hall might notice that the silence behind the open door was not quite as complete as it ought to be.

At first it was easy enough to mistake the sound for something else: the settling of the old building, perhaps, or the rustle of pages. A moment later though, it is unmistakable- the sound of someone trying very hard not to cry loudly enough to be overheard.

That is, if anyone happens to be walking by.

Nadeen enjoys the library, only a few of the household use it much and it is something of a haven to the quieter members of the hold, and, unlike SOME libraries, this one is Sluagh free! But when the Varich hears the tears she stops. Her House is notorious for not being very empathic... but her training as a diplomat has forced her to compensate. More importantly, thats' one of her people in there. She enters in and says, in a gentle tone, "Hello?"

Art startles visibly at the sound of Nadeen's voice, one hand hastily moving to wipe at his face before he looked up. For a moment, he simply stares at her as though he had not expected anyone to be there at all.

Then he seems to remember himself and makes an attempt to sit properly in the chair. “Your Grace. I apologize. I did not realize-”

He stops, swallowing thickly, and looks down at the book still resting in his lap.

“I am afraid I seem to be having a rather unexpected reaction to something.”

"Arthur, you're not a troll, you're allowed to abandon stoicism a bit, but whatever is wrong?" She moves towards him and glances to see which book he is reading.

Art gives a small, weak laugh at that, although the attempt at amusement does little to disguise his embarrassment.

“I assure you, Your Grace, I have never aspired to be a troll, though they certainly possess many fine traits worth aspiring toward.”

He glances down as she approaches, following her gaze toward the book. It is unremarkable among the volumes Art has been gathering and arranging throughout the library: a children's book, its cover softened at the corners and its pages visibly worn from having been handled by small hands.

His expression falters again. “That is rather the difficulty,” he admits quietly. “I do not know what is wrong.”

For a moment he thumbs the edge of the cover.

“A woman has died. I did not know her, not truly. I do not believe I have ever even met her.” He looks back up at Nadeen, visibly perplexed by his own reaction. “And yet I find that I am grieving her.”

“She was a mortal woman. An ephemeral. I knew, of course, that she would eventually die. They all do.”

She nods at that certainly not about to dismiss, "What were her achievements?"

Art considers the question for a long moment.

“She was a singer, among other things. An extraordinarily successful one, apparently. A philanthropist as well.” His thumb continues to move absently along the worn edge of the book. “She founded a program that gave books to children.”

His gaze drops again. “This one came to him.” He pauses, then corrects himself with a small gesture toward the book. “To my host, when he was a child.”

There is another quiet moment before Art adds, more softly, “I had forgotten.”

"Our memories of our hosts often have gaps," She nods "But that does not mean the echoes of those memories and feelings do not have power. Particularly if , as I suspect, this woman was a powerful dreamer. Perhaps Boggan or satyr kinian as well... but even if she was 'just' a daughter of Eve, this woman seems to have inspired far beyond the reach of her grip or voice. She mused your host from afar it appears, of course some part of you treasures that. How could you not?" Nadeen ponders, "I believe you speak of one Dolly Parton. The Autumn News spoke of her and every mortal I know speaks of her with great reverence. Some sidhe would envy her."

Indeed, the worn children's book, once she peeks through his grasp, is The Little Engine That Could by Watty Piper, with a sticker proclaiming "Dolly Parton's Imagination Library".

"Yes, that was she," A look at the sticker, then a nod "Her efforts at promoting literacy were to honor her father I hear. He was, according to Dolly, the smartest man Dolly knew, yet he had not learned to read, and was ashamed. To honor him and involve him, and so that no other child had to face that shame just because they were born poor and could not afford books, Dolly made the library, at first small, then she's good works beyond her state, then across the country, and now across the world. Even those who do not love her music, if they know of Imagination Library, are profoundly aware of the good she has done in this effort. Children who never would have had a book of their own have one thanks to the organization she started. It will persist after her death, but the loss of such a woman is worth a few tears at the least. Fiona would go on about how she followed her mortal husband in death a year after and say it was from longining and moon and sigh over it. I think it is okay to be distraught over OUR loss of her and even be a bit selfish about it if we wish. There is no shame in a few tears for such a woman. Did you know, in the days of high legend, a sidhe lord might reward a true bard or crafter of human nature with a tear or even a few tears as a reward? Of course, back then we could turn our tears into diamonds, but it was and is a precious form of payment if you ask me. Rarely given on behalf of Daughters of Eve, so she must have been a rare daughter of Eve indeed."

Art listens quietly, his attention fixed upon Nadeen as she speaks. By the end, some of the confusion has begun to leave his expression, though the sadness remains.

“I suppose that is the part I had not understood, " he says, looking down at the small, worn book, " that she could matter to someone she had never met.”

His fingers rest against the Imagination Library sticker. “I think... perhaps he, the 'Artie' that was, did not realize how much those books meant to him. There were not very many things that arrived in that house simply because someone thought he ought to have them.”

"Would you like us to make a small donation to the Imagination Library of the state under the name of Artie?" She offers, "To honor both your host, and the great woman who brought a sad child a rare moment of joy?"

Art's expression softens at the offer, and he gives Nadeen a small nod.

“I think that would be very welcome, Your Grace. Though perhaps we should make it in the name of Silver Stables rather than Artie alone.” A faint trace of his usual humor returns to his voice. “I would scarcely be a Sidhe if I failed to recognize an opportunity for good publicity when it presented itself.”

His gaze returns briefly to the book.

“And while I appreciate the sentiment, I would not have you think his childhood was entirely sad. It was rich in love, even if it was poor in rather more practical respects.” He considers this for a moment, then adds, “There were simply not many things to spare. A new book, addressed specifically to him, was rather remarkable.”

"I sit corrected and my apologies to the family," She unlike an Ailil she CAN apologize more easily, particularly when it's not for stakes she worries over, "Very well, on behalf of Artie AND the Silver Stables it shall be done."

He does appear to be a bit lighter hearted, and his smile is genuine as he gives her a bow. "You are most gracious, Lady Nadeen."

"This I know," She agrees with some light amusement in her eyes . Modesty is not her greatest virtue and she's comfortable with that, "You also call my attention to the fact others in the hold might miss her. We do have a few childlings and wilders of young years who no doubt have been shaped by her or know someone who has. I will try to make sure they find some solace despite the news. I may ask Marigold, of course."

"If anyone can whip up a feast that would be worthy of Mrs. Parton, Marigold can do it." Art says with conviction.

"And I would not look askance to hearing some of her lauded melodies, if our musically inclined comrades would be willing. I have not heard them before, but if so many are touched by her tunes, there must be something to it, right?"

"Oh, there's one or two I like myself. I find 'I will always love you' maudlin and overdone, but better than the more famous cover, but Jolene is quite catchy. 9 to 5 is also highly praised. I am sure our musicians know at least a few of these tunes, and I suspect some are fans," She nods, "There was one I caught Dame Lavender singing... though she is no longer our troubadour pro tem. What was it? Something about a coat of many colors."

"I confess that it is not an area which I know much about." He says, "Thistle has a radio in her shop, when it's working, and Gwen says that when she's driving, the driver controls the tunes, so while I have heard many modern songs, I don't really have much of a preference yet."

"Oh dear," A concerned look, "While I'll not push you towards any particular genre of music, that is one area that wilders MUST pick for themselves, I urge you to sample various sorts. You'll find somethint that probably particularly pulls to you. Indeed, if you get an interest in learning some instrument let me know. Mind you, if you gained interest in a theremin instrument I would not be surprised. For myself? I enjoy classical music, even if it seems limited far too often to the uppercrust. But there is much to be treasured in almost any genre."