Disclaimer: The LOTR and its characters belong to J.R.R Tolkien. This is purely for fun and no profit is being made.


My name is Erestor and I live in a box.

I am of course speaking metaphorically and poetically. I don't really live in a box. But it feels like it. I spend all my time between my little room and the library where I work. I never spend any time with Lord Elrond and his family. I don't even dine with them. The only person that ever comes to see me is Figwit. And that's only to drop some more work off for me.

I'm a social outcast, a shadow, a ghost. I'm pathetic, miserable and what's more friendless. I haven't spoken to any other Elf since I arrived in Imladris. I can't remember the last true friend I had.

Actually, that's a lie. I remember it as clear as pure water.

It was Gandalf the Grey. He always came into the library and talked to me. He seemed to care about me, about how I was. I honestly loved spending time with that man. I actually opened up to him.

But now he's gone, on the mission with the Hobbits and the Ring. And rumour has it that he is dead. A messenger from Galadriel came to Elrond. And Elrond spoke long with him. Then the whispers started. So there we have it, my only friend dead. Typical.

I can tell none of you believe my life is so awful. I can see it in your eyes, you're thinking, 'but he uses nice words and colourful language, he must able to make pleasant conversation, he must be educated and he must be interesting.'

Well I'm not, I could barely write my own name when I got here. My 'intelligence' has all been learnt in the past years.

You see, no one comes into the library, so the books get dusty and a foolproof way not to clean them is to read them. I've read every single book in this library twice, and I've nearly finished them all again. I'm on the dictionaries now; I try to learn a new word every day. I'm on letter I at the moment.

Ironic, isn't it? How someone this inadequate can be intelligent. Most people just think I'm invisible.