The library of Imladris housed one of the most extensive collections of artifacts and manuscripts that could be boasted of on this side of the Sea. Even Lindon was not so fortunate though it was, by far, the larger of the two.
But she did not love it for the account records it kept or the memories it held. She had enough of those. No. She came for the comfort within its walls, the undisturbed in the very breath of its dust. She came for the small nook in the bay windows where she might peer through coloured panes, the shapes of deer and dogs and men and imagine herself in another country, another time, another moment.
Free, for once, of her burdens, she might sit for hours, despite the cold and stiffness that invaded her legs, the sluggishness that eventually overtook her mind, the book she had taken from the shelves lying on her lap, open to a few leaves whose content she could no longer recall and did not need to.