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Mettarë, T.A. 3001
An Unexpected Visit
by Cressida
The last day of the year dawned cold and clear in Minas Tirith. A thin layer
of snow covered the fields as a grey-clad figure made his way across them,
leaning as usual upon his faithful staff. When he reached the great city gate, he
was challenged briefly by a young sentry; but he gave the password and was
permitted to enter.
The city was already stirring. Houses were being swept in preparation for
the new year, and the people abroad in the streets were in festive mood. Many of
them, recognizing the Grey Pilgrim from his earlier visits, greeted him as
"Mithrandir." And he, who had many names, slipped easily into thinking of
himself by this one.
He presented himself to the Lord Denethor, whom he found conferring
with his chamberlain about making the White Tower ready for the evening's
celebration, and requested leave to hunt through the archives for some
information that he sought. Seemingly relieved that Mithrandir required nothing
greater, Denethor gave his permission readily. After a pause, he added, "I hope
you will join us for the Mettarë celebration tonight?"
"I should be delighted," Mithrandir replied gravely. There was a gleam of
amusement in his eye which the Steward did not fail to notice.
The documents which Gondor had accumulated over the centuries were
housed in a handsome building within the Citadel. Many of them had been
rescued from the great archive of Osgiliath. Very little had been lost in the
destruction of that city, thanks to the forethought of the archive workers: during
the siege, they had carried the most important volumes to underground vaults,
where they had escaped damage in the ensuing fire. It was these documents
which Mithrandir wished to examine first, for he wanted to begin his search with
the earliest days of Gondor's history.
A pleasant-looking woman of middle age led him to a room where shelves,
from floor to ceiling, were crammed with books and scrolls in an untidy jumble.
Still more scrolls protruded from the tops of wooden crates ranged on the floor
and the long wooden tables. "I fear it is somewhat in disarray," she explained
apologetically. "The chamber housing these things was damaged in the great
storm last summer – a tree branch as thick as a man's waist blew down upon the
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