Untitled - BoG-Archive

oof and cracked it in several places. We had to empty the room quickly, before
the water ruined everything; we brought it here, but we have not yet been able to
set all in order, nor to repair the roof of the chamber."
Mithrandir harrumphed and knitted his formidable eyebrows. "Time was
when the lore of Gondor would have been treated with more respect! Things
have changed indeed if even Lord Denethor will not spare a few men to repair
his storehouse of knowledge."
"He has said it shall be mended as soon as the weather allows," she assured
him hastily. "But with so many raids along the river of late, it could not be done
sooner. And truly, we did not expect that anyone would ask to look over these
old documents before then. They are seldom requested."
When she had gone, the wizard made himself comfortable, took up the
nearest box of parchments, and began searching methodically through it. The
news about the river raids was very interesting, and it strengthened his certainty
that he was on to something important. Attacks on the Shire in the north had
been increasing also; he had discussed the matter with Strider when they met in
Bree shortly after Bilbo's birthday party. They had made plans to hunt for the
creature Gollum in the spring. Until then, Mithrandir intended to spend the
winter in Minas Tirith and hopefully to learn something about Bilbo's ring.
The short winter day passed swiftly. It took time to sift through the
documents, for they had been scooped up hastily and mixed together in the rush
to carry them to safety. An account of the great plague might be underneath a
copy of an edict from King Tarostar, with a list of landholders in Ithilien from
several hundred years later beneath that. Mithrandir looked carefully over each
page before setting it aside. He missed his pipe, but knew it would be inadvisable
to get it out – and not only because of the danger of fire or the need to conserve
his pipeweed. The practice was unknown in Gondor, and the smell of pipe smoke
was sure to draw complaints.
Quiet reigned in the building, save for some junior archivists chatting
about their plans for the evening. That night, the White Tower would be open to
all those in the employ of the city or of Gondor, and everyone, down to the
lowliest clerk and footsoldier, might come and drink a toast to the new year. As
the day waned, Mithrandir became conscious that the young folk were asking
each other in whispers whether they ought to tell him that the archive was
closing for the day or allow him to remain, since he was a guest of Lord Denethor
and so very fierce-looking—and if so, then who should stay behind to lock the
door? At last, Mithrandir took pity on their dilemma, set aside his work, and
prepared to leave. Though he had learned nothing of use that day, he was not
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