PROLOGUE
MAY 3, 3018
Gandalf the Grey rode as hard and as fast as he possibly could to reach the White City in a reasonable amount of time. He felt ever pressed to get there and learn what he needed in order to race back to a quaint green country that he was rather fond of. He had left trouble there unsupervised, and it sat ill with him. Indeed, he could no longer tell if the turning in his stomach was caused by the rough traveling by horse or the unease that the troubles of the Shire gave him. It was midday when the man arrived in Gondor's finest city. He could feel the gnawing of the unanswered questions grow stronger, and he bid his horse deliver him to the fifth level of Minas Tirith. He slid elegantly from his horse in a way that would have surprised many because of how aged he looked. But those who knew Gandalf knew better. There was more to him than a wizened old man.
Gandalf was trying his best to recall which direction he should start in to reach his final destination, but it had been so many years since he'd been to this particular part of the city, and his memory just wasn't what it was two thousand years ago. He turned to his right and began walking when a familiar scent caught his notice, and he turned suddenly to his left, making the decision to follow his nose. Had he no sooner passed a vendor selling cloths and fabrics did he run into a young woman with dark hair and pretty features. And surrounding the woman, wafted the very smell that had led him to his left: alfirin - the golden flowers that grew in the land of Lebennin.
"Mae govannen, Mithrandir!" she exclaimed with a joyous smile.
"Lothíriel the 'flower maiden.'" Gandalf smiled appreciatively at the irony of the girls name. It had been nearly two years since he had last seen her or her father, and he almost did not recognize the beauty that now stood before him. And, indeed she had always carried the sweet scent of alfirin wherever she went. "Quickly!" he snapped out of his reminisce. He grasped her small shoulder imploringly. "Forgive me; I do not mean to be abrupt, but I must see the scrolls of the kings of old at once. It is a matter of utmost urgency."
The young girl nodded with understanding and with the seriousness of a woman beyond her years. "Andola," she spoke to a rough-looking woman, quite along in her years, who stood quietly behind Lothíriel, "take the wizard to the record chamber and see to what he needs. I will bring you something to eat," she added to Gandalf. "You must be famished after your journey." Gandalf gave her a tired but grateful smile before following the old woman. She led him to the chamber that contained many pages of books and scrolls recounting tales and history of the kings and rulers of old from Gondor.
Lothíriel followed shortly with a plate of fruit and cheese, and a mug of ale to replenish Gandalf. He was already so immersed in his searching that he barely looked at his food as he ate.
"What exactly are you looking for, Mithrandir?" she asked after some time.
"A scroll. A scroll written in the hand of Isildur."
"The old king?" she asked, though she knew whom he meant. "But why?"
But Gandalf was no longer listening. He had found the scroll he sought for and was reading it intently.
"Gandalf?" Lothíriel asked. She stepped up and peered over the old Wizard's shoulder.
It read:
"'The year 3,434 of the Second Age. Here follows the account of Isildur, the High King of Gondor, and the finding of the Ring of Power.
"'It has come to me, the One Ring, and it shall be an heirloom of my kingdom. All those who follow in my line will be bound to its fate, for I will risk no hurt to the Ring. It is precious to me. Though I buy it with a great pain. The markings upon the band begin to fade. The writing, which at first was clear as red flame, has all but disappeared. A secret now that only fire can tell.'"
"What does it mean?" the girl asked. "Does that hold significance for you?"
"The Ring has been found," Gandalf spoke in a hushed tone.
"What?"
"The Halfling, Bilbo. . ."
"Yes?" she pressed. "You used to tell me the stories."
"He found it. In Gollum's cave."
"Beneath the Misty Mountains," she recalled.
"The very same. And now it has passed to his nephew." Gandalf suddenly turned to her. "Lothíriel, you must tell no one. Not your brothers, not your father. . . not even your cousins, for I fear this information could turn ill for us all should your uncle hear of it."
"Of course, Mithrandir," she vowed, knowing full well what could happen if her uncle discovered the importance of this information.
"Farewell."
"Namarie," she said as Gandalf strode out of the chambers.