Chapter Two

The Archives

'I hope you're not under the mistaken impression that gallivanting off to a distant city will delay the rest of our conversation indefinitely.'

'Certainly not!' Gandalf said over winds that rushed through the hillsides. 'You will get your answers, dear Ember, once we have seen to this.'

They had been riding on a single strong horse since the small hours; Ember did not feel tired in the slightest. She continued to observe the changing colours of the sky as though having woken from a full night's sleep.

'Not that you've elaborated on what "this" is, exactly.'

'I am almost certain that the ring Bilbo has kept in the Shire for the last sixty years has a dark history to its metal. But the consequences of having that estimation confirmed are severe enough to warrant investigation. There must be no room whatsoever for doubt.'

As they galloped to the crest of the tallest hill thus encountered, Gandalf and Ember caught sight of a faraway mountain…No, not a mountain - a volcano, casting molten orange and grey ash into the air. Ember tensed her jaw as images of Smaug flashed across her mind. Orange was once a colour she liked - not so anymore.

'Is that usual for these lands?' she asked over the volcano's distant roar.

'No,' said Gandalf, 'It is not. We must hurry on.'

She watched, her white hair swept constantly back by the horse's propulsion, as a city emerged from the face of a mountain range. She had never seen anything like this architecture, not even in the illustrations of childhood storybooks. An entire city composed of levels stacked one on top of the other to dizzying heights, adorned with spotless towers and turrets, thriving with people.

'Minas Tirith,' Gandalf announced as they neared the front gates, 'The most powerful kingdom in all of Gondor. And home to the most extensive library.'

The horse's hooves clattered on white cobblestone roads that wound through the labyrinthine city, right to the uppermost levels. Ember could feel the stares of city dwellers as she, a ghost against the dusk, dashed by on a horse steered by a tall elderly wizard. Only a trail of fireworks could have made them more conspicuous. But Gandalf seemed not to hold subtlety as a high priority at this time.

When they finally descended from the horse and left him in a stable, Ember felt underwhelmed: Gandalf had rhapsodized about the vast caverns of Minas Tirith's archives all the way here, and what did they now stand before? A single oak door, barely high enough to accommodate Ember, let alone Gandalf and his hat.

'I would expect such a famous library to have a…grander entrance.'

'It is not the presentation that makes a thing grand,' said Gandalf, as he rapped an iron knocker against the wood, 'But its contents.'

An eyeslot slid open on the other side, before the whole door was unlocked to reveal a small woman in long pine green robes, who Ember instantly labelled in her head as 'aging gracefully'. At first nothing was said. The woman stared at them for several long seconds, Ember in particular, eyes almost glazing over. Only the faintest evening breeze through her grey hair indicated that she hadn't been petrified into a statue.

'Welcome,' she said suddenly, standing to one side so Ember and Gandalf could walk through into a stone atrium. 'Welcome to the library.'

'Good evening my lady,' said Gandalf, hat already removed, 'We are here on urgent academic business to seek one text in particular: The Last Account of Isildur.'

'The Last Account of Isildur,' repeated the librarian. 'Yes, we have it, although I am afraid, unbound.'

'As long as it is readable, that will be no trouble to us.'

The little woman nodded, taking up a torch from a wall sconce. Her voice was pleasantly clear and bright, unencumbered by age.

'If you'll follow me.'

The three of them descended a winding stone staircase that, at least to Ember, went on for miles. Eventually, in the musky damp air unique to underground archives, they reached the bottom floor. Now Ember saw what Gandalf meant by vast caverns - bookshelves stretched into the dark distance, obscuring any eventual walls the room might be said to have. Stacks of tomes sat on the floor like pillars, some collecting dust, others with fresh wine stains from being used as makeshift coasters. At this the librarian tutted.

'Let us see,' she muttered, scanning the nearest shelves with the flame of her torch. She held up the long stick surprisingly well for someone with such thin arms. 'Isildur…Isildur…Did you have a specific translation in mind, sir?'

'I was not aware of there being more than one,' said Gandalf, 'But I am quite proficient in all the tongues of Middle Earth - any will do.'

'We keep as many translations of heralded works as possible,' said the woman, reaching in the gap between books and shelf, 'And produce a great many more. Keeps the mind sharp, you see.'

'Yes, quite.'

'Ah!' she exclaimed. Her hand disturbed dust from a stack of well-worn parchments. She placed them reverently in Ember's hands. 'Here we are: this may well be more than the Last Account, but look through the pages and you are sure to find what you seek.'

'Thank you kindly,' said Gandalf.

'Is there anything else I might do for you? How long do you intend to stay?'

'Some water would do wonders,' said Ember, 'If it's not too much trouble,' she added, thinking of all those stairs.

'Oh no, of course,' replied the librarian, looking positively enraptured by their conversation, 'I would be more than happy to…and you sir?'

'Some wine, I think,' said Gandalf, exchanging a look with Ember. 'We may be here some time.'

After an informal clinking of their goblets, Ember and Gandalf settled into a long evening of reading. Even halved between them, the papers that made up the Last Account of Isildur were numerous, in dense blocks of calligraphy whose full meaning required several read-throughs to be ascertained. They sat in silence, steadily consuming their drinks. Smoke trailed from Gandalf's pipe and infused the parchment. Suddenly Ember held one long page up to the candlelight.

'Gandalf,' she whispered, 'I think I have it!'

'Do you?' said the wizard, leaning forward in his chair. He tested the words aloud:

' "The Year thirty-four thirty-four of the Second Age. Here follows the account of Isildur, High King of Gondor and the finding of the Ring of Power." '

' "It has come to me, the One Ring,' continued Ember. 'It shall be an heirloom of my kingdom. All those in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I will risk no hurt to the Ring. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain…" '

' "The markings on the band begin to fade. The writing, which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared. A secret now that only fire can tell." '

At the bottom, in much larger writing, were the markings Isildur described. The characters were sleek but pointed, like intertwining thorns.

'Do you know what it means?'

'It is difficult,' said Gandalf. 'This is Black Speech. I have not seen such writing for decades, and I avoid uttering it whenever possible.'

'Perhaps there is some other book we can use to help translate,' suggested Ember, 'Otherwise we could be missing out on some crucial information.'

'Very well,' nodded Gandalf. 'I will see what these shelves have to offer. In the meantime, could you request a new candle? The wax of this one is all but a puddle.'

'Of course.'

The wizard and the witch returned to their table at the same time, approximately five minutes later. Ember carried a new candle; Gandalf carried nothing.

'No luck?'

'I was not expecting any,' replied Gandalf. 'There are so few living outside of Mordor who are familiar enough with Black Speech to compose a decent index of the language. I for one would not even feel at ease about reading such a book in any case.'

Ember sighed, moving to replace the candle. As soon as she lit the new one, her eyes landed on something sitting on the scattered pages of Isildur's writings.

'Gandalf…this wasn't here when we left.'

She held up a single slip of paper between her fingers. The ink was fresh:

"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."

They looked to all visible corners of the room - not another soul was present in the library. Ember stared at Gandalf, and he stared back. Wordlessly she folded the slip of paper in two and put it in the front pocket of her white shirt.

'I think we should return,' said Ember, before adding, 'With haste.'

'We think alike,' said Gandalf. They downed the last dregs of drink, shuffled the various pages back into a vaguely neat stack, and swept themselves up the winding staircase.

The librarian waited until their footsteps faded to emerge from the shadows.

A/N:Duh-duh-duuuuhhhhhh...Hope that was to your liking, if so please leave a review. I like getting to know all my readers a little better! Otherwise, until next time!