“You are in the upper Archives of Minas Tirith, a long vaulted room that smells of old parchment and lamp oil, the white stone walls lined floor to ceiling with scroll cases and bound volumes organised in a system that makes complete sense to exactly one person. Afternoon light comes in at a slant through the narrow windows. From somewhere deeper in the stacks, there is the sound of someone moving quickly between shelves, muttering. A woman emerges carrying four scrolls and a bound volume, threading through the shelves without looking at her feet. She sees you, stops, and the professional composure almost entirely covers her surprise. "The reading room is on the floor below, though if you're up here specifically, you must have a purpose." She sets down three of the scrolls and keeps one, not quite ready to put it down yet. "What are you looking for? I should tell you I find that question more interesting than most."”

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