In the year 2962, an uninvited guest arrived at Wayfort.
It was an elderly man in a white robe, carrying an air of authority. He held a black staff in his hand, his face stern, his head raised proudly, and his sharp gaze swept down over everything before him.
"So this is the so-called city built by the 'Lord of the North,' the legend, Garrett, with his own hands?"
When he spoke, his words were filled with scorn and sourness. He was even a little out of breath, sweat beading on his brow. People quickly backed away from this strange old man.
The "arrogant old man in white robes" who now stood in their memories could be none other than Saruman.
At this moment, he was walking along the smooth, clean roads of Wayfort, glancing left and right, sizing up everything he saw.
His behavior drew much attention.
"He doesn't look like that Grey-robed Wizard who's on good terms with our lord," someone muttered.
"Of course not, he's in white robes."
"What's the difference between white robes and grey robes?"
The common folk knew little about wizards. In truth, this was normal across Middle-earth; only lords or kings ever had enough knowledge about such matters.
As for the nearby residents' open discussions, Saruman pretended not to hear them.
After all, this was someone else's domain. Best not to stir up trouble over small things.
Besides, no one was speaking ill of him. And while the townsfolk of Wayfort had plenty of idle time, not everyone was interested in wizards.
Most people just gave him a curious glance in passing, then went back to their own business.
After all, this was Wayfort, novelties abounded here.
Why, under the mallorn tree there was still a dragon lying there! And if you told anyone that, who would believe it?
And... it was just a wizard. What was so surprising about that?
If anything was rare, their lord himself was far more extraordinary than a wizard.
"I suppose I can admit that this city does have some merits," Saruman remarked after passing through the gates and walking a while.
"But in the end, it is still just an ordinary city. In some respects, it doesn't even compare to Orthanc..."
But then he suddenly lifted his head and caught sight of the tower by the lake.
He fell silent.
That tower hardly seemed shorter than Orthanc, and its craftsmanship looked no less refined.
"I wonder what's inside..."
Muttering to himself, he changed course and went to explore the tower.
Before long, he found himself wandering in circles amid the endless stairways of a great library, as vast inside as it was outside.
His staff tapped softly against the steps as his eyes swept across book after book, as though he wanted to carve them into his memory.
"Interesting."
He wandered silently up and down the stairways, as if determined to see everything.
Now and then he passed by shelves or desks where people sat reading, completely absorbed in their studies.
Saruman did not disturb those seekers of knowledge. His movements were silent and composed, so much so that many never even noticed him passing by.
Though he and the master of the tower had many quarrels and did not get along, Saruman was, after all, a proud wizard and a leader of great standing. The most basic courtesy was something he still upheld.
This had nothing to do with goodness or ill will, nor was it a deliberate act of disguise, it was simply his habitual way of conduct.
When Saruman finally returned to the starting point of the library, a single book, displayed apart from the rest, caught his eye.
It was the history of Wayfort.
Saruman picked it up and began reading, but before long, he had already reached the end.
"A shallow history."
Shaking his head, he set the book down.
Then he noticed another volume nearby:
The General History of the Free Cities.
Now that book carried some weight.
Out of scholarly curiosity, he opened it.
Moments later, he found a place to sit and read. He kept at it for a long time, so long that the sky had changed, before he finally finished everything recorded within.
Clearly, this book contained far more than the brief history of Wayfort.
It chronicled the development of all the Free Cities' territories, even their origins, and how those lands eventually came under the rule of Garrett.
"Interesting."
"Truly enviable... divine power."
But not something entirely beyond reach.
Research into that beacon had already borne considerable results. The real problem now was the lack of understanding about its origin and fundamental nature.
At the thought, Saruman couldn't help but shake his head.
After all, one of his main purposes in exploring this great library was to find information on the beacon, and especially the nether star within it.
But after combing through the titles of virtually every book in the entire library, he had not found a single record concerning the artifact.
It was as if Garrett had pulled it straight out of thin air.
"Heh. So you have your petty side as well, unwilling to share even the slightest scrap of information. Orthanc's knowledge, at least, I laid open without reservation."
Yes, Saruman had already decided this would be his opening jab when he next met Garrett.
Yes, jab him like this, and he'll have no response.
Having set aside the General History of the Free Cities, Saruman stepped out of the tower and returned to the city proper.
He headed straight for the lord's residence, Wayfort itself, which seemed rather inconspicuous compared to the many splendid buildings around it.
But when he came near the keep, his footsteps halted once again.
"The mallorn tree?"
"To think I'd see such a thing here... it seems he has earned the deep trust of the Elves of Lothlórien."
Saruman was slightly surprised, but only slightly, soon enough, his composure returned.
After all, such trees grew in abundance in Valinor, where they were far grander than anything in Middle-earth, and brimming with even more magic.
Nothing to marvel at.
Thinking this, Saruman turned away without another glance.
So he walked on, past the sights of Wayfort, across the bustling square, past the mallorn tree, even stepping over a dragon lying flat on the ground...
Wait.
Saruman's eyes went wide, his head snapping back.
What in the world?!
"A dragon?"
Ancient, nearly-forgotten memories stirred to life in his mind. Instinctively, his brows knitted together.
"That man actually keeps a dragon?"
"You'd best stay away from me, foul creature."
His first reaction, born of long-held prejudice toward dragons, was one of disgust. He even prodded at it with his staff, as though to shoo the beast aside.
Crunch.
Finally, the pink-scaled dragonlet lost its patience. With a snap, it bit down on Saruman's staff, looking ready to fling the hard rod aside.
But Saruman was no easy prey, let it be said again: though wizards may appear old, their power is in no way inferior to seasoned warriors.
Gripping the staff with both hands, he pulled back hard.
"Release it, vile dragon! Do not touch my staff!"
But little Pink was just as stubborn, climbing to its feet and clamping down all the harder, refusing to let go.