"Boooori...pleeeeease...read to me...please...please!"
The breeze murmured a bittersweet caress of remembrance as Faramir watched a momentary swirl of dead leaves move along the darkened balcony of the Citadel library. The hurley burley motion of the foilage conjured up a spectral image of himself as a boy, book in hand, excitedly jumping around his brother.
"Ugh...Fara, you know I have no love of books. I am a man of action."
Eight-year old Faramir rolled his eyes behind his thirteen-year old brother's back. A man of action...indeed, a brat of tomfoolery was more like it.
"What makes you think I want to waste my precious time reading to you, little brother?"
Faramir smirked as he watched Boromir continue to pull large, plush cushions and rugs from within the library out onto the balcony. Once the Steward's heir was satisfied with the seating arrangement, he grabbed a pair of large lit lanterns from the table and placed them invitingly by the comfortable cushions.
"Because Bori, you want to know, just as much as I, if the dragon was slain by the elf or the dwarf. I believe the dwarf accomplished the heroic deed."
Still eyeing the soon to be occupied spot, Boromir responded, "Hah! How can you think the dwarf was the dragon slayer? The dwarf is much too short. What would he do? Stab at the dragon's big toe with a dagger? Obviously, it was the bigger, stronger el..."
The snorts and snickers of his younger sibling interrupted the teen's line of reasoning. Boromir abruptly spun around to glare accusingly at Faramir. The smaller boy tried to swallow down the ungainly noises, but only succeeded in barking out gales of laughter. Boromir's attempt to narrow his eyes in a menacing manner only made the teen appear to have a rather bad squint.
"Oooh noooo, Bori, you have no care for books at all," smugged Faramir, "none what so ever."
Boromir huffed and held out his hand expectantly. Cautiously, Faramir handed the text to his beloved brother. With a quick snatch, Boromir turned, stalked over to the cushions and unceremoniously plopped himself down. The teen gently flipped through the pages before settling on one marked with a gull feather.
Boromir smirked up at his brother, "Well...I will just have to prove it was my elf and not your dwarf that..."
Though he braced himself for the impact of bony body, gangly arms and spindly legs, Boromir still could not help but release a loud "oomph" when Faramir launched himself at his brother. Their giggling wrestle soon settled into snuggles and cuddles as they arranged themselves comfortably around each other and the cushions. In a voice meant to sound like a booming dwarf, Boromir began to read.
As the small whirlwind died down, so too did the cherished memory. Misty blue gray eyes turned a longing gaze back into the gloom of the library. The huge stone fireplace did not hold a cheery blaze to read by. The soft blanket normally draped cozily around two eager readers remained neatly folded on a velvet settee. A single book lay forlorn and forgotten on a small table that once held sweet apples and honey cakes for famished booklovers.
Faramir walked over to the table and picked up the small text. He gently flipped it open to where a familiar gull feather marked the last page read. The Steward smiled with regret. This was the story he and Pippin had begun reading while still recuperating from their Ring War injuries. It was their plan to finish the tale together before the Hobbits returned to the Shire. But as often happens, duty and responsibility encroached more and more, stealing away time meant for simple pleasures and loved ones.
With one last loving trace of his finger along its gilded edge, Faramir closed the book and returned it to the table. There really was no excuse to linger any further. He had found the scrolls with last year's wheat and barley figures and they were, after all, the reason for coming to the library in the first place. Still needing to finish the harvest report for tomorrow's Council meeting, Faramir turned to leave the room.
After shutting the heavy door, Faramir dropped his forehead on the barrier's dark wood. Perhaps he could spend some time with Pippin after tomorrow's meeting. Sighing deeply, he knew full well it would be unlikely. The 27th Steward of Gondor wearily moved down the corridor back to his stifling office...back to his burdensome tasks.
Faramir was so absorbed in thought, that he took no notice of the shadowy figure watching from a distance. Nor did he hear as hobbity feet quietly made their way to the library door. The Man had already turned the corner when the smallest Knight of the Citadel Guard stepped into the now deserted chamber.
TBC