Written as a Christmas present to my friend and beta, Gaslight.
Set in Minas Tirith many years after the War of the Ring, where Faramir is once more residing and taking a much needed rest.
The air was damp and musty inside the old library, the smell of rotting parchment and fading ink a familiar sensation in the dark. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, casting ghostly rays around the small room, its oil adding yet another aroma to the collage of comforting memories.
He wandered the small length of the back room slowly, taking in the sights and sounds that had become such a comfort to him through his years; a place of hiding to a young boy, and now a sanctuary to an old man, where he always found solace from the grimmer pains of life.
He reached out his hand slowly, allowing the leaves of scrolls to drift beneath his gnarled fingers, each one familiar, a secret keeper of memories and things now lost to the dust.
Quickly he cringed, his old weary bones jumping in alarm as a loud noise permeated the silence, an unknown object crashing upon the cold stone floors in the outer chamber. He breathed a sigh of relief and bothered himself with it not – he knew its source and there was nothing remarkably new about it. In recent years the quiet reserve of the library had fallen to the wayside, replaced by the energized rambunction of youth. He begrudged it not, yet it did serve as a painful reminder of the yesteryears and his own wild ways so long ago, the peace and tranquillity he once found within these old stone walls now lost.
"My lord," a loud, pompous voice cut through the silence. Its presence was felt as sharply as a knife and he was forced to bite back his temper. How the young, obnoxious man irritated him to no end. "Is there anything I can help you with? If you wanted something in particular, you need but ask and someone can -"
"- I am well aware of the extent of my position here in Minas Tirith, Niron," he snapped, ceasing the crude and uncouth man from any further speech. "And I am perfectly fine fetching my own reading material. Now if you please, I would like some time to myself."
"But my lord -"
"That was not a request."
With a disgruntled sigh Niron bowed half-heartedly and exited the small room.
The sound of his heavy footsteps could be heard, loud and daunting upon the stone floor outside.
"What do you think you are doing, Aerdis!" he heard him snap. "Pick up that mess! I do not have time for your foolishness!"
With a final angry word he left the tower, no doubt leaving the unfortunate library clerk much shaken in his wake.
A few more moments of quiet passed as the silence settled itself once more, as thick and all-consuming as the dust that coated the ancient tapestries hung upon the walls.
"Lord Faramir?" a small, timid voice questioned, the words echoing throughout the small room.
The voice was familiar and expected, its bearer a quiet and much looked for companion in his time now long since spent in silent reflection.
"Yes, Aerdis?" he answered, not yet turning to meet the girl.
"Are you alright? Would you like help with anything?"
He sighed, more downcast than irritated at the gentle way he was treated. Was he truly that old and decrepit that he could no longer think for himself? At least there was no sarcastic, ill-purpose hidden behind her words; only kindness and good intentions.
With a great effort he turned to look at the young woman.
"Do not worry so," he spoke, seeing the concern creased upon her brow. "I am old, but not dead yet. It will take more than a misbegotten wretch such as Niron to send me to my grave."
Faramir was filled with satisfaction upon seeing her face alight with happiness.
"As you wish, my lord," she replied, her soft features aglow in the pale lighting. "Still, is there anything I can do for you? I finished that book of poetry you gave me - about the fall of Gil-Galad. You were right, it was exquisitely beautiful!"
"Ah, so you liked it after all!" he exclaimed, the smile from his eyes extending to his lips. "I suspected you would ; and what of the tale of Finrod?"
"I have almost finished it! I was hoping to read more of it last night, but Niron had me here so late..." She trailed off suddenly, obviously flustered and embarrassed by her admission of her better. "Of course there were other things that kept me, as well - not just work in the library!" she said clumsily, trying desperately to recant her confession.
"Speak no more, Aerdis," he replied, halting her in her hurried speech. "I was not so old once. Many a night was spent too exhausted to speak, much less find the will to read of the Elven Kings of old. You owe me no excuse!" Carefully he manoeuvred around the subject of Niron. It would only make her more uncomfortable still. "How is your family? I trust they are well?"
"Oh, yes, my lord!" she answered, quickly forgetting her earlier fervour. "My brother sends his best wishes, and hopes that you are well! I think he is trying to ensure his place upon your guard, my lord!"
"Mmm. Be so kind as to return them, will you? And if he is so insistent upon joining my ranks, than be sure to tell him to keep his shield arm strong!"
"No doubt he will! My father tells him the same thing, though he still claims to be the best fighter in his class."
"I have no doubts," he replied. "And how old is Aerden now?"
"Seven, my lord," she answered. "Eight in three months and... five days was it? He has been gamely about it – hardly a day passes without him informing us! The boy is far too anxious to grow up!"
"Far too anxious indeed. I was the same way once, and wish I would have known then what I know now."
"And what would that be, my lord?"
"That the sooner you grow up, the sooner you grow old!"
"Oh!" she replied, having to suppress a small giggle.
"Do you find the plight of my years humorous, dear girl?" he answered, his tone and face hard but his eyes merry.
"No, my lord!" she answered quickly, not fully able to remove the laughter from her eyes. "Of course not!"
He smiled softly, watching her as she made quick excuses and began to tidy the shelves around her. Swiftly she flitted about the room, soft and agile as a nymph, the sound of her sweet laughter carrying through the old library as they continued to speak.
Glad Faramir was for it, as it seemed to be only here that he now found comfort in human company. Five years had it been since Eowyn's passing and each day became harder and lonelier to bear. Were it not for his time spent hidden away here, he questioned his ability to find his way through.
Without conscious knowledge Faramir found himself watching her, smiling gently in contentment. Far was she from Eowyn; softer and gentler was her bearing, finding delight in lore and laughter, not the blunt end of a sword. Had he been a younger man he was sure he could have found happiness with her - were he not bound to Eowyn, owner of his heart eternally.
Still, there was no harm in finding joy in these frequent, innocent trysts. Secretly he had even found himself wishing for her to ensnare his own son's young heart. Were it not for the knowledge that Elboron's natural inclinations always found favour more with his mother's sports than his father's love of learning then he was sure he could find contentment with her, though her blood held no mark of greatness.
"My lord?" she questioned, a slightly look of anxiousness resounding clearly upon her face. "Are you well?"
"Quiet well, my dear," he answered, pushing earlier thoughts out of his mind and bringing his attention back fully to the young woman in front of him.
'If only we had been gifted with many more sons,' he thought wryly, looking upon her fully.
"Here," he finished, reaching for an old, time-worn novel. "This should do for company for a few more days." He smiled warmly at her, a gesture which was swiftly returned. "Until next week, then?"
"As always, my lord," she replied, the gentle smile still not fully faded from her lips. "I shall be waiting!"
He eyed her tenderly, taking in the soft serenity and grace that always accompanied the small, wisp of a creature.
"And so shall I."
He sighed softly, muttering his goodbyes and turning to follow Niron's path out of the library. Behind him Aerdis called out her good will to him for the night, and in his heart he was grateful for it.
Outside the windows of the library the sun could just be seen slipping behind the great hills of the West as he began to descend the long climb down the steps of the tower. He often wondered at his rush; there was little worthwhile in his chambers to return to, yet swiftly he always did. Inside he knew his reason for his quick departure, though he was loath to admit it.
The sooner he left, the sooner he could finish his newest extract from the library's collection, and the sooner he may return. Pathetic as he knew it was, it now seemed the only glimmer of light in an old man's darkness.
He stopped to rest from his descent of the tower and peered silently out the window. Though he tried to push all thoughts of the clerk aside, he found himself repeating her words in his mind.
'I shall be waiting...'
With a lonely, disheartened sigh he pulled away and entered his lavish chambers.
His mind may have rejected the notion of her, yet his heart could not be denied.
Slowly he steered his way through the familiar path, his body groaning in relief as he fell heavily within his favourite arm chair by the fireplace. No thought was given to the book clasped within his hand - only to the young woman, and the words that weighed heavy in his mind.
'And so shall I...'
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