"What do you mean? You once proclaimed yours to be the most extensive collection in all the Western kingdoms."
"Yes, my young lord. But—"
"Then why have you no manuscripts on the race of Halflings?"
"I may be able to retrieve some scrolls from the archives, if that pleases you. But may I ask, why the sudden interest?"
"No particular reason," Faramir answered the scholar. "I must go to my lessons, but please send word when the scrolls arrive."
"As you wish."
Faramir strode from the court library into the stone-lined hallway, the walls echoing with every step he took. Frankly, he was not looking forward to the coming lesson. His weapons master had told him he was ready for the next level of training, and an evaluation was in order. Evaluations usually meant hordes of onlookers, as well as his father. Faramir was an able warrior, perhaps not as dazzling as his elder brother, but promising nonetheless. His father, though, seemed to only notice his every deficiency; he was too studious, too cautious, too weak.
Sighing in sorrow, the young man reached the armory and began putting his armor pieces on. The weapons master entered the room shortly after. He was an older, graying man past his prime for the battlefield but skilled enough in technique to engage in training. At first glance, his drawn face and strong brow might have suggested an angry, sullen man, but Faramir knew beneath the surface was a gruff, gentler man longing for peace.
"Good, you are here," the master said. "Today, your evaluation will begin. If you should succeed, you will join the ranks of Gondor's finest soldiers."
"I am ready," Faramir responded. "What is my task?"
"Come," the older man said in response, leading the way to the courtyard. "The patrol awaits."
"The patrol?" Faramir echoed. He had little time to wonder at the connection between a patrol and his evaluation as the courtyard was only a small distance away. There stood a six-man party, lightly armed.
"Faramir, your task is to accompany this scouting party to the eastern borders near the River Anduin. After a week, return to the White City and report on activity in the area. You are to depart immediately. Your horse and provisions are being brought here as we speak."
"Yes, sir," Faramir nodded. He tried to maintain a calm appearance as a future captain of Gondor ought to look. But on the inside he could hardly contain his anticipation. An entire week out from under the watchful eye of his father and older brother, and a chance to go on a patrol! To be certain, a patrol was no picnic, but it was frequently among the soldiers and rangers that Faramir felt most at home. They had little care for courtly manners and high ambitions, favoring instead the values of valor and loyalty.
In less than an hour, the group of seven had left the city behind them, riding east at a slow trot. The men had clearly patrolled with one another before, as evidenced by their good-natured camaraderie. Faramir had remained silent for the most part, however, preferring to observe the dynamics of the group first. He was riding at the rear, and closest to him was the second youngest member of the party, who also was rather quiet. Further ahead were three seasoned soldiers, comfortable in their saddles and in their positions. They were relishing the opportunity to ride in the open air, having been assigned to guard duty on the city walls for the past month. At the head of the column were the leader and his lieutenant, deep in conversation. At length, Faramir resolved to make conversation with his silent companion.
"Which part of the eastern border will we be patrolling?" he asked.
"I have heard we are to cross the River," the young man replied. He was clean-shaven and not much older than Faramir, perhaps Boromir's age. Sandy brown hair blew in his eyes with the wind, and he had a ready smile that was not yet tinged with battle hardiness.
"Across the River? To Ithilien, you mean?" Faramir inquired.
"That is indeed our path," one of the older men answered. They had sharp hearing, Faramir resolved, as the two youths were many paces behind them.
"Have you seen that land?" Faramir yelled, the distance and the breeze compelling him to yell. The three older men slowed their horses so Faramir and his companion could draw level with them. Then the first man who had called back to them answered.
"Twice I have been there. Once when I was on my first patrol, just like you. Another time when the Rangers asked for reinforcements. It is a beautiful land, my lord. Beautiful but dangerous," he recalled.
"My grandfather had a farm there when he was a young man. Then the Shadow came to Mordor and he fled across the River with my grandmother," another chimed in.
"I myself have never been there, but it is a true testing ground of all our abilities. Only the hardiest warriors choose to stay here, guarding our city from the enemy in this thankless task," the third commented.
"Why is our party patrolling the border, then?" Faramir's young companion asked. "Are there not soldiers or Rangers better able to perform the task?"
Before any of the other men could answer, they were halted to rest and water the horses.
The leader tossed his waterskin at Faramir.
"Youngest one fills them all," he laughed, but not unkindly. Faramir stood up from where he was sitting and set off to find a spring. As he stepped further from their resting place, he breathed in the fresh air. It was tainted neither by the Shadow of the Eye to the east, nor by the squalor and stench that sometimes filled his beloved city. Yes, they were entering a beautiful land.
"Faramir!" he heard one of the men call teasingly. "Have you gotten lost on your first day already?"
Faramir laughed. During the few short hours together, he already felt he could trust his companions and share meals with them. He was looking forward to the remainder of the week.
"Nay, Beregond," he shouted back. "I am sorry to disappoint you in that regard."
