Faramir entered the study with some trepidation. It was a great favor he was about to ask, and one with its own consequences should they accept. The Steward looked them each over carefully: the Orc leaned over the table running his black-clawed finger slowly over maps spread out before him, planning their route, his lips moving over his jagged, rotted teeth as he muttered to himself; the Woman rested her head on her hand, elbow on the table, a large tome open under her nose, her own finger guiding her eyes line by line through legal proceedings and royal decrees dating back centuries.
Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve, Faramir cleared his throat. The sound echoed in the still, silent room.
Sheila raised her head, her tired eyes blinking as she gazed at Faramir questioningly. The Orc grunted, but otherwise paid the Steward no mind.
"Your pardons," Faramir began politely. "Madam, a word if you please?"
"Sure," she replied, pushing the chair back and approaching him. She yawned and roughly rubbed her face. "What's up?"
"My apologies for disturbing your study," he said with a slight bow and incline of the head.
"No trouble," Sheila replied through another yawn. "Sorry. What can I do for you?"
Glancing past her shoulder at the Orc, Faramir's brow furrowed. "I have a... delicate request. I was searching in the Hall of Records for any additional materials that might be of interest to you, and... I found this." He handed over the small embossed leather journal. Sheila's eyes narrowed as she accepted it.
"What's this?"
"It is a diary," he replied. "I believe it should be returned to the author's family, as was her wish. It is long past time her request was honored."
"'Her'?" the woman asked, her brow arching with amusement. "You read a lady's diary? Shame on you, Faramir."
"It does not contain anything of a personal nature," the Steward insisted, his cheeks coloring at her implication. "Well, it is a personal diary, but it was intended to be read by her family." Clearing his throat once again, he continued, "Your aim is to travel at least as far west as the Shire; perhaps you could locate her descendents?"
"Descendents? How old is this?"
"More than a century," Faramir informed her. "I've no idea how it came to be in our collection; her last recorded location was west of Imladris."
"That's a pretty huge distance for one little book to travel all by its lonesome," she observed.
"It may have been found by a Ranger or a trapper... anyone, really," Faramir shrugged. "There is no way to know how many times it changed hands before finding its way here."
Eying him shrewdly, Sheila tilted her head to the side. "What's the catch?"
His eyebrows shot up. "There is no catch. I simply ask a favor..."
"You're asking me, not us, and you're being really quiet about it," she interjected. "Something he shouldn't know about, or do you think he'd object?"
Faramir opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Frowning, he said, "We both know his history. I would understand if you would prefer to... restrict your interactions to those in official capacities. I have no doubt they would be able to locate family members of those mentioned in these pages. You may not be called upon to interview any of the common folk."
"What's this crest?" she asked, smoothing her hand over the raised image.
"I suspect it may be the shield of an important family," he suggested, "though I was not of the impression that Hobbit folk were interested in such things. If I were to venture a guess, I would say it was likely associated with the Brandybucks. See the deer's antlers here?" He pointed to the branching prongs at the top of the crest.
Sheila nodded. "Could be. Well, I think the East Road will make sure we pass through Buckland first anyway, so it's a good place to start. It could be years before we make it all the way out there, though."
"It has waited this long," Faramir reasoned. "What are a few more years. Just... do be careful with it."
"I will make sure it gets there intact," she assured him sincerely. "And I'll find the family. I promise."
"Are you quite certain he will agree?" he asked cautiously.
"Leave him to me," she winked. Looking back over her shoulder, she called out in a falsely sweet, lilting tone, "Shagrat, darling! We have a mission!"
The Orc's head jerked up and he fixed her with a hostile scowl that made Faramir take a step back. "Another one?" Shagrat barked harshly, his voice guttural and deep. "Kul-izg ikhuz krampat ash krampum lorz, agh lat nargzab-izish krampat oshadhûr? Kramp-ta latobgur!"
Sheila turned back to Faramir, a confidently radiant, somewhat smug grin on her face. "He'd love to."
A/N: And so endeth this little vignette! As with everything in my little world, this is just a small part of a much larger story. Or a couple of them. You just never know how many. ;)
Translation:
Kul-izg ikhuz krampat ash krampum lorz, agh lat nargzab-izish krampat oshadhûr? Kramp-ta latobgur! = I am being forced to perform one stupid task, and you want me to do another? Do it yourself!