As the King ordered him, Faramir shut the door to his office and made his way to the Citadel Library. Though he was reluctant to leave so much unfinished work, the idea of arguing a story with Pippin was certainly more appealing. Anticipation made his stride quick and light.
Past discussions with the hobbit reminded him so much of Boromir. In their younger days, the two brothers would often deliberate over the books they read together. More often than not, these 'serious' debates broke down into laughing fits over who could invent the most ludicrous scenes and endings. Both Boromir and Faramir were blessed with wild imaginations and could weave the most preposterous flights of fancy.
To his delight, Faramir found, so many years later, that Pippin had much the same ability to concoct the most far-fetched plot twists and finales. Man and hobbit would be so far off the story's mark, that they could do nothing more than giggle themselves to tears. Though neither ever said so, both were greedy for those tears of happiness.
As the Steward made his way along the corridor, he was able to stop a servant and request that food and drink be delivered to the Library.
"All has already been arranged, my lord," was the maiden's cheery reply, "a great feast awaits you!"
Of course Pip would make sure there was plenty of refreshment. Faramir's mouth began to water, for Pip knew well all of his favorite foods. Both had learned the other's likes while healing together after the war.
During that exhausting time, Faramir often had no appetite and much to everyone's worry found it difficult to eat. It was Pippin who seemed able to choose the right enticement and coax his friend into accepting a savory tidbit or sweet. Gandalf had once jokingly asked the hobbit what manner of magic he employed to select the very thing that would interest the young man.
Pippin had merely shrugged and matter-of-factly stated, "No magic, his brother guides me."
None questioned or was surprised at the "Little One's" wise reply.
Faramir rounded the last corridor and came to an abrupt stop. While most of the long hallway was dark and quiet, warm flickering light and animated voices spilled out from the open door of the Citadel Library. It was obvious that Pippin was not alone.
As Faramir crept closer, the voices became clearer and more recognizable. He hesitated for a moment before gently pushing the door open wider. He swallowed hard as tears began to well. The sight before him caused his heart to burst with joy.
Eyes shimmering, Faramir stepped into what had always been his sanctuary. Once again, in the enormous fireplace, cheery flames danced a comforting, lively, glow around the room. Lying on the plush rug before it, Aragorn and Merry were sharing a book on what appeared to be various healing herbs. As Aragorn spoke, Merry took copious notes and nodded his understanding. Both looked up at Faramir in greeting before turning back to book and papers.
Entranced, Faramir moved deeper into the room. On the velvet settee, Arwen and Sam were wrapped in the worn soft blanket that he and Bori had often shared. Across their lap lay a book on Elvish gardens. Sam pointed excitedly to a sketch of a flower he had planted at Bag End just before leaving on the Quest.
"Imagine...the very same blossom growing in Rivendell and the Shire!" the Gardener wondered aloud as he and Arwen happily gazed up at the young man.
Faramir smiled in return and glanced at the little table next to the velvet settee. There sat a plate of freshly baked honey cakes and a bowl of deep red apples. One already had a small nibble in it. Pip-tested for quality assurance...no doubt. He reached for it and took a bite himself. Reveling in its sweet, juicy, coolness, he continued to stroll around the room.
A feast had indeed been laid out on the large worktable. Faramir saw too that many of his own favorites were arrayed in a display sure to tempt. But it was the snorts and snickers from underneath the table that drew his attention. The Steward crouched down and peaked under the thick tabletop. There on his back lay Frodo looking up as though he were reading something there on the bottom of the table itself.
With a sudden "whump" as he plopped down, Faramir remembered all the inappropriate drawings and epitaphs that he and Bori had carved into that very table such a long childhood ago.
"Oh my!" whispered the now embarrassed Steward as he covered his eyes.
"Oh my, indeed, my lord!" whispered back the completely charmed Frodo.
"What would Samwise think of your quality if he saw these? For shame man of Gondor!" cornflower blue eyes relished the tease.
"Shhhhh! It was raining that day. Bori and I were...well...bored!" defended the young man.
"Oh I see...a change in weather turns sweet, innocent, boys into property defacing hooligans. Yes, I can see how that could happen," Frodo could not keep the slight titter in his voice under control.
But Faramir ever the clever man, quickly turned the table...so to speak.
"You were a young hobbit once. Surely there must be many tales of your own youthful misdeeds? And really...who allows Merry and Pippin to get away with murder? I wonder also who they get some of their outrageous schemes from? Hmmmmm...perhaps Mithrandir might remember a time when you behaved like a hool..."
"Alright! Alright! Your point is made. But I know the truth about you, Sir! You are not so sweet and innocent as one is led to believe...and...you...are a rather bad artist. Is this meant to be a horse's arse?"
Faramir took a closer look and frowned, "Yes, that is a horse's arse and Bori drew it. I was responsible for most of the ahem poetry."
Frodo choked, "Poetry! You call this poetry? Lewd limericks...yes...and very good ones...but poetry...no...never."
"Oh...so now you are an expert art and literature critic? Bori and I were but 17 and 12 at the time and we were being rather silly if I recall. I would like to see you try to do better, Master Baggins. By the by, what are you doing under the table in the first place?" hissed the slightly affronted Steward.
"Ha! No changing the subject and I most certainly could write and draw better than this, even after quite a few ales I might add," challenged the Ringbearer.
For a moment Faramir seemed to consider, causing Frodo to eye him nervously. Then the young man stood up allowing Frodo to only see his lower legs. The hobbit feared he had offended his friend by pushing the jest too far. Just as he was about to scoot forward and reach for Faramir's leg, the young man crouched down again. Frodo saw that Faramir held a full tankard of ale obviously poured from the table above them. With a foolish grin the young man placed the drink on the floor near the hobbit. Then he pulled a small knife from his boot and handed it to Frodo handle first.
"Now that you are grown and have had too much duty laid squarely upon your shoulders, do you not sometimes wish to be childish and irresponsible again?"
Frodo nodded mesmerized by the idea of being free to do as he pleased.
Faramir crawled under the table with him. The man searched about and seemed to come across what he was looking for.
"Here...Bori and I carved our initials here. Only recently have I laughed as hard as we did on that day. I do not remember why we ended up under this table either. But here we lay together carving the most foolish things. If we were caught...well...it does not matter now."
Faramir turned to an enraptured Frodo, "So, Frodo, Ringbearer of the Nine Fingers, make your mark, here, next to ours. Then prove to me that you can indeed draw and write better than the descendents of the House of Hurin...even after a few ales."
Frodo stared in disbelief. Surely Faramir had taken leave of his senses. But then the beleaguered hobbit caught the look of playful encouragement in his friend's countenance.
It seemed to say, "you have accomplished a most horrible thing...now come do this, for you need reminding that a thing may still be done simply for the pleasure of it."
Frodo looked at the knife in his disfigured hand and with delight looked over at the goblet of ale. Faramir picked it up and helped him take a delicious, quenching, sip. Then with some determination the halfling began to carve another "F" next to the initials already embedded in the wood.
With Frodo embarking on a quest of a different sort, Faramir crawled out from under the table. Hushed words caught his attention. Looking towards a row of bookshelves, Legolas and Gimli were clearly arguing.
"Are you having trouble choosing something to read?"
Legolas and Gimli glanced up as Faramir stepped closer to them.
"Aye, we thought to do as you and Pippin and read something together," chimed the Elf Prince.
"But this sentimental tree hugger wishes to read of lost loves reunited and other such flowery nonsense," snorted the Dwarf Lord.
"And my stout admirer of rocks wishes to read of slaying and dark, dank caves," retorted Legolas priggishly.
Before the argument could start anew, Faramir tried to broker a peaceful solution, "If you allow me, I may have the perfect choice."
Legolas and Gimli blinked and looked at each other. Then as one, both turned to the young Steward and nodded their agreement. Faramir began to peruse the bookshelf. Finally, he reached high in an upper corner and pulled out a small text not previously noticed by elf or dwarf. The unassuming volume was well worn. Obviously, it was a much read, much loved book.
"I think you will find that this has what you both seek," Faramir continued as he handed it gently to Gimli, "it is actually about an elf and dwarf who become great friends."
Legolas and Gimli smiled at each other. Indeed it was the perfect choice.
"It was our favorite story. Boromir and I read it every year. At around this very time as a matter of fact."
Both elf and dwarf laid a light touch on Faramir's arm and hand calling him back to the present. It was Legolas who spoke.
"Gimli and I are sure to cherish it as much as you and Boromir. Thank you for sharing it with us, my friend."
And they did cherish it for many years to come. Faramir gifted the book to Legolas and Gimli when they departed on their travels around Middle Earth. It gave comfort and reminded elf and dwarf of loved ones as they sailed the deep blue sea to the Grey Havens. Many an elf on the far shore did also count it as a favorite and felt it best to read the tale with a friend.
Once Faramir saw to it that Legolas and Gimli were huddled comfortably together on a well-cushioned window seat, he moved farther down the aisle, to where as Wizard's pupil, he did so often annoy Mithrandir. There in a familiar overstuffed chair sat the Istari turning page after page of an ancient tome.
"You never did annoy me, boy."
No longer surprised that Gandalf knew exactly what he was thinking, Faramir replied, "Truly? I find that hard to believe, old man."
"Well, perhaps you did just a little. Come see what it is I read."
Faramir stepped closer and perched himself on the arm of the chair. Pipeweed, nutmeg and fireworks were the fond scents he would always associate with this being who was more father to him than Denethor. He had always known that after Boromir, Mithrandir loved him best. And as he knew when his brother parted from him, this would likely be the last time he saw the Wizard in Arda.
"Do you know what I have here?"
"It is the written history of the Stewards of Gondor."
"Correct, now let me turn to the back pages. Ah, here we are. What do you see?"
"The pages are blank, Mithrandir."
"Nay, my son, they are full of the great deeds and rich history that the 27th Steward of Gondor will bring about at the side of his beloved friend and brother, the King."
Faramir glanced towards Aragorn, who at the same moment peered back. After giving a cheeky wink, the King returned his attention to Merry. And Faramir knew...knew without doubt that Mithrandir spoke the truth. The years to come would be fulfilling and happy.
"You will not be here to see it so. Nor do I believe will Frodo."
"There are many who will not be here, my dear boy", thoughtful aged eyes glanced through bushy white brows, "that does not necessarily mean we will not see it so."
Faramir's sharp blue eyes snapped to Wizard's mirthful ones. Then in one liquid movement he dropped down to press a gentle kiss to Gandalf's cheek.
"I love you, old man."
"And I you, my Wizard's pupil," Gandalf pulled away with a suspicious sniffle, "now go, before the rapscallion out on the balcony bursts with impatience."
Though their own handclasp lingered, the Wizard knew nothing would keep the young man from the hobbit who now filled the "in between" spaces of a heart almost broken. The draw was strong, just as it was so many years ago. Then between two brothers so tied to each other, now between two friends just as intertwined.
As he finally reached the balcony, Faramir drew a startled breath. Various cushions and rugs were arranged invitingly. Several lanterns were strewn about to provide good reading light. And there, just at the center of the cozy seating area was Pip, carefully plumping a pillow three times his size.
At the sound of his Steward's small gasp, the devoted Knight turned around. Immediately sage green eyes began to dance with glee. Reaching down Pip grabbed a book and opened it to where a gull feather marked the last page read. Book in one hand, feather in the other, the thrilled hobbit ran to the young man and began to jump about.
Surely woven by some enchantment, the past mingled and tantalized with the present at the sound of Pippin's lilting voice.
"Faraaaaa...pleeeeease...read to me...please...please!"
Fin
