AN: Not mine. A little prequel piece, as the bunny strikes. The L-space Theory and all Disc characters are Pratchett's, the Hurins and the Silm are Tolkien's.

Books equal Knowledge

What it all came down to, in the end, was the picture book. Faramir loved that story, the florid script, and the colorful insets that burned the tales of the great heroes onto his young mind. He could pour over a single illustration for hours on end, imagining himself in the place of Beren, or Turin, or Glorfindel the elf. And sometimes, although he did not like his brother to see it, he would pretend to be Huan, the hound, or Daeron, the minstel who recorded these great tales. Boromir would think him dull, for his elder brother would fidget during their bedtime stories, and sometimes beg to skip "the boring parts" of Beren meeting his Luthien, or Turin's long years of wandering. Their mother would agree to this, provided that Boromir was willing to read the next three pages for her. While the time that Boromir spent faltering with the longer words allowed Faramir plenty of time to look at the dragon Glaurung, his missed being able to see the woodlands, and the elf-woman dancing through them that was almost as pretty as his mother.

Knowledge equals Power

He would whimper sometimes, as Boromir read aloud, but he would always insist on getting to see the pictures. Faramir had often wished to be just like his big brother when he grew up, but the younger boy did not understand how Boromir could spend all his time looking at the frightening dragon and Morgoth on his dark throne without being so scared. There was always the calming voice of their mother, gently correcting Boromir in soothing tones when he missed a word in his urge to speed through the tale, but Faramir thought that they would both benefit quite a bit from getting to see more of Luthien and Nienor instead of just the scary orcs.

Power equals Energy

And so, he had taken upon himself the noble quest to find the book and show his brother the beauty to be found along with the adventure. Hearing about the library as being full of books, Faramir decided that this would be the best place to begin his search. There were so many books here, on shelves that would tower even above his father's head, that the boy didn't know where to start. He tugged a low-shelved volume off the bookcase, but there weren't any pictures at all in it! Mildly discouraged, Faramir toddled onwards, leaving the book open on the floor. He had repeated this process several times, but with no more luck than his first trial. Now, Faramir realized that he had become thoroughly disoriented. Tired from the work of lifting books and climbing shelves, the little boy sat down and began to cry. This, however, produced no loving parent to scoop him up in its arms and kiss him, nor older brother to hold his hand, offer him a sweetie, and walk him back to the nursery, nor even a servant to find him and scold him for wandering off by himself.

Energy equals Matter

Drying his eyes, Faramir tried to think of what his big brother would do. Boromir would not sit here mewling; he would try to find his way out by remembering which books he had left where. However, this did not work so well for Faramir, for he was not yet old enough to know how to read, and most of the books covers were the same dull brown, with little differences in their bindings that Faramir could make out. His mother had always told him that books were his friends, but right now the annals of history did not look very congenial. Faramir was scared, but since he had decided that his brother certainly wouldn't have shown fear, he wouldn't, either. Sucking his thumb resolutely, he turned down a new corridor of the library.

Matter equals Mass

When he saw the tall figure in austere black robes, Faramir knew he was at last on the right track. "Ada," he called, tugging upon the man's hem and holding his arms out to be picked up.

"My Lord? Is that yours?" The aide considered the toddler distastefully, but the man in black simply turned and crouched to look Faramir sardonically in the eye. The boy stared gravely back, his thumb returning to his mouth.

"Can we help you sir?" The squatting man offered him a smile, but this was not Faramir's father. The robes and the height were the same, but the eyes were a bright blue, not his father's familiar steely gray.

"Wan' Ada," Faramir stated, as boldly as he could. He should have brought Boromir with him, but Faramir would not have been able to sneak out of the nursery if their governess had not been so busy with his brother at the time. Still, Boromir would have come up with some better plan than he had formed.

"And who is "Ada," boy?" the aide sniffed. Faramir decided that this fellow must be very stupid.

"A-da," he repeated more slowly, for the standing man's benefit. "My Ada." He looked to the man in black for assistance. If he dressed like the Steward, Faramir decided, he would probably know Denethor very well.

"And who would you be, son?" the taller man asked.

"Sir, do we really have time for this? Surely the boy's mother shall be along to collect him shortly." The other man looked about the library for salvation in the form of some other servant.

"Quite possibly. However, I like to keep these things running smoothly. It would be poor manners not to help a fellow searcher find what he is looking for, now, would it not?" The aide's smile trembled as the taller man stood, brushing off his robes. "Ah, but my knees are not cut out for this sort of work anymore," the blue-eyed man sighed. The aide looked even more frightened. "What was that again, young sir?"

Faramir was a bit confused. He had not yet told the man his name. He supposed that was simply one of the foibles of adults. His father sometimes missed what he had said when he was talking with other grown-ups, although Denethor always seemed to know more than he had first let on about what Faramir was saying, especially if Faramir really meant to not let his father know about that vase that he and Boromir had knocked over. Standing up straight, he took his thumb out of his mouth to introduce himself as he had been taught to. "Far'mir son Den'thor," he said in his most formal talking-to-adults voice. He then popped the wet digit back into his mouth, musing over how adults listened even when they weren't really listening. "Who're you?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, Far'mir son of Den'thor, my name is Havelock. I take it you are eager to get home?" Faramir nodded, deciding that it would be all right not to correct Havelock's pronouciation for now. "I know someone who might be able to help you, but you'll have to promise me that you won't call him a monkey. He doesn't like it very much."

"What's a monkey?" Faramir asked.

"A primate with a tail," the man said, picking him up.

"C'n I see a picture?" Faramir asked hopefully. Maybe, even if he couldn't find the book on Luthien, he would come out ahead on this adventure.

"We'll see if we can't find you anything," Havelock assured him. "Squonters?" he nodded towards the aide.

"Yessir," the man said, taking off in search of a copy of Illustraited Guyde tew thee Anymals of thee Disk.

Mass equals Space

Faramir didn't know how anyone could have confused the Librarian with a monkey. He certainly didn't have a tail. His governess smacked his fingers for running off and making up tales, but when the boy was returned to the nursery, Boromir quite agreed that it was a very fine picture book. He especially liked the swamp dragons, but Faramir's favorite was the four minature Oliphants standing atop the turtle. How tiny they must be to fit on the small shell! And still they were strong enough to hold a circular contoured map, with little people placed upon it.

Space equals Time

On that little toy landscape, atop those four minature elephants, on the turtle's shell, the tall man in black walked out of the largest library in existence. The Librarian had not only taken Faramir home, but also had been kind enough to show Havelock the path between the shelves. Havelock had come searching for a certain book, but he had found a much better resource in the process. Stepping into his carriage, the Patrician licked his thumb and forefinger before flipping open the private diary. He would have to bring The Servant over sometime for comparison.