Untitled - BoG-Archive

deterred. He had plenty of time to search.
As he stood to collect his cloak and staff, he heard the door open. From his
place, he could not see the visitor; but he heard the archivist give a courteous
greeting, followed by the voice of a young man. "Pardon me for coming so late! I
promise to be quick, but I must find one thing before you close."
"Of course, my lord," another voice answered, arousing Mithrandir’s
interest. He thought he could guess who the visitor was, for he well remembered,
from his last visit to the city, a small boy who would come to the archive every
day and beg him for tales of his travels. That boy would now be about eighteen
years old, he estimated. Stepping around the corner which blocked his view, he
examined the figure kneeling before a bookcase near the door.
The youth was lean and long-limbed. Dark hair fell to his shoulders and
brushed the embroidered collar of his wine-colored velvet surcoat. He frowned
slightly in concentration as he leaned over a heavy book balanced half on his
knee, half on the edge of the bookshelf. His distinctive profile left no doubt as to
his identity, for not only could Mithrandir see in it traces of the child of several
years before, but it bore a startling resemblance to those of his father and brother.
Faramir seemed to find the information he sought, and he closed the book.
Then suddenly, as if he felt the gaze upon him, he turned his head. "Mithrandir!"
he cried in delight, jumping up to greet the wizard warmly. "I did not know you
were in the city! When did you come?"
"I arrived this morning," Mithrandir replied, not displeased at his
reception. "I have already seen your father; I am surprised he did not tell you."
Something flickered across Faramir's face. "Ah. I have not spoken much
with him today." Changing the subject quickly, he asked, "Will you be at the
festivities this evening? If you are going to the White Tower, I will walk with
you." He slid his book back onto the shelf, and Mithrandir caught sight of the title
in gold letters upon the leather binding: Lives of the Great Generals of Gondor.
"That is not your usual reading," he commented in surprise and some
disappointment.
"No, it is not," Faramir agreed with a half-smile as they moved toward the
door. "A good Mettarë to you all!" he called to the archivists, and then he and
Mithrandir walked into the crisp winter darkness.
Outside, Faramir continued his explanation, his breath making puffs of
steam in the cold air. "Last night, my brother and I were trying to remember
exactly how the troops were disposed in King Eärnil’s defense of South Ithilien—
though of course, he was not king at the time—and how it differed from the
battle of 2885. I promised I would look it up when next I passed the archive."
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