Untitled - BoG-Archive
Untitled - BoG-Archive
Untitled - BoG-Archive
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No, he couldn’t have invented something like that. Somebody had<br />
tampered with the page. Very old ink would flake off parchment just like paint<br />
did; he’d seen books where it had happened.<br />
It must have been the old man. The man who was like Mithrandir, and yet<br />
unlike.<br />
Faramir shivered. He had his secret, but there was no pleasure in it any<br />
more; it was like a weight on his stomach. He wished Mithrandir would come<br />
back and relieve him of the pain of it, but perhaps he never would.<br />
82<br />
<br />
‘You’re looking seedy, youngster,’ said Boromir next morning. ‘Too much<br />
studying is bad for you, I always said so. And I hope you don’t intend to spend<br />
the rest of the week skulking in the archives with this loremaster, the way you<br />
always did with old Mithrandir.’<br />
‘No, I don’t,’ answered Faramir, surprised at his own vehemence. Nothing,<br />
he realised, would induce him to go near the turret room as long as there was a<br />
chance of meeting the stranger there.<br />
Boromir looked at him quizzically. ‘In that case, why don’t we beg a free<br />
day from Father and go riding? You can ride Thoron, if you like.’ He grinned.<br />
‘With my permission this time.’<br />
‘Good idea.’ Faramir grinned back. He would not be telling his secret to<br />
Boromir; it wasn’t the sort of thing Boromir understood. It never mattered<br />
whether Boromir understood or not; it was enough that he cared. And he was<br />
now. Isildur and all his works belonged to the far past; they could be left to the<br />
seekers after ancient learning.