1. Gandalf/Faramir Drabbles
On the Stair
Lightning flashes hits the coiling stair of the library through the skylight, illuminating a small figure.
It isn't the first time Gandalf has encountered Faramir in the middle of the night.
They both find solace here.
Gandalf joins him. He feels an affinity with the boy, despite the time-span that separates their beginnings; with the ancient dreams that haunt him...and his artless eccentricity.
Faramir has wrapped himself in a cloak and wears boots; both too big.
His brother's probably.
Gandalf looks up. Another burst of lightning falls...past centuries of paper and vellum, and down the long stairwell of his memories.
Early Morning Lesson
The windows are slits of coloured glass in the library wall; tinted light reflects off dust particles between the oak beams...as they move in and out of shadow.
Faramir feels his eyes drift upwards.
Each beam a tree...must have cut down a forest to make that ceiling...
"Faramir?" Gandalf says gently. Faramir blushes; annoyed with himself...his lessons with Gandalf are among the highlights of his year.
Gandalf looks at his student - hair in tangles, bits of vegetation here and there...has he spent the night outside?
He smells of sweat and grass and bewilderment...a young smell in an ancient room.
Gandalf took in the unusual sight of Faramir sleeping across the table; forehead in the crook of his arm...tangles of hair trailing into patches of sunlight.
A homecoming...his brother...the night before.
Gandalf had arrived three days ago, and found, as he did at times, that the City itself prevented him from settling into calm and contemplation - with its hierarchies and ceremonies and subtle power-games played out around the empty throne.
It touched and cheered him strangely to see, for once, a consequence of less control and more exuberance. He would let Faramir sleep it off, safely...and let calm descend.?
The cold spans Minas Tirith like a dome; encrusting the city with crystal rime.
Faramir's eyelashes are stiff with frost as he walks down the library towards Gandalf and the fireplace with cups of hot, strong drink...for greeting the winter solstice.
Nothing is said...but they know it is their last lesson.
The whispers of the library, as from a giant shell, audible through the crackling of pine logs, merges with sounds of forests and rivers in Faramir's mind.
Gandalf looks at him with affection...and a kind of wistful joy. Faramir ignores the burn behind his eyelids and raises his cup.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.