#also may I propose: elrond arriving in valinor with like an entire extra ship of just records of middle earth

[tanoraqui]

ficlet scrap of Song:

After three children of his own blood, dozens more fostered or at least uncled, and two Ages of ruling or helping rule a great many elves who veered sharply between utmost and absolutely no respect at all for things like “the privilege of rank”, Elrond was no stranger to having his door unexpectedly slammed open by someone fervently shouting his name.

He hadn’t quite expected it of the just-appointed, still-healing Steward of Gondor, who’d thus far seemed to be notably circumspect for his young age. But here Faramir son of Denethor stood, wide-eyed and several hairs flying out of place, panting as though he’d just sprinted up the stairs. (Elrond frowned. That wasn’t healthy yet—the effects of the Black Breath lingered; Faramir was pale, sweat beading on his brow.)

“You’re taking your library?” Faramir cried, loudly enough to echo throughout the Tower of Guard’s royal guest quarters. “The Library of Imladris, legendary greatest, most comprehensive collection in the world of the history of Middle Earth and all its people?! Is it true— Ar— The Queen said, Lord Elrond, is it true that not only do you mean to sail West soon, but when you do, you will take the whole Library with you?! Ai, why did I let Boromir take my place!”

He was distraught in the utmost, betrayed, alarmed, disappointed and aggrieved as though the Black Tower had risen again overnight and resumed belching fumes.

“I had planned to,” Elrond admitted, as he took the pale, panting young man by the arm and led him to a seat. “It has long been my thought that I collected the records of Middle Earth for my kin across the sea as much as for any in these mortal lands, that they might know what had passed here, deeds great and small alike. Copies have been made and shared over the years of many of the tomes, but usually just of the more exciting ones—the histories of wars and such. I will not say I have not grieved that, say, the farming records of Imladris or a traveller’s account of Umbar from the reign of Eärnur are less requested by scholars—though I myself have grown weary of the farming records at times! But this is a new Age—”

“Not so new!” Faramir interrupted him with a shout (though he did let himself be seated). “Forgive me, but not so new that we need not care for the past—indeed, now we need its wisdom more than ever! If that is the sort of scholars you have in the north, alas that you didn’t come south sooner!”

“I see that now!” Elrond said, and tried not to laugh in either amusement or affectionate academic fellowship, lest he cause offense. “Well, I assure you that I don’t mean to sail tomorrow, nor this next year—though I cannot say how long I will tarry beyond that. But I will gladly pack Imladris’s library last, and until the last scroll is gone, it shall be open to all those who wish to learn, or to copy what they can. Perhaps even after I’ve left—there are those who will sail later still, whom I’m sure can be borne upon to ferry a few last books.”

“My lord, I myself—augh, but there is so much to do here!”

Faramir rubbed his face, then gripped Elrond’s arm and swore with such intensity that there might’ve been the light of ancient Trees in his grey eyes.

“I will have 20 of Minas Tirith’s finest scribes at your doorstep as quickly as horses can bear them, and 30 more the week after that, if you will house them all. Or if you won’t—I know people, I’ve studied with them, from Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth, Lebennin and Lamedon and all the fiefs. For this, the scholars of Gondor will camp in the woods!”

[also on AO3]