A Garden of Faramir Drabbles

My head spins. It requires some concentration simply to place one foot before the other. The cries of the throng fill my ears, giving me heart. Only a short walk now across the Citadel...

An unfamiliar voice catches my attention. I turn and stare, for there stands Frodo--or his ghost.

An instant later, I realize it is not Frodo, though this halfling is surely a kinsman. I manage to stammer a question; Mithrandir answers gently, as if I were a child. And Mithrandir should not be here either: Frodo told me he fell. Is the world mad? Am I?