The Twelve Days of Tolkien - Drabble Series

On the third day of Christmas, my dear muse sent to me
Faramir’s dream

It was not the first of such prophetic visions, nor likely to be the last. This one, however, differed greatly from its predecessors. Previously, there were symbols – ravens for death, blackness for the encroaching Shadow. No such images this time; only a great voice speaking, neither male nor female, soft, yet commanding.

The voice had spoken of lost heirlooms, a mystical realm, and a forgotten race, things even stranger than any of the strange dreams he was wont to have. The words he could not forget, and surfaced often in his mind. A sign, but he knew not of what.