Battle Cries

The midnight playing of fireflies calmed Faramir as he waited for sleep. The night was clear and smelled of apple and cherry blossoms. Faramir turned over on his side. His grey eyes were like the sea after a storm. Soon, dreams flourished within his head and he could not fight sleep any longer....

The smoke cleared as the drumming of feet beat against the solid Earth. There were hundreds of corpses littered about the ground--and the seemingly soon hundred more flowed over the hillside. The smell of death presided over the forest as Faramir peered through the bushes. He watched attentively and carefully as two small hobbits ran past him followed by the Uruk-hai.

Faramir drew his sword in attempt to assist the wee creatures when he abruptly stopped. Down the hill, wielding broad shield and sword, was Boromir. Faramir could not move and was speechless. A single tear rolled down his face as he watched his brother come to the aid of the hobbits. Faramir smiled at his brother's success for only a moment. An arrow whistled by Faramir, causing his attention to turn to the leader of the enemy. He turned back and cried out in horror as Boromir was struck by the second and third arrow.

"Boromir!" he yelled and woke up.

It was the same dream that came to him every night. If not Boromir, then his father disgracing him over and over again.

A soft hand came to his shoulder.

"Faramir?" whispered Eowyn. "Are you all right, my love?"

He clasped his lovely wife in his arms and sighed. "Yes, I am fine."

"Was it the dream again?" she asked, curling her fingers in his fair hair. He did not answer. "Why won't you tell me of him? Why will you not speak to me of Boromir?"

"Let us not speak of this now," Faramir responded. "Soon."