III.  Ranger's Dawn (Faramir)

As the darkness fades, the dawn comes in cold and pale over the nest of sleeping Rangers.   Faramir rises from his brief rest, stretches the stiffness out of his limbs.  He looks over his men and frowns.  They are all weary.  There have been too many skirmishes and not enough Rangers to cover the borders and the River.  The Enemy’s forces are massing.  The Southrons are coming in force with their great mûmakil.  All Faramir has to counter them are the valor and courage and lives of his Rangers, and the strategies he can devise – which will not suffice. 

And yet, and yet…One cannot live out every day in dread.  Despair is as vicious a foe as any Orc.  Faramir knows he may one day die beneath an onslaught of foes too great to repel or outwit.  But he will not yield to despair.  So he hoards scraps of beauty and light in his heart, savoring their memory, delighting in new appearances.  Now Faramir raises his head, to seize with hungry eyes, the gleam of Eärendil’s bright star in the grey-streaked heavens. 

His men awaken.   The perilous day, then another long night, awaits them all.  And their Captain is ready.

Author's Note: 

This ficlet was originally posted to the Henneth-Annun email list on October 23, 2009; in honor of the birthday of Isabeau of Greenlea.