VI.  Pilgrimage (Faramir)

Fleeing the flames of a conflagration too terrible to recall, he plunges deep into cool waters.  There he lies in abeyance, seeing a strange star shine far above him.  There was a star, between him and the flames; but it is hard to think clearly and remember any more.   Fires had crackled on the Pelennor; and in a land even darker.  He had heard his father’s voice amidst the roar of other flames and the hiss of smoke, but where and how?  Best not to think on it.  Best to stay hidden under the water, safe from the fires.

But he knows, even in this strange state, that he cannot hide.  He is needed elsewhere.  He fixes his eyes upon that star that winks silver so high and far away.  There was a king who bore the star, a king out of legend but real beyond all doubt. 

Resolving to leave the haven, Faramir rises.  Up through the green depths, up through the reeds, up into the air of day, he rises!  He flies upon wings of silver fire, fire that blazes but does not burn.  He rises, seeking the star of the king!

Faramir opens his eyes, to find himself in his own body.  Instead of silver-flaming wings, he has a bandaged arm and untold bruises and a great weariness.   A Guardsman snores on a pallet by the door.   The scent of medicines pervades the chamber:  poultices and powders, and something else, a cool draught of spring. 

Faramir sinks back on the soft, clean pillows.  The absent sun has returned and shines palely outside the window.  How many have died in the days of darkness, crying for light?    He will face that sorrow later.  Now he remembers that dread dark land.  Now he remembers the return of the King.

Author's Note:

This tri-drabble was rather hastily written; and inspired by the Flight of the Phoenix drabble challenge at the Tolkien Weekly LJ Community.  I also took some inspiration from some of the lines in Maya Angelou's poem "Still I Rise".