Characters: Faramir, Aragorn
Disclaimer: Tolkien created this place and characters, Kortirion adds but small additions.
He held out his left hand, trying to feel if there was anything to his side, any wall, or anything of substance, to anchor himself to in this heavy, thick grey fog. Nothing.
He paused and tried to orientate himself – how had he come here? WHEN had he come here? Try as he might, he couldn’t answer those questions. He fought down the rising panic…
Concentrate Faramir! If you can’t see, can you hear…? Anything?
Nothing. But… something… distant, a drumming sound, very muffled,
…maybe running feet? Over… grassland, perhaps? Something that dulled the sound… now they were running faster!
Carefully he pushed his right foot forward, aware he could barely see the ground. It seemed solid, but what was ahead?
…And what behind?
Should he stand and face …it …them? No, running was no option – he couldn’t see where or what was around him.
Stand. Stand. Stand and face… forward or from behind?
The dull thudding increased. Vibrations ran through him, along his arms to his outstretched hands - I don’t have a sword!
He swallowed hard, realising his mouth was parched, his tongue was wool in his mouth…
Louder, louder… suddenly discovering the pounding was his horror-struck heartbeats.
Faramir gasped aloud… fear and relief coursed through his body. He grabbed his chest with both hands, as if pressing his heart would make it less unruly.
Very gradually the throbbing eased; breathing he hadn’t realised was laboured, slowed. He made a conscious effort to draw air into his lungs. Briefly closing his eyes to concentrate on stilling himself… still aware he was contained by impenetrable murk.
But when he opened his eyes… there was something there, really something…
Light, a star in the fog, the clinging mist fled from it…
He glimpsed a North Star, come to guide him…
He heard his name called as if from a great distance, and a shape coalesced out of the murk; a tall man who seemed to bear a star on his breast.
“Lord…” Faramir heard himself croak.
The man-shape held out a hand. Suddenly anguish and dull, heavy pain left him; Faramir took a step forward. Immediately, rolling, dank fogs blew across him, borne on the harsh cold of an east wind; Faramir shivered, his sliding footsteps halted.
The star returned, became clearer, until Faramir glimpsed a grave face with grey eyes.
“Come, Faramir… We go home.”