He walks in sleep; many times at night
Does he turn 'twixt pillars, pace the floor,
And mutter soft words; haunted eyes
Rove white halls, high tow'rs,
Searching, hunting, ever-seeking
Caught in webs of dreams.
Night-walker, poet, quiet dreamer,
Younger-son, reluctant; lordly-Faramir.
Too slow, perchance, to war and anger;
For all that, yet a worthy man.
He walks, 'neath the blue-black night,
Thinking- dreams haunt him now,
Light in the West, a hand that heals,
Voice afar-off cries
In Imladris, a broken sword,
And counsels good and wise.
Legends, halflings forth shall stand
And change the world -
Then Boromir wakes.
Tousled-hair, sleepy-eyed, yet
Quietly concerned - 'What, Faramir!
Not abed, at this hour? For is't not
Unwholesome to wander, when art not
Yet well? But withal, art troubled.'
Faramir speaks: he is troubled indeed,
Yet will not tell all - for afraid is he
That his brother, scorning poets and
Petty fancies, the like of which Faramir's seen often,
Will mock, and dismiss, and cry 'Faugh!'
But when he tells, and asks what to do -
Boromir is silent - for he has dreamt too.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.