DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

TA 3018

Minas Tirith

The winds howl and cover the East with terrible evil. The clouds darken to black and touch beautiful Arda, burning and charring it. Everything living and glorious fades to lifeless and black. Lighting flashes in the sky, electrifying it like claws. Thunder rumbles, growing continuously louder and frightening all the winged creatures in the air. They fall to the ground, dead. All that remains in the East is blackened earth and bleak, lightening-filled sky.

The darkness soon spreads to the four corners of Arda—lo, in the West. Hope still clings to life, faint though it is. There is a pale light, tinged with blue on the edges, but remaining warm and inviting in the center.

A voice with the strength of a thousand swords comes from the light.

Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.

Faramir opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his chamber. The same dream again. The first time in Ithilien. He'd had it again in Osgiliath. Now in Minas Tirith. Each time it had been so vivid, so real. What was the meaning of it?

He shut his eyes and a hand to his forehead. He'd felt that darkness covering Arda. He'd felt the despair and fear. And at the same time, he felt the hope. It stirred deeply in him, and somehow, he knew that this dream signified what was to come.

He opened his eyes once more and got out of bed. He paced around the length of his chamber, fully awake and very much confused. The dream spoke of strange things. A broken Sword, a token. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. A Halfling.

Long ago, Mithrandir had taught him about all the races of Middle Earth. He knew about Elves and Dwarves and Ents, but Halflings? No one had seen them in so long, they had faded into lore and children's tales. Now though, in the pale light of the Moon, he dismissed his doubts and decided to trust the dream.

The dream said the Sword was in Imladris. He stopped pacing and shook his head to clear the bombardment of thoughts. Imladris?

Confused, he walked over to his window and stared across the mountains. He saw the red fires of Mordor burning far away. Imladris. He was very familiar with the lore of Middle Earth, but never once had he heard of Imladris. Why had Mithrandir never mentioned it?

His excitement now faded to confusion. Why would he receive a dream about a place that never existed? And what Sword was the dream speaking of? But Imladris! He had to know. Who would know where Imladris was? He threw a cloak over his shoulders and lit a lantern. He couldn't wait till morning to search the archives. Quietly, he slipped through the halls and levels of Minas Tirith until he reached the archives.

As he'd known, there were no guards positioned about the archives. He put his hand on the door handle and turned.

"Who's there?" Boromir's hoarse voice came from within, sounding muffled.

Amazed, Faramir opened the door and slipped inside, then shut the door. "Boromir?" he stared at his brother. "What are you doing here?"

Boromir's eyes were filled with determination and burned with questions. "I could ask the same of you!" he chuckled and put a scroll on a nearby table. "You nearly did give me a scare."