First and above all the usual disclaimer: none of the characters bound to appear here, are really mine, but Tolkiens

This is my first step in writing something like fan-fiction, so as you can imagine, reviews are more than gladly taken (especially since I have to excuse myself for spelling and grammar mistakes in advance – I'm not a native english speaker, so there might be flaws in me using that language to write this story – I can but try)...

The story will (I think, since I know my tendency to get diverted when writing) more or less cover the Houses-of-Healing episode – maybe later on there will be a bit of stuff of my own but frankly I haven't decided yet....

Fire walk with me

The last battle on the dawn of mankind...

Fire and blood, and screams and pain...

Fire walk with me... walk with me and send me to hell

Moving without knowing, he felt his sword meet resistance, felt it moving through something, a body falling dead to his feet, one more... just one more

He turned to face destruction in flame, as people became schemes and spectres, dissolving in the endless pits of fire around him.

He saw the end coming, knowing with the certainty, that only dreams can bring, that it was his fault. Heart wrenched in terror, he watched as everything became fire... then blackness

Then nothing

A vast plane not existing, as he was drifting alone, not feeling, not seeing.

His soundless screams echoed and found no answer.

"NO!"

He awoke, not quite being able to keep the whisper from leaving his lips, from echoing through the room like a ghost of a forgotten time. Reality took its time to get hold of him, only reluctantly the dream receded, spitting him out from the utter nothingness to the earthly darkness of his room. He could feel his heart beating in something, that very closely resembled panik as his eyes darted around in the futile attempt to find either salvation or doom from the nightly horror.

By now, he should know better...

The hour of the wulf...

The darkest hour of the night, the hour of specters and nightmares... he had known it before.

Maybe this was the price. His step had been steady as he was marching into a battle he knew, he could not win. Neither the battle for Gondor... nor the battle for the acknowledgement he yearned for most.

But seemingly he was doomed to let his father pass with the cold glare he had given him upon his depart to be his farewell bidding forever. The chance was gone... and Faramir, now Steward of Gondor, fearing and despising the need to take this office now in lack of another, a better man, would not bring it back, as much as he wanted to.

It seemed, that he should face death alone, in the grey nothingness that his dreams promised.

So be it.

He brought his trembling hands to his face, carelessly wiping away raven strands, that stuck to his forehead covered in sweat. The dream hat not been worse than many, but maybe it was the situation that unsettled him even more, that brought his defences down in an instant.

Is this the strength of the Stewart of Gondor? How poor and doomed a people we must be then...

Peace would not come that night. He lay awake, his eyes trying to pierce the dark. He fixed his eyes on the eastern sky, that could be seen through the window, clouds hanging over the mountains talking of doom.

It was the end of days...

He remembered the dream, and nothing, that surrounded him, neither the silence, nor what he could discern in the east was made to make the dream go away..

Fire walk with me...

We will be friends, ere the end comes