And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen (_redpanda_) wrote in afterthering,
And The Clocks Were Striking Thirteen

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The world was burning.

Around him all was shadow and haze. His arms and legs were like lead, too heavy to move. He took in air with difficulty.

The world was burning.

The nightmare image of his son, scored with wounds and surrounded by fell enemies would not leave him be. To see and be powerless to intervene was a brutal torture.

The world was burning, and from out of the shadows and flame stepped a familiar figure.

Faramir had longed to look on his brother's face for many years. Capricious as his dreams and visions were, though, he was never granted that simple mercy. He had only fading memories to hold on to.

And this was yet another trick of light. It was not his beloved brother who came to his bedside. Shadows yielded the details of his visitor's face, and though the man bore a strong resemblance to Boromir, it was in fact, Denethor... other words, Chapter Eight of DarkRiver's post-trilogy "Heirs Of Arda" is now live online. Comments very much welcome at darkriverrr or smolder. :)
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