Healing

It hurts to keep his eyes shut. Instead, they trace the cracks of the ceiling, obscure in darkness.

The Houses of Healing they call it, but he has found no healing here, haunted by smoke and flame and his father's face.

Sighing, he pushes aside the sheets and stumbles to the window. Looking out, he sees her. She stands on the wall and looks eastward to shadow, hair stirred in the wind, stance proud, if weary.

She can't sleep either, he realizes, and something shifts in his heart, watching her.

She returns inside. He lingers at the window, thinking.

Foresight

A huge wave rises in the south, greater than the mountains. As it draws closer, it becomes dark and festering, the water laced with blood.

He tries to cry out, but he can't speak; his throat works, but no noise escapes. He is on top of the White Tower, and he sees the people of the city carrying on with their everyday business, blissfully oblivious.

A voice: You see our doom, Faramir. And the wave smites the city, soaking him in bloody water, and it's in his lungs and he can't breathe -

He wakes up gasping, near tears. Not again.