Just a short little piece I decided to post when I should be studying for my final exams. Its a bit depressing, but hey, so are finals!
I don't own Lord of the Rings or Faramir, but if I did, I would give him a big hug, cause this story makes me sad.
Don't Waste Your Flowers on Me
Faces, so many of them. Faces staring at him as they marched down the streets, faces with sad, forlorn looks. Faces of people, his people, people he would die for.
He watched as they threw flowers on the ground, some slightly wilted, others, very fresh, young. Some were seasoned, from a plant that had first flowered many years ago, diligently coming back each year, others; they had barely begun to open for the first time. He watched the flowers fall on the ground, thinking how they would all be dead soon, dried up, withered, no one caring to look upon them anymore. How like flowers they were.
Some were passed off to the men, other were laid at their feet as they passed. He, he kept his horse walking, facing straight ahead, ignoring those that he passed, trying not to think about what was coming to pass.
In his mind, scenes replayed, scenes of him and his 'family', what was left of it, and what it used to be. Just like a flower, the last petals had all but fallen off. He, like the flowers, would pass from this world, all but unnoticed amongst the roses.
He knew what they were facing, he knew what they would be coming up against, and he knew that he would be all but forgotten. To some, he already was.
He watched as they lay flowers in front of his horse's feet. 'Don't waste your flowers on me,' he thought, 'I'm already gone.'