Disclaimer: Faramir, etc. are not mine.

This rambles a bit, but please review anyway!!

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A comrade of mine once asked me: "Why do you dream so, Faramir? Can you not choose your dreams?"

I asked him if he could choose his, and of course he replied "no". Then why did he ask? That question, the one that burned in my mind, I did not speak aloud. For it would serve no point. They never know why they ask, they do not understand.

They think I am fey – they think I see the future in my dreams. And if I do? The future I see is not happy, nor peaceful, nor content; rather, it is the future when the Dark Lord takes dominion. I see our people enslaved, I see them burning in the flames, while the Orcs watch in laughter.

I see the past also; the great flood of Numenor sweeping across the lands. Yet it is not majestic – it is a symbol of the power of the Valar, and the beginning of the decline of Men, for though Elendil and his sons escaped, they could not bring with them the glory of that which was. I have dreamt of the Last Alliance too, have seen the fallen Elves and Men in my dreams.

Oft I dream of the present. These dreams I find particularly useful, for have I not seen the plans of the Enemy in my mind? The men used to question me as to how I knew their positions, and I would have no better excuse than the truth. "I dreamt of it," I would say, and the men now do not ask, for they view it as a valuable asset, and heed my warnings. Yet they fear me at times – they see in me a great power that has yet to be unleashed, a prophet of the later years, a true son of Numenor.

I am no prophet. The Valar have given me this gift, if gift I should call it, and I interpret it the only way I can – that they send me the dreams with their purpose in mind. So I follow them, no matter what paths I tread, or what people say. My conviction is clear – I must obey their will, for they are the only allies we have now against Sauron.

Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor. We do not even say his name aloud; we point to the East, and the meaning of our gesture is clear.

But I have seen him, his fiery Eye like a plague across the lands; I can feel it on me at times. The sky grows dark, and the men around me shrink and disappear, and I am left to his vision. He questions me often, promises me safety and any desire of my innermost heart, if only I will tell him what I know of Gondor, of the King. He coaxes me – I refuse. Then threats enter my mind, how he will turn my father to madness, how he will kill my brother, how his Orcs will torment me in his black palace of Barad-dur. I believe him not; he has no power over me, nor over our land, not yet. A time will come for the Great Battle, but it is not now. It pains me, though, to refuse him. A heavy pressure forms in my skull, and it is all I can do to stop myself from crying out loud. The men, when I awaken, tell me that I shook in my sleep, like I was having a seizure. They used to wake me up when that happened, but do so no longer, for I continued to shake for many days after. I may not believe him, but I fear him nonetheless.

And of his question? Of the King? I have dreamt of him as well, standing tall and proud, a green brooch on his breast, a light in his eyes, the Star of the North Kingdom resting on his noble brow. But he suffers, when I dream of him, he is ever fighting, never winning. He will smile at me kindly, and my heart warms; yet when he turns away a great sadness comes upon me. The King may return, but it will not be in a glorious hour, I deem – a dire need will bring him to us. Such is our fate – that only war and fighting can bring greatness.

I act on these dreams, yes; I tell the men stories of the days of early Gondor, when the heirs of Elendil still ruled, and continue to deny Sauron that which he desires. Thus I continue to follow the Valar's will, as far as I can see it.

I do not choose my dreams, no; my dreams choose me.