It is said that the Black Breath, inflicted upon a man, even the most unwavering, causes him to wander in feverish nightmares until his very will to live is taken by the depth of his despair. For two days, this Shadow held sway over Minas Tirith's last surviving warden. Here now follows an account of what lead the loyal and true of heart, Faramir of Gondor, to such utter despair that he was nearly beyond recall of even the true King.
For a time Faramir felt as though he was sleeping, but conscious of it. The first sensation he remembered clearly was a stifling heat, as if wearing one's heaviest winter furs whilst sitting upon the beaches of Dol Amroth in August. As Faramir became aware of himself, he saw that the oppressive heat was likely because he was dressed in dreadfully heavy black robes. That alone was strange, for these robes were exactly the official robes of the Stewardship and suddenly Faramir felt a chill and wished to push the garment from himself.
Faramir began to become aware of his surroundings then. There were many people about him, though all were walking about in a hurried manner. The ground beneath his feet was paved, and he stood in front of a shop of some sort, or so he guessed it to be. A city then, but clearly not Minas Tirith, nor any other city he knew. There was much noise in this place, though nothing sounded familiar, and everything seemed ten times bigger than normal.
Looking at the building next to whatever manner of shop he stood by, Faramir was intrigued by the structure, which seemed to be made entirely of steel. Quite a rich city, then, and this must be it's highest tower, for as Faramir looked up, up, up, and up, trying to find the summit, he grew dizzy and literally fell over backwards.
"Ought to lay off the sacramental wine there, padre," said a man walking by, though he did not stop to help.
Faramir pulled himself upright again and just stared at the height of the tower. He turned then toward the street, and if he felt dizzy before his heart nearly stopped when he saw this large street filled with very, very strange carriages of some sort, all going about without any horses anywhere.
Part of Faramir told him to back away, to find out how to get home as soon as possible, but his curious side compelled him to move toward one of these strange carriages. Reaching out to a still one on the side of the street, he found they were made of steel. Glancing about it seemed that everything was in this place. What city could possibly be so rich? He wondered if this was some unheard of city in Valinor, but no, for the Undying Lands were said to be a place of peace, and this was assuredly not that.
Faramir ran his hand along the side of the carriage. Suddenly, somewhere quite nearby a horn blared a call, which sounded to Faramir's ears like a warning or a signal, though not a single person other than him seemed to notice. Perhaps this was a recognition call for some dignitary, Faramir thought, and his years in the service of Gondor told him to stand at attention at the street side and await the arrival of whoever it was. However, again, no one else seemed to be concerned and they certainly did nothing to clear the way. For nearly half an hour Faramir stood straight and still. The trumpeter, who Faramir opined was the worst musician his ears had ever endured, had long since stopped his torturous call, yet no one of any sort of bearing had passed.
Just then, a huge carriage that looked more like a ship on land, albeit a strange ship, came to a stop beside him. The doors opened, as if by magic, and an oddly dressed woman looked down at him. "Are you getting on or what, Father?" she asked in a bored tone.
"Father? My lady, I assure you I am not your father," Faramir said, wondering what would on earth this woman could be thinking.
"Alright, Brother, whatever," she said, now sounding frustrated.
"Nor am I your brother, I have no sister," Faramir said patiently.
"You know what, man, I really do not need a smartass on my route. Catch the next one for all I care." The woman then closed the doors again and drove off; leaving Faramir wondering what in the name of Anor and Ithil had just taken place.
Faramir was beginning to feel truly lost here and looked around hoping for a clue about what this place was. The best place to find information, he thought, would be a library, and so Faramir set about trying to find the place. He had not counted on this city being so vast, though. He had walked along this one street without finding anything even remotely like a library. He'd found the Hall, City Hall, it was quite creatively named, that at least seemed to be made of stone and rather put him in mind of the entrance to the Hall of Kings, though it was a lot less beautiful, in his opinion. He found a "post office," though he saw no soldiers coming and going, and had to wonder if civilians kept the watch posts in this land. There were also more enormous towers all over the place and more shops than anyone could ever possibly explore in a lifetime, though few of them looked very inviting. The manner of dress in this city was quite strange as well, and he could not understand for the life of him why people kept calling him "father."
In the end, Faramir decided that the city's library must be located on some other street, but there were so many others he felt he could easily be lost forever if he dared to wander. No, instead Faramir decided to return to the Hall and seek for the King, hoping that being the second son of the Steward of Gondor would be enough of a qualification to get him an audience. It was beyond Faramir's imagination what manner of king could rule all of this, but he figured it was worth a try.
As Faramir crossed the street, many of those odd carriages came to a sudden halt and horns blared. Well, at least that was something that Faramir was more or less used to. He nodded in acknowledgement and thanked those who called out to him, though he did not exactly understand their words. Perhaps this place was not so strange after all.
Walking into the Hall, Faramir was struck by how lush this place was. The walls, the floors, the ceiling were all of marble. Though this place did not have the look of the Hall in the Citadel and looked more like a glorified marketplace in some ways, Faramir could tell that however ruled from here was powerful indeed. He approached a man dressed in what seemed to be a uniform and standing behind a desk and he asked if it was possible to obtain an audience.
"I guess that depends on what you do, eh, Father?" the man said with a laugh. Faramir had dismissed by now this strange title as a way of addressing nobles. An interesting concept, he thought it to be. Faramir sighed though, guessing the man to be saying indirectly that no audiences were available. "Can you tell me where the library is then?" he asked.
"Yeah, get on the 36B at the corner out here, will take you right there. It should be here in about 20 minutes," said the guard, going back to his newspaper.
"Pardon, but… 36B?" Faramir asked in utter confusion.
"The bus," the guard said, not really paying attention.
"The bus?" Faramir asked again, having no idea what this word meant.
The guard now looked at Faramir again. His accent was strange, but he figured the guy was just from Cleveland or something. Some kind of foreigner then. "Maybe you ought to take a cab, it would be faster. I'm sure your order will cover it, right?"
"My order?" Faramir chuckled, "you think me a Wizard?"
"Oh, right, vow of poverty and all. Well, look, since it's charity, let me call you a cab and I'll take care of your fare. Consider it my good deed for the day. Alright?" the guard said, picking up something that looked like an oddly shaped horn or bone and speaking into it. In a moment, he put it down behind the desk again and told Faramir that if he waited at the corner the cab would be there in about 10 minutes.
Faramir nodded and went out to the street corner, though he had no knowledge of what was going on. In exactly 10 minutes a carriage pulled up, this one as yellow as a baby duckling. The man inside leaned over and said, "hop in, Father. Library, right?"
"That is correct," Faramir said. He had a feeling it was best not to ask too many questions in this society. A short ride later, during which Faramir was rather frightened by the fact that this city seemed to have no ending, though it certainly grew less grand the further one went, and the cab pulled up in front of another building much like the Hall. Faramir's eyes went wide. "This is your library?" he said in an awed whisper. "Thank you very kindly for escorting me here."
Walking up to this place Faramir looked about. At least there were some trees here, oaks mostly, he noticed. Though this was plainly still a part of the city, it was much more beautiful and less intimidating. There were still many of the strange carriages, though not as it was where he had been before, and here the people seemed to walk at a more ordinary pace. Faramir entered the library; again, this place was lined top to bottom in beautiful marble. This was a lot more like home, though much, much more vast.
There was a young woman stacking books at a desk near the entrance and Faramir decided to ask where he could find the history of the city. Always had history lead him to understand more of the present, so he reasoned that was where he should start. The woman led him to an archive room toward the back of the building and pointed out the information from earliest known history of the city through present day information.
Faramir was overwhelmed. He could have spent days just skimming so much information. Best to start with the earliest he guessed, and set to work. After a few hours Faramir decided that people in this society did not care much for history, what was written was the most mind-numbing thing his eyes ever head the misfortune to set upon. Faramir decided to go for maps instead and found one, likely the earliest, depicting a green land between rivers with several modest structures here and there. The next one showed a good deal more buildings and ships on the rivers. Thumbing back through a few maps Faramir thought there was some mistake, but that the land looked the same geographically. What was once green and pastoral was now brown, covered with mills and shipyards.
Pushing the maps aside, Faramir hurried back out to the desk, where the young woman was once again stacking books. "You will pardon me, my lady," he said trying to keep his tone calm, but he had seen this before, had heard of what happened at Isengard, and this place was too much similar. "Are you able to tell me where I might obtain a mount and in which way I must go to get back to Gondor?"
"A mount? Do you mean like a horse?" the woman asked carefully. Faramir nodded and she looked relieved. "There probably aren't any horse farms for about 20 miles. I do not know of any personally. I do not know where Gondor is either, I'm sorry."
Faramir just shook his head. He did not know how he ended up in this strange place, but he wanted to go home. Why were there no horses in such a huge city, and how in the name of the Valar did these people drive carriages without them? Ordinarily Faramir would have rejoiced to be in such an immense library, he would not have wasted a single moment in idle conversation when he could have been reading so much. This was different though; there was just something about the place that Faramir did not like. The size of the city was very disconcerting, and the people, he did not really care for their mannerisms.
He walked out of the library again and looked around. Even Mordor could not have been as unnatural as this place. Faramir sat down under an oak tree, grateful for the familiar feel of a tree against his back. He sat there for hours trying to think of what to do. Had he been in an unfamiliar land he might have at least been able to find his way home, but this place was not unfamiliar, it was utterly alien. He felt alone and lost and smaller than the acorn beside him.
Evening came on, but still Faramir remained under the tree. If he was to have to pass a night here, best to be in the familiar company of trees then anywhere else. Faramir lay down and made himself comfortable there. Just as he began to fall asleep, the woman who had assisted him laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" she asked quietly.
"No," Faramir answered. "I thought I would just sleep here, I'm perfectly comfortable."
"You can't sleep here. It's against the law. Do you have any money?" she asked.
"Yes, plenty," Faramir said, though he was shocked that sleeping under a tree could possibly be a crime.
"Then why don't you get a room? Go have dinner and get some sleep," she said, wondering about strange foreign people. This man seemed very polite though, she gave him that.
Faramir only then realized that he was rather hungry and had not eaten in some while. "Where can I get supper?" he asked.
"Are you sure you have money?" the woman asked, not really believing him.
"Of course I have," Faramir said, not understanding why she would think someone of his status would not have money.
"Then I will show you to a nice place. I was going to eat alone tonight, but as long as you pick up your check I'll share a table with you." Faramir agreed and walked with this woman to a tavern of sorts not far from the massive library. The Olde Englishe Pub it was called and rather had a feeling of some of the places he had spent time in with his brother. "I thought you would feel a little more at ease here. I think I have you figured out," she said in a whisper. "Method actor?"
Faramir smiled slightly. "I am not an actor, lady, but a soldier. Though, I would likely prefer the life of an actor."
That rather confirmed it to the woman. "Where did you get those heavy robes? They look really authentic."
"I do not know. They are… I think they might have been my father's, but I do not really know what I am doing here, or even where here is. I feel like I just landed here and I recognize utterly nothing." Faramir took a breath and said, "I am sorry, I did not mean to speak that way."
The lady smiled though. If this guy really was a method actor, she was surprised she had never seen him before. He was truly good at his work. "What is your role?" she asked.
"My role?" Faramir questioned. "Defender of my people, I suppose, if that is what you mean."
"Well, ok, but who are you playing, King Lear or someone?" she said.
"I do not know your King, but I should not presume to 'play' him, as you say. I am just the son of the Steward, second son no less. I guess I am no longer the second son, but the only son," he added sadly.
"Wait, I get it! The Lord of the Rings, right? That is amazing. Faramir, I take it," she said excitedly.
Faramir looked more than just relieved. Finally, someone knew him! "Yes, I am Faramir, and I am at your humble service."
"Well, you are really good," she said and called for the waiter to bring them a couple of drinks.
"May I ask you something," Faramir said, feeling a lot more comfortable with this woman now.
"Sure," she said taking a sip of wine.
"I know this may sound like madness, but… what year is this?" Faramir asked, reaching for his tall ale.
"It's 2001 of the… well, 6064th age, Faramir," she said with a wink.
"Really?" he said with perfect calm, something he had learned from an early age. "How, exactly, did I end up here, then?"
The woman shrugged. "No idea, perhaps you are already in your Black Breath-induced fever and this is what your nightmare is, the modern world."
"This would be a nightmare, if ever there was one. I think I prefer prophetic poetry," he said, then glanced up quickly. "I mean no offense to you, of course, but this day has been nothing but frightening for me, if I am to tell the truth."
"I bet it would be," the woman said wistfully. "To come here from Middle-earth, so much simpler than this place, where good and evil are clearly defined and wisdom is held in such esteem. I wish you really were from Middle-earth and I could go there with you."
"I am, but I can not even find my own way back," Faramir said regretfully. "Do you mean to say that I am not even in Middle-earth anymore? I can't believe that this is Valinor, though."
"This is definitely not Valinor, Faramir," she said.
"Good and evil are not always clearly defined at home, and nor is wisdom always commended. But really, this place may be strange, but how much evil can there be?"
"It is a lot less obvious than it was in your day," she said, finding it very easy to play along with this guy, "it is very commingled with good, actually. Look at this," she said bringing a newspaper from the bag she carried.
For a while, Faramir read the articles on the front page. "So this nation is at war? There is no sign of it though," Faramir said.
She pointed out a map on the second page. "This is where they are fighting, far away."
"Who is this man they refer to as 'President?'" Faramir enquired.
"I suppose he is like your Steward. He is not a king, quite," she said.
Faramir read on through another article. "I am afraid I understand little of what it says this man has said. Why does he say here that 'the human being and fish can coexist peacefully?' Many years ago when my mother yet lived there was still a jester in Minas Tirith who said such things as a joke."
The woman laughed and shook her head. "I wish I could explain, Faramir."
"May I take this to read? You have my word that I shall return it to you on the morrow," Faramir said.
Again the woman laughed. "You may keep it. I have already read it."
"But surely this parchment is important to your archives?" Faramir asked.
"No, there are hundreds of papers, all say the same thing: the world is getting to be a less friendly place every day."
That evening after they ate and Faramir handed a very, very happy waiter a silver coin, insisting that he pay for the lady's meal as well, she directed him to a hotel and spoke with the desk clerk, explaining to him that this man was a method actor and to just go along with him. The desk clerk balked at first, saying that they did not need any lunatics in their establishment, but the woman assured him that he was really an actor and promised the manager that in the future he would be very proud to say who had stayed in their hotel before he was famous.
So Faramir spent the night in a room that he did not really know what to make of. It was comfortable and clean, yes, but small and the decorating was too garish for his liking. There were many things in the room that he had no idea about. In the end he decided to just sleep there and try to find some way home in the morning. But sleep would not come. Faramir tossed and turned and every time he closed his eyes and began to drift off he felt a very strange sensation of falling as though he had a severe fever.
So instead of sleep Faramir turned the key on the oil lamp that seemed to burn with it's flame encased in glass, an interesting safety feature he thought. He sat up in bed and read all of the writings on the parchment the woman had given him. It was the worse choice he had ever made. When he finally put the paper down he was terrified. Was this what the world would come to? Was this why so many of his own men had to fight and die, for this future?
Faramir looked out the window as the sun rose and noted just how few trees he saw. This city, this accursed place, it never ended. As far as his fairly strong Numenorean eyes could see there was nothing but the grey city, everywhere, everything was swallowed up by people stacked atop people. Faramir grew panicked, how would he ever find his way out of here? Was this truly a nightmare as the lady archivist seemed to think? Then he could wake from this, surely, and would soon. Faramir crawled back into the bed, exhausted, and willed himself to sleep, hoping against hope that when he awoke he would be in his own chambers again.
Faramir's dreams were no better, for he dreamed of being trapped forever in the infinite city of steel and never seeing another tree or hearing another bird. He was trapped, trying frantically to find the way out, as of a maze, but the people in the streets pushed their way about him as if he did not exist and knocked him over as they rushed, pushing him into the streets where the horseless, steel carriages roared about, nearly crushing him.
When Faramir awoke again it was evening. He ran out of his room and down the stairs that no one else ever used. The desk clerk shouted after him, asking if he intended to stay another night. Faramir said that he did not intend to stay another minute, and the man demanded that he pay for his room in that case. Faramir tossed the small bag of silver coins at him and fled. The clerk was about to call the police, thinking the freeloader had just tossed him some kind of movie prop, but his manager knew the quality of silver when he saw it and immediately booked himself a long vacation in the islands.
Faramir ran across the street, heedless of the horseless carriages even as they stopped and saluted him again as they had done the previous afternoon. Running up to the library he found the woman there at the desk again and begged her to help him get home. "Just let me out of this place, please. I do not know what manner of sorcery this is, but if this is what the world is to come to, if this is the failure of the race of Men, please just let me see my home one last time," he pleaded, breaking down.
Many people were staring at him by then and the woman escorted him outside and sat him down under a tree. "Listen, I know you are really into this whole thing, but you can't just burst into lines in the middle of a public library. People are going to think you are really psychotic."
"I no longer know what I am! Do you know what I read in that paper? Do you know what these leaders are doing, to their own people? This is not for what my brother lost his life! Help me get out of here, I beseech you, have mercy on me, just let me die, anything, but do not trap me like this!"
Whereas the woman had once been really impressed by Faramir's apparent dedication to his role, it was now disconcerting. This man really sounded like he needed to be locked up for his own safety. "What is your real name?" she asked, realizing that she had never told him her name, though she wasn't about to now that she had a psych patient on her hands.
"Faramir of the House of Húrin," he said wearily.
"We have established your character, but who are you really?" If he could not pass this test, there was no way she was taking him anywhere but directly to the hospital.
"Who am I? Do I even know who I am any longer?" Faramir muttered, his head in his hands.
"Ok, come on with me, I think I know where I can get you some help," she said gently, not wanting to upset him. Together they walked the few blocks down to the hospital. She told him to have a seat in the lobby and to wait just a moment and she would find someone who could "get him home."
Faramir liked this place least of all. Never had he been comfortable around the healers in Minas Tirith and every person who walked passed him here gave him that exact same feeling. Nothing about this place felt right, nothing, and Faramir was terrified. He went to find the woman and found her talking to a man in a white coat. "Is it possible for me to wait in the garden?" he asked, looking claustrophobic.
"There won't be any need, sir," said the man. "We can take you in for evaluation now."
"Evaluation of what sort?" Faramir said suspiciously. The man laid a hand on his arm meant to calm him, but Faramir, already approaching a breaking point, spooked like a horse and bolted. Faramir was fast enough and agile enough to elude the hospital personnel and to lose them rather quickly.
The sun was setting and something in him told Faramir to get back to the place he'd started from, that somehow that was the key to getting out of this terrible place. Faramir continued to run back along the streets the carriage had taken him on. It was dark before he came into the first area of the city again, but there was so much light around him that he would not have known it was night. Clearly the city had to be of steel, for so many fires lit would have destroyed a city held up by timbers. Faramir began to wander looking for that place from where he had started. There was a tall building and a shop, he recalled… but that did him little good, everything looked the same here.
The further he wandered the more exhausted he became. He realized he was very thirsty and remembered that there had been rivers on the map, though the Valar only knew if the rivers were still there or to what scale the map was - the rivers could be miles away. It was not long, though, before Faramir could hear the lapping of water and he ran to the river. Upon kneeling down and reaching into the river, someone shouted, "you got a death wish or something?"
"Excuse me?" Faramir said, panting from near collapse.
"That water ain't no Perrier, man. Here," said a man who looked more ragged than any Ranger, handing Faramir a bottle.
Faramir looked at the bottle and could not figure out for the life of him what the bottle itself was made from. He drank from it, though he wished he hadn't. "What manner of poison is this?"
"Just bottled water, man, I know it's not champagne, but you take what you can get these days."
"That is not water. It doesn't even have a taste!" Faramir cried.
"Yeah, well, if you want the river water, fine. Why don't you go fishing, too, or go for a swim? There are faster, less painful ways to kill yourself anyway," the man said.
"You mean to tell me that this river is poison?" Faramir said.
"That's what happens when you get industrialized greed-sloths who dump toxins into the river to save a few dollars. In case you didn't notice, this ain't the farm anymore, Gomer."
"I am not looking for a farm," Faramir said, laying down on the riverbank in utter breakdown. "I am looking for home, for my brother and father. I know I will never see Bori' again, but I would even be grateful to have my father tell me it was my fault again. Anything, I just want to get out of here before I die. Man has failed, the Ring will be taken back, and this is what shall happen to Arda." Faramir began to weep.
"You are crazy, man," said the other man, getting up and leaving.
Faramir was just as glad to be alone. So this was to be his end and the end of all that he knew and held dear. He looked upward at the sky and saw no clouds in the sky, but there were so many lights on the ground that he could see no stars. It was over, he knew, and he allowed his head to loll to the side as he stared westward. The gods were no more it seemed to Faramir. He could feel his will to live leaving him.
Just then, his eye caught a little glint toward the east. The sun was beginning to rise, but up above the horizon was a star, one that Faramir had known and associated with comfort since childhood. It was Earëndil, passing by for a morning visit. As Faramir watched the star's swift progress as day dawned he realized that no matter what befell his world, all was just a passing moment in time, and even the worst of circumstances was truly of little consequence, for nothing would last forever, and at the End of Days even the very earth was destined to be unmade and made anew.
It was then that Faramir heard a voice above him, calling his name, softly at first, then louder and closer. There stood beside him a man, dressed as a Ranger, but tall and respectable. "Faramir," said the man, "return to us, you are dearly needed." Faramir looked for a long time at the man and it seemed strange to him that he should be garbed as a Ranger, for this man had all the bearing of a king of old, but he looked to be filled with compassion, also.
The man extended his hand to Faramir, again speaking his name with fondness and esteem. Faramir took the hand offered to him and said, "My lord, you called me. I come. What does my king command?"