O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and strong as you

I

Long, it seems, I have dreamt of Númenor, of the dark wave rising mercilessly over its proud towers and prouder people. The dream came first to me in childhood, the summer after my mother's death, but at first it was formless, a vague threat of approaching darkness from which I would wake trembling and afraid.

As I grew to manhood, the dream took shape. At first, I was riding high above the land, as if borne by a great eagle, and I would look down and see the wave's pitiless onslaught, taking all, righteous and unrighteous alike. Latterly, the dream acquired more and more detail, as I myself would be walking upwards through the green lands or mighty streets of Númenor, my pace quickening to a run as I caught, first, the trickling sound of water, which turned rapidly to a rushing flood. I would race to reach high ground, and it was ever in vain, although always I would awaken on the very edge of drowning.

My father treated these visions with contempt; yet another sign of the deficiency of his younger son. My brother simply thought I read too much, but would not have changed me. I myself suspected that I would outgrow them and, indeed, as our lands became beset, and I spent more time in Ithilien assisting in our ceaseless struggle against the Enemy, it seemed that the wave subsided, and troubled me less.

If ever the dream did come, it was when I had been back in Minas Tirith for any length of time. But I was not so unguarded as to mention it. For while I had not formed a habit of concealing matters from my lord and father - indeed, often it would seem he guessed more about my affairs than he could easily know - still, I had become weary of his scorn, and had no desire to expose myself to it unduly. This, I think, was an ever greater source of discontent for him, for he knew that I still dreamed and chose not to discuss it, and in this, he saw, he could not command me, and so mistrusted me.

But, after the assault on Osgiliath, the dream which then assailed me could not be hidden. More like to a vision it was, disturbing my sleep each night with increasing intensity. For four nights I could not rest, and it told on my face. My father was at first more of a mind that at such a perilous time for Gondor one of his captains should not make himself ill with such fantasies, but when the dream came also to my brother, it could no longer be denied. It was a measure, perhaps, of just how desperate our need had become, and how troubled my father's mind was, that we spared one of our captains - and Boromir at that - to seek for Imladris. And if it came to my mind that it was only because my brother had also had the dream that my father gave it credence, I did not say so; and so pressing did it seem to me that the call be answered, that I bore no ill will and felt only relief that the matter was in hand.

On a cold afternoon at the end of February, I walked alone in the court of the fountain, waiting to be summoned to speak to my father. That night I was to ride to our outposts in Osgiliath, before returning to Ithilien. We had had news of a regiment of men of Harad heading up along the north road, and could not let them pass unchecked. Too long had it been since I had been with my men in Ithilien, and still I would have to delay several nights at Osgiliath. Too few captains we had for the conduct of this war, and it was nigh on eight months since Boromir had set forth on his errand, and we had received no word.

'You look northwards, I see. My thought also bends that way.'

I turned to see my father standing behind me, and was surprised, since I had expected to be called for and not met.

'My lord,' I said in greeting, and bent to kiss the silver ring on the hand he held out to me.

'Walk with me,' he commanded, and he led me further out eastwards from the White Tower and on along the great keel of the city. As we walked, he questioned me about my forthcoming journey, and on the errand in Ithilien, and gave his counsel and, for once, found no fault.

Encouraged by his mood which was, as always, stern, but not, as often, cold, I spoke more freely of my chief concerns; of my belief that it would not now be many days ere the Ithilien company would have to withdraw west of the Anduin, and of my fears for the force at Osgiliath, which I believed to be weak; and I speculated as to what strength could be spared to be sent there. He listened attentively, nodding here and there, and it came to me as I spoke that in the months since Boromir had left, he had come to show me, in our resultant closer dealings, a greater civility than I had ever earned from him before. When finally we reached the easternmost point, we halted, and he fell deep into thought, and I could almost persuade myself the silence was companionable.

As we stood there, the first hint of sunset flecked the mountains and a wind came from the north. A chill crept across me. Northwards again I strained my senses, my gaze bent across the Pelennor and past the gate in the Rammas, up along the road towards Anórien. And then I heard it, carried in to me on the wind, the faint blowing of a horn, echoing in my mind, a call that I knew and loved.

Something must have shown on my face, or perhaps I gasped.

'What is it?' my father said, his sharp tone like a slap of cold wind across my face.

I held up a hand to silence him, heedless for the moment of any possible repercussions - for only the very foolhardy tried the patience of my lord the steward - but I had to be sure of what I heard.

'Faramir!' he said sternly, and a familiar note of anger had returned to his voice.

'Listen!' I whispered.

His expression had gone stony, as if he were once again wondering why he had been cursed with such a difficult and capricious son, but he turned himself north.

And then I saw that he heard it. Out beyond the Pelennor he gazed, and then something crumbled in that proud face and, amidst my own fears, I was filled with pity for him. Turning, he caught my look, and his expression hardened. Quickly, I dropped my eyes.

'This means nothing,' he said harshly. 'You will speak of this to no-one, do you understand?'

I looked up at him again, at his unyielding face, and said quietly, 'I am yours to command, my father.'

'Then attend to your duties. Ithilien awaits you.' And he turned away and walked back to the Tower. I had been dismissed.

I set out for Osgiliath within the hour. Behind me, the sun was setting on Mindolluin. Looking back briefly as I rode out from the sixth level, I had to shield my eyes from the red glare but I thought I caught a pale light flickering at the top of the tower. But I had a long road ahead, and many cares, and I put this new worry from my mind, and rode on eastwards.

II

Darkness lay on Osgiliath. Once the strong and beautiful capital, jewel in the mighty crown of Gondor, now it lay ruined, sheared in half by the breaking of the bridge, with its eastern half held by the enemy, and its western half haunted only by the men who flitted through the broken streets to defend it, and by ghosts.

This had been my brother's command. Myself, I could not have borne it, day in and day out, looking on the wreck of the noontide of Gondor from this, her twilight. For my brother, it acted rather as a spur, to see the city rebuilt and once more mighty. Greatly he had grieved for the breaking of the bridge. After only three days here I longed to be away, but not back to the puzzles and silences of Minas Tirith. My heart yearned for Ithilien, and for my own men, for whom my fears grew hourly greater as I was delayed in Osgiliath and watched the eastern bank. But we were at war, and this was our chief outpost, and I could not always be where I wanted to be.

Perhaps it was that I had spent three days amidst the ruins of the triumph of Gondor. Or perhaps it was indeed a message sent to me from I know not where. All I do know is that on my third night, tired from a long day, when at last I returned to my tent, I lay down on my cot, and straightaway fell into a dream of Númenor more vivid than I had ever had before.

I dreamt I was walking in a rich and verdant valley, and the sun shone down on me. Very like to Ithilien it was, but I could not recognize the place, and I knew all of Ithilien, for it was my own. And all the land was quiet; no sound of bird or beast, or even of wind rustling the leaves. To walk in Ithilien, even in these later days, was to have one's spirits lifted, but here the air was heavy with dread, even in the sunlight. I bent down to touch the ground, and felt that even the very blades of grass seemed to be tensed upright, waiting.

I walked onwards and came at last to a wide road, paved white. Upwards it stretched before me, lined on the left at intervals with tall stone statues. As I walked along I saw that there were names below each solemn figure. Enough of the high Elven tongue I had taught myself to understand these names and, besides, I knew them by heart, for they were the names of the kings and queens of Númenor. There came a place where the names changed in form, to a language prouder but harsher, and the statues were taller, and though the skill with which they were wrought was greater, their beauty was diminished. And I came to the end of the line, and there were here two statues, and one was of a woman, and it was set back from the road, and before her was a man, and his statue was mightiest of all, save perhaps only the first. Almost like a god he seemed, and his face was cruel.

Then I looked ahead, and before me I saw a mighty temple. Vast it was, beyond my comprehension, greater than any of the works of Gondor in her glory, and its dome was black, and a great reek rose from it. And at last I heard a sound, the murmur of maternal lamentation; and I knew I stood before the mightiest work of the Númenóreans, and their greatest shame, the temple of Morgoth at Armenelos. And the weeping of women was for their fathers and sons and brothers, whose blood was spilled in sacrifice to Morgoth. The stench hung heavy on the Land of Gift, and I cursed in my heart the name and deceits of Sauron, who had led my forefathers to such wickedness.

Above me the sky darkened, and a cold wind came from the west, and looking up I saw a great cloud, and it seemed to me that it was shaped like an eagle. And then the rain began; in great sheets it fell, like a veil was being drawn before my eyes. And there was thunder, and great bolts of lightning, and a flame struck the dome of the temple, and it caught fire, but stood firm. And I fled from that place, skidding on the water underfoot, but desperate to reach the high hill I saw lay westwards.

Up its slopes I ran, with the water lapping at my feet, and I felt the earth shaking, as if it were being broken beneath me, and I turned for a moment to look back, and saw a mighty wave, sea-green and incorruptible, rising towards me - the wrath of the Valar at the treason of Númenor. And all was lost beneath its advance; man and woman, boy and girl; all the wisdom and splendour of Númenor; aye, and its dishonour.

And in terror I ran on, for I knew that at the top of the hill was a holy place. The wind blew at me, and I fell to my knees, and it was thus I struggled to reach the high point, and I called upon the heavens to show me mercy. Then I heard a cry behind me, and I looked down and saw a woman, and I had seen her face before, set back from the line of the kings and queens, and I stretched out my hand to aid her, but the green wave caught her, and she was washed away, and lost before my eyes. And then the water came upon me, past my chest and shoulders, and into my mouth, and I was tossed along by its strong currents, and woke with a cry. Someone was shaking me.

'Captain?' It was Haldar, my brother's lieutenant, and he gave me a strange look. 'You were shouting out in your sleep.'

I sat up and wiped a hand across my face, which was covered in sweat. And I felt ashamed, for although the men in Ithilien were used to my dreaming, here I was among men who did not know me so well, and I could not afford to lose their trust and their respect at such a desperate time.

'A bad dream,' I muttered, which was an understatement, but I did not want to try to explain to this stern soldier that I had just beheld the downfall of Númenor. 'Nothing more.' I looked beyond the open flap of the tent out at the darkness. 'What hour is it?'

'Not yet midnight.'

I had not slept even an hour. But I was unwilling to lie down again, for the fear of the dream still lingered. 'I should get some air,' I said, and rolled out of bed. I pulled on my clothes, and my sword, and a cloak over all.

Some quiet I found at first down by the riverside, watching its slow flow towards the sea, and the young pale moon shining silver on the water. And my thoughts turned to my brother, and I longed to see his face again, and take heart in his strength and his fearlessness which encouraged all around him. And I thought of the defence we had made together of this the western shore, breaking the bridge and standing our ground, even as a dread such as we had never known had beat down upon us. And I knew we could not have withstood it without each other, for only by knowing he was near me had I held my will together and not fled before that horror, and he said the same to me after. And as the bridge collapsed beneath us, I looked at him and smiled at him, and he laughed back, and we clutched at each other as we plunged into the water.

I smiled at the memory of him, and wished again soon to see his face. And the Valar granted my wish, for at that moment, I heard a rustle in the rushes, and a boat crept by me upon the waters. A pale light shone from it and, drawn to it, I waded out to meet it, and beheld my beloved brother, dead.

When I had composed myself, and it took some time, I returned quickly to the camp, and woke Haldar. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked up at me.

'I have to return to Minas Tirith,' I said.

'In the morning, sir?' he said in confusion.

'Not then; now. I must speak to the lord of the city at once.'

He looked at me as if again unsure of me, and then shrugged. 'You're in command, captain.' He got up and followed me to the horses, and took my quick instructions as I mounted. 'I shall stop back here before I ride to Ithilien,' I told him, for I knew that the Osgiliath company should hear news of their Captain-General firsthand; and then I rode off westwards, at a great pace.

Many times I had made the journey from the river to the city, but never had I ridden so hard, nor with tears in my eyes, and it was still the early hours of the morning when I came to the gates and rode up the levels. From the stables I broke into a run, and so it was that breathing hard and, I think, with a wild look in my eyes, I entered the Great Hall of the White Tower. And I saw with astonishment that despite the late hour my father was in his chair at the foot of the steps, with his servants gathered round. And he looked up, and the servants drew back, and I saw on his lap the cloven pieces of the horn that I had missed as the vision went past me, and I knew he had already heard the news that I had come to tell him.

III

Great were the darknesses that besieged me in the weeks to come; terror and exhaustion, and endless slaughter, and the slow and unremitting onset of despair. But nothing in my life until then had I known as grievous as the meeting with my father that followed. He dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand and looked upon me coldly.

'What brings you from your duty at Osgiliath, Lord Faramir? Has that outpost fallen?'

'Naught so grave for the defence of Minas Tirith, my lord,' I said, still a little out of breath from my ride, 'But a great sorrow nonetheless.' And I gazed at the shards on his lap.

He held them up. 'Have you had news of this?' he said sharply.

'Aye, father.'

'How so?'

And I told him of what I had seen not two hours before; of my brother, and of the strange boat in which he had been laid out. As I spoke, my father rose and paced before the dais. And then he put down the pieces of the horn on his seat, and spoke of how they had been found and brought to the city, the latter coming only half an hour before my own return.

'Alas for my dear brother!' I said. 'And no news we have of how he met his fate, although it seems it was in battle, as he would have wished, and his face was at peace, and as fair as in life. And some thankfulness we can have that I was awoken by my dreams, for if I had not been, I would not have gone down to the river and seen him, and we would only have his broken horn, and a great fear and uncertainty.'

My father stopped pacing and stood before me. 'By dreams, you say?' His eyes narrowed, and I cursed my carelessness.

'Yes, sir,' I said warily. 'I dreamt - '

He cut me short. 'Your dreams!' he cried. 'Aye, I know them, and I curse you for them, for was it not a dream of yours that took away my dear son and so killed him? Curse you and your dreams!' And tears were in his eyes, and he struggled to contain them.

Never had I been so angry with him. Always when he found fault before I had restrained my tongue, and listened to his opinion without complaint, for he was my lord, and I was his to command. But this grief was too bitter, and I had lost a brother as much as he had lost a son; and, in truth, he had struck deep, for as I had ridden to the city, I had wept at the thought that the dream had been mine, and so should have been the journey, and that my brother might have thus lived.

'You are unjust, sire!' I shot back, my voice thick with my own tears.

He looked at me in astonishment. 'Unjust!' he cried.

'Indeed, sir! For the dream was not mine alone, and I would have taken the errand, if the Lord of the City had not prevailed. And it is not only I in this household that is gifted vision, sir. And far-sighted you may be, but you do not see all!'

He pierced me with a sharp look, and his dark eyes searched my face. And he found what he was looking for, and his eyes widened to learn that I knew the source of his great insight, and its peril, and I had guessed aright how much it guided his judgement; in all matters, not just the choice of which son to send on an errand arising from a dream.

Raising his left hand, he struck me across the face with the back of it, and he was still strong despite his age. And I felt the ring which he bore on the smallest finger of that hand slice into my left cheek just below the eye, and I reeled backwards.

I raised my right hand to touch my face, and saw that he had drawn blood. And I put the hand across my face to shield myself from him, my breathing ragged as I sought to prevent myself from sobbing and so shaming myself.

When he spoke, his voice had quietened. 'Lower your hand.'

I could not move it.

'Do as I say, Faramir. Lower your hand.'

And I obeyed.

'Look at me.'

I raised my head. He reached out and, although my instinct was to draw back, I resisted the urge. He grasped my chin and turned my face, not cruelly but without kindness, to look at his handiwork.

'It is not deep,' he said. 'It will heal quickly.' And then, to my great relief, he let go and turned away. 'Leave me,' he said, shaking his head, 'for my grief is great.' And thus it was that he asked my pardon.

I bowed my head. 'Father,' I whispered, against my better judgement, but I earnestly desired to console him and to share our sorrow.

He turned back to me, and raised his hand to silence me. 'Go and take your rest. See to that cut, and sleep. We shall speak again tomorrow. For now I wish to be alone, and lament my son.'

I bowed, and turned, and did as I was told, and went to my chamber, leaving him to tend to his grief in the solitude he preferred. I sent for hot water, and then looked on my face in the glass. The wound, as he said, was not deep, and it was only a little work to clean away the blood, but the task was made harder by the silent tears streaming down my face. Finally, the flow stopped, and I washed, and looked again at myself. I was tired, but sleep would help that. And there would be some bruising, but only for a few days, and the cut, as my father had said, would quickly heal, and there would be no scar there. Much worse had I received in the field, but none, perhaps, so painful.

As a boy, I had frequently felt his heavy hand but, as I grew taller and stronger, he became more wary of striking me. Needless caution on his part. I would not have raised my hand against the Lord of Gondor, even in defence. The last time he had touched me I was a young man of sixteen and I could, no doubt, have easily pushed him away. What had caused his rage I cannot now recall; indeed, I had long since given up attempting to calculate what would cause his anger with me, since it was unpredictable. The only common factor I could see was that I lived, and that was at times enough to madden him beyond reason.

On that occasion, he grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust me back so hard against a wall that my head struck it and for a moment all went black. All I could hear was his screaming and my brother's entreaties. It was a measure of how dreadful that scene was that Boromir, who, because of his position, had always stayed impartial in our quarrels, was forced to intervene, pulling at my father until he released me, and dragging me off dazed to my chamber to patch up the damage. Father kept his distance from then on, and I believe he and Boromir may have exchanged harsh words on the matter, although my brother did not say and I did not ask. But I had been sorrowful that I had been a source of contention between a father and son whose mutual love was ever unblemished; and I grieved again now, for my father, who had now lost both wife and heir, that he loved above all else.

And as I stood looking into the glass at my hurt face, twenty years older, I remembered what else I had taken from that encounter; that since I could not be what my father wanted - for I did not know what that was - then at the least I could be true to my own self, and take heart that I kept intact my honour, and my love for him, as both father and as lord of the last realm of the Númenóreans. And as that boy had made his own peace, so again, as a man, I made mine; to honour my father and to keep my integrity, and to make that my tribute to him, whether he wanted it or no, for it was all I had to give him and thereby show my love for him. For I felt now in my heart that in the darkest hour it might be that grief and despair might make my father's judgement falter, and I would protect him from that, if I could, and even if it brought down upon me a wrath greater than that he had just shown me. And this fragile peace made, I slept.

IV

'Did it hurt?' I said.

My brother stopped skimming stones into the sea and looked over at me. 'Did what hurt?' he said.

'Dying, of course,' I said sharply. 'What else would I want to ask you about?' Sometimes my brother used obtuseness as a cloak for sheer obstinacy.

He thought for a moment. 'No, it didn't hurt,' he said, and then he gave me his broad smile. 'But the arrows did.' And then he laughed, and I had to join in, shaking my head at him.

We sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the summer sun, and watching the waves lap the shore of the bay that protected Dol Amroth. The sand was warm and dry beneath my hand and, above us, the gulls wheeled, although I could not hear their cries. There was a fresh salt taste to the air. This was the home of my mother's brother, and oft we had come hither as children, visiting our kin, and we had been happy here. War had never allowed us to take our rest here as grown men. I had not thought to sit with him like this until after the Enemy was defeated.

So blue was the Sea, and so soothing, I could have sat there for an age. But with a soft sigh, my brother stood up, and brushed the sand from himself. My eye fell on the strange belt of linked golden leaves about his waist, and I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but he spoke first.

'Time to go, brother,' he said, and stretched out his hand to me. I grasped it, and with his firm grip and strong arm he pulled me up easily. Then he brushed his fingers softly against my left cheek, and I felt the wound there throb, despite the gentleness of his touch. He looked sad for a moment, but then he set his hands on my shoulders and smiled at me; my brother, as I would always remember him, strong and handsome, fearless and fair; my dearest, most beloved friend. I smiled back at him, and he looked into my eyes.

'Goodbye, Faramir,' he said, with love. And then I woke up, to a cold day at the very end of February, and a stone city in mourning.

One of my father's servants was bending over me. 'My lord Faramir,' he said, 'the lord steward requests that you attend him and the Council within the hour.'

It seemed I had slept until past noon, and I could not deny I felt better for it, and for the lingering consolation of my dream. Quickly, I rose, and washed and dressed, and made for the Tower, where the Council was assembled. Well used were its members to seeing the sons of Denethor return hurt from the front, and none there had seen me arrive in the city unmarked. And I approached my father and kissed the ring on his finger, as was expected of me.

He greeted me evenly, and if his keen glance lingered on my face, it was only for an instant. 'Good morrow, Lord Faramir. You have rested, I trust, after your late journey?'

'Thank you, sir,' I said softly, 'I have.'

'Then sit with us; for we have much to consider in the wake of the loss of our most beloved captain.'

And so we debated, late into the day, although little had changed of our grim plight, save now we were bereft. It was nigh on midnight ere I was free to leave again for Osgiliath. Waiting for my horse to be made ready, I saw that it had started to rain, a thin but persistent drizzle that would have me thoroughly drenched by the time I reached the river. I pulled a face, and enjoyed while I could the warmth of the stable.

'Fine night for riding, my lord,' said the stableman with a wry grin.

'You're welcome to take my place, Galdor,' I said mildly.

He gave a low chuckle, and then his expression changed and he became suddenly busy with his work. I turned to see what had caused this, and was astonished to behold my father standing there. I could not recall the last time he had come to see me set out, if ever he had. His hair was damp and, had his features been given to expressiveness, I would have said he looked as surprised as I was that he was there. Standing facing him, feeling somewhat awkward, I was suddenly very aware that we were not practiced in showing each other affection. And I smiled suddenly at this absurdity, and he frowned back, and I saw that I had disarmed him.

'You've chosen a miserable night to come outside, sir,' I said.

'Aye, well,' he answered, and looked behind me pointedly at Galdor, who was trying to be unobtrusive. I understood the unease of both of them, and sought to relieve their discomfort.

'I'll take her out; thank you,' I murmured to Galdor, and he handed me the reins, and disappeared gladly into the depths of the stable.

My father followed me out into the rain. I patted Aryn as she stamped and snorted, impatient, if we had to be out in such weather, to get moving.

'You should go inside, sir. I think it's getting worse.'

He looked up at the dark sky and, as I began to mount, he set his hand on my arm. I halted, and turned to face him. For a brief moment, I thought he might embrace me, but he just looked over my face with the same dark eyes that gazed back at me whenever I stood before a glass.

Then he spoke. 'You are my heir now,' he said simply, and I felt the weight of the charge he had laid upon me, but a stab of purest joy at his acknowledgement. I nodded, and got up on Aryn.

'Go safely,' he said. 'And, Faramir?'

I looked down at him. 'Father?'

'Make me proud.'

We looked again at each other, grey to grey; and then I nodded my goodbye, and rode out, down from the sixth level and on through the city.

As I rode out onto the Pelennor, the rain began to come down in sheets, and gusts of wind blew the water across my face. I slicked back my hair with my hand, and spurred Aryn on. Ahead of me lay Osgiliath, and the grief of the men when they heard the news about their captain; and, after that, Ithilien, and only the Valar knew what trials awaited me there. I was lost in thought for a while and then, on a sudden impulse, I looked back at Minas Tirith, covered in darkness, but at the top of the tower a pale light shone.

And as the rain came down ever more heavily, I thought of Númenor, and how I dreamt more often and more vividly of its pride and corruption, and its fall. And then I thought of my father, bending his stern will hither and thither, seeking to dictate all for the good of Gondor - and I was afraid; for Gondor, for myself, and most of all for that proud man who brooked no disappointment, however warranted, and whom I knew would spend all in the defence of his realm.

Doom is near at hand...

Gondor was in darkness behind me, and ahead of me lay only the shadow of Mordor. I rode on eastwards, in the rain.

***

Death by Water from The Waste Land by TS Eliot

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, 

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

And the profit and loss.

                                      A current under sea

Picked his bones in whispers.  As he rose and fell

He passed the stages of his age and youth

Entering the whirlpool.

                                     Gentile or Jew

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.