Faramir shot up in his bed, awareness of the waking world coming quickly. It was dark and quiet in the room, but the sound of the voice and the light were still clear in his mind. It must be a True Dream, for he remembered every single word clearly.

Seek for the sword that was broken
In Imladris it dwells

What import could a broken blade have? And where was Imadris?

There shall counsels be taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells

Hope had filled his heart at these words. Wherever Imladris was, it might offer new strength to his ever struggling country. Was there another power stronger than Gondor?

There shall be shown a token
That doom is near at hand

“Doom,” Faramir spoke the word out loud. It echoed on the stone walls and reached his ears in a chilling cadence. Was this to be the end of all things they had ever known?

For Isildurs bane shall waken
And the Halfling forth shall stand

Faramir clasped a hand over his heart. The One Ring that the Nameless One had made was thought to be lost forever. And now it had reappeared? Suddenly he remembered Gandalf's last visit to Minas Tirith. He, Faramir, had personally led him to the part of the archives that was normally closed to all except those with special permission. And he had seen what the wizard looked at. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature overcame him and he shivered. He sat a moment with his arms clutched around himself, trying to calm himself. At last he took a deep breath and sprang out of bed. He had an errand!