[Faramir is a steady support, at least, offering his other hand to haul the stranger up and out of the muddy ditch. The question has him start a little, fixing his companion with a hard and searching look.]

Must I be acquainted with more than this: that I fall in battle, and awake in some strange grave? I can think of few endings to that tale which are not heavy with doom.

At best, I live, and have been stolen away from home and duty. At worst...

[At worst, he has become something fell and evil, arisen from an end no man should recover from. He will not say it aloud; it falls too thick and heavy on his tongue.]

I fear, though, that is all the acquaintance I have. And perhaps all the aid, too; for my sword is gone, and my shield too.