Two evenings later, after supper in the Steward’s residence, Faramir spoke of a place he wished to show her.
They ascended the White Tower, climbing so many steps that Éowyn thought the pinnacle must be the intended place. But when they stopped, she saw yet another staircase leading higher.
With a hand on her elbow, he guided her to a parapet that offered a clear view of the sky and the City.
The mantle of the night, strewn with silver stars, mirrored the one draped around her shoulders. Below, the lower circles, the Pelennor, and the silver thread of the Anduin reflected her heart: rippling with new life.
Yet more wondrous still than the beauty of the night was his dear presence.
He stood beside her, their hands joined, as attuned as they had been on the day they witnessed the passing of the Shadow.
“Your city is beautiful,” she said, and she said this not only to please him.
“I am glad you find it so,” Faramir replied. “Can you picture yourself dwelling here in joy?”
“I picture us dwelling in joy,” she said shyly. “But what of Ithilien, and the garden there, waiting to be made?”
Was it her words, or the spell of the night? For she saw in his eyes a strange glow amidst the tenderness.
He swallowed before answering.
“Ithilien lies now in wilderness. Building a house worthy of the White Lady will take time. We will need another house in the meantime. And even after we settle there, would we not come to Minas Tirith from time to time? Many lords of the fiefs keep a house in the City.”
Éowyn smiled knowingly. “Surely, my lord. I shall not begrudge you your first love.”
He kissed her brow. Then his hand was once more on her elbow. “There is yet another place I wish to show you,” he said.
...
They went inside and stopped before a sturdy metal door. An old guard approached from another side of the Tower, his face lighting up as he saw them.
“Young lord,” he said warmly. “Come to show your lady the stars?” Then he bowed to Éowyn.
Faramir clapped the old guard on the back. “Aye, Sirion, I am showing off our tower to my lady.”
To Éowyn he said, “Sirion has been a guard of the Citadel since my brother and I were little rascals who liked to hide in secret spots here.”
Grinning, the old retainer opened the door. “Have a pleasant night, my lord, my lady. The sky is clear, and there is no wind. I shall continue my rounds.”
The room resembled a large study, its two walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. The ceiling arched into a half-dome. At the centre of the room stood a strange device—its long metal shaft reaching nearly to the ceiling; its intricate mechanisms gleaming under the glow of the oil lamp.
Faramir moved to one of the bookshelves and removed several volumes from a middle shelf. Hidden behind them was a lever attached to the wall.
Faramir pulled the lever. Éowyn heard a faint grinding sound, and to her amazement, a part of the domed ceiling slowly began to open.
The grinding gave way to a creak, and they were now standing beneath an open sky, the stars showering them with ancient light.
“O, how wonderful!” she exclaimed.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She leaned into him, her gaze fixed upon the heavens, hoping the sight would rein in the galloping in her heart.
Presently he walked to a corner, sat on the floor with his back against one of the bookshelves, and drew his knees up to his chest. She took in the sight of him—endearing in his rare moment of ease—and settled beside him.
“What is this place? One of the secret hiding spots from your childhood?” she asked.
“This is no secret place,” Faramir replied. “This room was used by lore masters who devoted their lives to studying the stars.”
“Ah, that strange device is for looking at the sky, then?”
“Aye, some clever masters built it based on an older device brought by the High King from Númenor. When one looks through it, the stars appear much closer.”
“How clever,” said Éowyn. “Though I prefer to see the stars this way.”
Faramir smiled. “I share your preference. My cousin Amrothos would complain that we are sadly lacking in curiosity.”
“Do you come here often?”
“I like to come here when I feel sad or discouraged,” Faramir said. “Fixing my sight on the heavens reminds me that we are but a very small part of Eä—our troubles and sorrows, no matter how insurmountable or grievous they may seem, are but a small, fleeting matter.”
“Did you come here when your mother died?” she asked gently.
“Nay, I was only five then. I was ten when Father brought me here the first time.”
She reached for his hand, and her fingers caressed the lines on his palm.
“I came here when I had my first leave after joining the army training,” he said.
“Why would coming home cause you sadness?” she asked.
“We were young recruits returning from a long journey across the southern parts of Gondor. Most of the new recruits had their families waiting eagerly for them at the Great Gate—mothers and sisters, in particular. That day I missed my mother more than ever.”
Being an orphan herself, Éowyn knew the pang of missing a loved one who would never return. In her mind appeared an image of young Faramir sitting alone in this room, gazing at the stars and letting his sadness ebb away.
Fighting the impulse to gather him in her arms, she kissed his palm and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Was Boromir not waiting for you?” she wondered.
“He was away on an errand at Pelargir. And of course Father did not come; it would have caused too much fuss if the Lord of the City had appeared. Lord Húrin came instead, and we rode home together.”
“Bless him,” said Éowyn earnestly. “One day I will thank him for all he has done for you.”
“I came here a few nights ago—that night when you sent Lords Húrin and Meneldil to keep me company,” he said, glancing at her.
“Nothing escapes the eyes of the Lord of the City,” Éowyn said, her cheeks flushing. “I meant well.”
He gently tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there. “Of course you meant well, my love, and I thank you.”
“What happened that day, when you came to the Houses of Healing to tell me your troubles, but suddenly checked yourself?”
“My lady is perceptive,” he said. “I was weary with many things on my mind and I felt lonely. I came to seek your company, but then you seemed so willing to share my burden. I did not wish our union to begin that way: that I seek you because I am lonely.”
“What is wrong with that? Husband and wife share their burdens with each other.” She blushed as she saw his expression at the mention of husband and wife.
“That is true, husband and wife share their burdens. But a union should not be built on loneliness, nor on the need for someone to share our burdens with.”
Éowyn shook her head at the workings of his mind. “So, what has changed? Were you not lonely anymore, that you allowed yourself to seek me two days ago?”
“I have since realized that I wish to be with you, whether I am lonely or blissful. And someone advised me not to be foolishly honourable.”
Éowyn laughed. “That describes you perfectly!”
Her laughter eased into a smile, and she cupped his face in her hands. Looking straight into his eyes, she said slowly, “Faramir.”
His face lit up, and the strange glow in his eyes grew into a flame. That was the first time she had called him by name.
“Faramir,” she said again. “You have done very well on your own for so long. Now, will you share your heart, your grief, with me?”
He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek onto Éowyn’s hand, letting out a contented sigh. “So, this is what would have happened, if I had not restrained myself that day?”
“Aye, you foolish man of Númenor”.
“Foolish indeed. But you are worth the wait, Éowyn.”
She smiled and stayed quiet, waiting for him to unburden himself.
That night as they sat under the light of the stars, he told her about his father: their many disagreements, their bitter last parting, the pyre, and the sorrow he carried for defying his father’s last wish by accepting the King.
As she listened, her heart stirred with pity, not only for her beloved, but also for his father. She was indignant as Faramir recounted Denethor’s last words to him, but pity for the late Steward also crept into her heart. Perhaps it was the way Faramir told the story.
And as she listened to him, she realized that all those people who told her what a jewel she had found in him had not even begun to describe his worth.
When this man loves, she realized, he gives all of himself. Such was the way he had loved his father, his land, and by some marvel, now he had bestowed that love on her.
“To you, to love means to give yourself to the beloved, does it not, my lord?”
“Could there be another meaning to love, but to give oneself?” he replied.
“There are men, many, I dare say, who upon looking at a beautiful flower in a meadow, plucked it and said they did so because they loved it.”
Faramir’s gaze grew sharper as he studied her. “A lowly man had darkened your path before. Does he still dwell in Rohan?”
“Theoden King sent him away,” Éowyn assured him.
He waited for her to say more, but she said, “I will tell you about it another day, my lord. I am safe now; tonight let us speak about you.”
He hesitated for a moment, but he let it go. “Please tell me about it tomorrow.”
Éowyn nodded, then spoke again. “Did you never resent your father for favouring your brother? Or your brother for accepting that favour?”
“There were times when I was sad and angry that Father praised Boromir so often. But as I grew, I began to understand that different people are drawn to, or moved by, different things.
“Then I decided that it was my father’s right to favour whomever he wished. As for his duty as a father to treat us fairly, he had always done so, except at the very end, when bitterness overcame him.”
His face grew tender as he continued. “Save for some childish jealousy, I never resented Boromir. He deserved every praise he received. I do not think it unfair that others consider me second to him. And we loved each other fiercely.”
“I disagree with that. You are second to none.”
“Not even to Helm Hammerhand or Beren Erchamion?”
She lifted her chin and shook her head defiantly.
He laughed merrily. “Then you are besotted indeed, my lady.”
How she loved to hear him laugh! And it seemed she had become skilled at making him laugh.
All too soon, it was time to return to the Houses of Healing. As they descended the stairs of the Tower, he said that he would show her his house another day.
“But you have shown it to me this evening, unless by ‘your house’, you mean the whole Tower?”
“Well, the Steward is also called the Lord of the White Tower,” Faramir said grandiosely. “We can say the whole Tower is my house, and there are many interesting parts I wish to show you.”
The usual gravity returned to his face as he continued, “What you have seen tonight is the Steward’s residence, in the heart of the Citadel. Another day, I will show you a house in the Sixth Circle which belongs to my family and is not tied to the office of the Steward. I hope you would like it. For I do not think it appropriate to continue residing in the Tower after the King returns.”
“Why would it not be appropriate? Ah, because this is the heart of the Citadel, and only the Lord of the City may dwell here?”
He nodded.
She understood his reason, but she was loath to see him give up yet another thing.
“Is there no other way, Faramir? Must you give up your house, the place where you grew up?”
“I see it differently: as leaving my childhood home to start my family in a new place.”
He said it sincerely, and this made Éowyn feel so much pity that she suddenly wept. Had he been a little bitter, sad, or pitying himself, she would not have been so moved.
“Éowyn? Beloved, whatever is the matter?”
She shook her head. The galloping in her heart returned, and this time she let go of the rein. “You said one should not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, my lord. Then, do not be dismayed when I say I pity you. For I pity you, I admire you, and I love you, Faramir of Gondor.
“How much grief and hardship you must have suffered, my lord, to have learned to master yourself so well, to make yourself content with what you must endure, to find consolation and joy in your solitude!
“I am not wise and have much to learn, but let me say this: I am here with you now. You may ease your restraint a little. You do not have to be brave, noble, and content at all times.”
As she spoke, he looked at her with growing amazement. The flame in his eyes danced, like people who had suffered a long winter might bask beneath the bright sun.
Then, he abruptly pulled her into a tight embrace. When he finally straightened, Éowyn drew him back to her.
They descended the rest of the stairs in silence. And still in silence, they walked back to the Houses of Healing, hand in hand.
...