The Lord of the Rings Illustrated(481)

‘It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden,’ answered Éowyn. ‘And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.’

The Warden looked at her. Tall she stood there, her eyes bright in her white face, her right hand clenched as she turned and gazed out of his window that opened to the East. He sighed and shook his head. After a pause she turned to him again.

‘Is there no deed to do?’ she said. ‘Who commands in this City?’

‘I do not rightly know,’ he answered. ‘Such things are not my care. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City.’

‘Where can I find him?’

‘In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know--’

‘Will you not bring me to him? Then you will know.’


The Lord Faramir was walking alone in the garden of the Houses of Healing, and the sunlight warmed him, and he felt life run new in his veins; but his heart was heavy, and he looked out over the walls eastward. And coming, the Warden spoke his name, and he turned and saw the Lady Éowyn of Rohan; and he was moved with pity, for he saw that she was hurt, and his clear sight perceived her sorrow and unrest.

‘My lord,’ said the Warden, ‘here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City.’

‘Do not misunderstand him, lord,’ said Éowyn. ‘It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on.’

At a sign from Faramir, the Warden bowed and departed. ‘What would you have me do, lady?’ said Faramir. ‘I also am a prisoner of the healers.’ He looked at her, and being a man whom pity deeply stirred, it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.

‘What do you wish?’ he said again. ‘If it lies in my power, I will do it.’

‘I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go,’ she said; but though her words were still proud, her heart faltered, and for the first time she doubted herself. She guessed that this tall man, both stern and gentle, might think her merely wayward, like a child that has not the firmness of mind to go on with a dull task to the end.

‘I myself am in the Warden’s keeping,’ answered Faramir. ‘Nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need.’

‘But I do not desire healing,’ she said. ‘I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.’

‘It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength,’ said Faramir. ‘But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the Healer commanded. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting.’

She did not answer, but as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of spring. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little. Then quietly, more as if speaking to herself than to him: ‘But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet,’ she said. ‘And my window does not look eastward.’ Her voice was now that of a maiden young and sad.

Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. ‘Your window does not look eastward?’ he said. ‘That can be amended. In this I will command the Warden. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.’