Passing the evaluation meant more sessions for training and book learning, to the extent that Faramir felt he was falling into bed exhausted each night while the days blended together in an endless cycle. He saw little of his family during these next few weeks; the silent meals with his father in the echoing great hall drifted by in a hazy blur. Boromir was on patrol and thus was unavailable to break up the monotonous yet hectic pace in which Faramir spent his days.
One misty morning several weeks later, Faramir rubbed his eyes and walked into his morning tutoring session and found a map and small wooden figures instead of the usual leather-bound books on the table.
"Good morning," he greeted his tutor. "What is this?"
"This," the tutor huffed as he bent down to pick up a stray figure which had made its way under the table. "This is what the captains of Gondor use to strategize."
Intrigued, Faramir stepped up to the table to study its displays. Gondor featured prominently on the map, with several outlying territories labeled. The remainder of the map was blank.
"What of the other lands which surround us?" he asked.
"How do you know they exist?" the tutor countered.
Faramir gave his tutor a strange look and bit his lip, uncertain what point the tutor was trying to emphasize.
"I have seen them," he eventually ventured. "On my travels and on maps I have studied."
"Very good. There will be times, Faramir, when you will have to rely on your own experiences to assess a situation. Other times, you will be required to gather more intelligence before making a decision."
Faramir nodded but said nothing.
"Now, your task is to use this day to gather what information you judge to be important. The day after, I will present you with scenarios and expect you to formulate strategies armed with naught but your acquired information and your wits."
"What type of information should I be gathering? The geographical boundaries of our allies and enemies? The numerous tenuous alliances? The availability of crops and hunting game to feed a moving army?"
The tutor shrugged.
"In life you will not know what is needed until the moment calls for it. You can only be as prepared as possible to face each day and circumstance. Now do not tarry here any longer; your time for information-gathering grows short."
With that, he dismissed the young lord, who sat down on a nearby chair and scratched his head, then his patchy beard that was just starting to grow. Sighing, he cast his eyes here and there, looking for inspiration among the dusty bookshelves and equally dusty windows. He stood, the chair scraping against the floorboards when he pushed it back. Faramir paced to and fro in the library, looking up once in a while for inspiration and then down in contemplation. Finally, he lifted his head resolutely and strode out of the library. That day, servants, courtiers, and guards observed the steward's son in nearly every corner of the citadel, with a thoughtful and determined look on his face, clutching sheets of parchment in ink-stained hands.
The following morning, a haggard-looking Faramir waited for his tutor in the library. He did not have to wait long before the older man entered.
"Why, young sire, you look like you have not slept a wink," he exclaimed.
"I slept multiple winks," Faramir replied. "Do not worry. It will not impair my judgment."
"If you say so," the tutor conceded skeptically. "Now, tell me what you would do in this situation."
In the next several hours, scenario after scenario was thrown at Faramir, who responded as best he could with his limited experience and knowledge. Just when he thought he would throw a tome at his tutor if he heard the word "hypothetically" one more time, the tutor announced there was only one more scenario remaining.
Faramir sat up straighter, summoning up his energy to face this one last task. He nodded to indicate his readiness.
"The enemy approaches your strategic stronghold from the east. It has a rich history, having been in your kingdom's hands for centuries. Two generations ago, it was overtaken by your enemy but you have recently regained it at great expense of life. It sits at a crucial crossroad and enables you to control movement of trade as well as maintain a defense barrier against eastern threats."
At this point, the tutor positioned the wooden figures accordingly on the map. Then he proceeded.
"Over the last few months, your guardsmen have been harried by frequent raids in the surrounding areas, which have grown bolder, culminating in today's imminent direct attack on your position. Your scouts report an overwhelming number of enemy soldiers, enough to overrun your garrison. Morale in your company is declining due to the constant barrage of enemy attacks. What do you do?"
"I would send for reinforcements and hold the position if possible. It is clearly important for the defense of the kingdom for military and commercial purposes, but also the recent bloodshed to regain it would still be imprinted on the people's minds. Some may interpret it as dishonor of the sacrifice of the fallen were we to give up our position without a fight."
"Some of the riders you send out for reinforcements are struck down by your enemy. The rest are en route to other garrisons, but your advisors inform you that reinforcements will not arrive until two days' time."
Faramir furrowed his brow and frowned. He tilted his head first to the right, then to the left, as though physically weighing the decision in his mind.
"To preserve my men's lives, I would order a retreat."
"You would leave this important location in your enemy's hands?"
"The retreat would only be temporary. Fortresses can be taken, lost, and retaken. Men's lives can only be taken once. I would have my company live and return, than be spent in a glorious yet futile cause."
"I see."
The tutor's short response was not at all what Faramir had expected. He waited for the tutor to speak again, to comment more on the scenario or to critique his performance. The man did neither.
"Is that all?" Faramir asked. "How did I do? Did I make the right decision?"
"I'm afraid I cannot answer that," the tutor replied. "There is no one who can tell whether you have made the right decision. Today you have shown me that you can make wise decisions, but that is not the same as right decisions. A right decision takes into consideration the needs of others and the longer range ramifications. A wise decision is one you can live with, and one that others will follow."
Faramir tried to contain his confusion at this fine distinction.
"It seems to me that oftentimes, a wise decision and a right decision are one and the same," he reasoned.
"Yes, that is true," the tutor agreed. "I merely meant that, today, I can judge your decisions as wise, but I do not know if they are right."
"How do you mean?"
"You will only know when the time comes. These are hypothetical situations, after all. Did I not make that clear when I 'hypothetically'?"
Faramir now tried not to groan.
"No, I understand," he quickly said. Then he hesitated before continuing, "What did Boromir say when you posed this last scenario?"
"What does it matter, young sire? You and he are not the same, and you ought not to command in the same manner."
"So he fought to keep the stronghold then, to the end," Faramir concluded. When the tutor did not deny it, he knew his assumption was correct.
He sighed and said with quiet regret, "I am not a warrior. I can never be like him. It is good that father can depend on him."
With that, Faramir bade his tutor a good day and made to depart for the noon meal, walking down the corridor toward the great hall. The tutor gazed after him, sadness and pity evident in his eyes. Here was a talented young man, and no one seemed to appreciate his gifts. If only the lady were still living.
The tutor was not given to sudden impulses, but on this occasion he could not restrain himself.
"Lord Faramir!" he called out, stepping out into the hallway.
Faramir stopped and turned around.
"Your mother, the Lady Finduilas, would have been proud of you," the tutor stated.
Faramir wanted to believe these words, but he had learned long ago to build walls around his heart, lest it be shattered into a million little pieces.
"You knew her?" he prompted.
"Aye. She was a beautiful lady to behold, but moreover she had a beautiful soul full of kindness and gentleness. I believe you take much after her."
"Pity that neither father nor Gondor has use for a man of beautiful soul," Faramir said roughly, before turning abruptly and continuing on his way. His chest felt as though it were about to burst, torn in two directions. On one hand, he wanted to believe that his mother would have approved of him. On the other hand, he told himself, to crave that sort of approval was to show weakness, and weakness was inadmissible.
Shaking his head, the tutor turned to reenter the library. So deep in thought was he that he gasped in surprise when someone cleared his throat. He looked up and jumped.
"My Lord Denethor!" he fumbled. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," was the curt answer, accompanied by a severe glare. "I believe it is time for you to consider retirement."