'Yet there are among us still some who have dealings with the Elves when they may, and ever and anon one will go in secret to Lorien, seldom to return. Not I. For I deem it perilous now for mortal man willfully to seek out the Eldar people. Yet I envy you that have spoken with the White Lady.'
' The Lady of Lorien! Galadriel!' cried Sam. 'You should see her, indeed you should, sir. I am only a hobbit, and gardening's my job at home, sir, if you understand me, and I'm not much good at poetry-not at making it: a bit of comic rhyme, perhaps, now and again, you know, but not real poetry- so I can 't tell you what I mean. It ought to be sung. You'd have to get Strider, Aragorn that is, or old Mr.Bilbo, for that. But I wish I could make a song about her. Beautiful she is, sir! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like white daffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di'monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far-off as a snow-mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in the springtime. But that's a lot o'nonsense, and all wide of my mark.'
'Then she must be lovely indeed,' said Faramir. 'Perilously fair.'
He blinked, unsure of why the conversation flittered through his mind. He looked over the top of the wall and over the wide scarred plains of Pelennor. The world around him seemed tense. His mind was heavy with dread but his heart was light for some reason he could not name. 'It reminds me of Numenor,' said Faramir, surprised at the sound of his voice after such a quiet. ' Of Numenor?' said Eowyn. He turned to her, she stood tall and proud, but there was unmasked fear clear in her eyes. ' Yes,' he said, the words falling for his mouth before he could stop to think of them, 'of the land of Weaternesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it.' He felt heat rush to his face, he hadn't meant to tell her that. 'Then you think that the Darkness is coming?' she whispered softly. 'Darkness Unescapable?' She drew closer to him at her last words and he saw the fear in her eyes grow. Faramir sighed inwardly; he had not meant to scare her.
'No,' said Faramir, looking at her trying to make amends. 'It was but a picture in the mind. I don not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny.' He looked at her, her face was no longer as sickly as it had been days before, her golden hair was tossed aside by the strong wind that blew, a pale hand held the blue mantle to her body, and her shoulders were set with determination. She was beautiful. Calm. Slender. Cold yet surrounded by golden warmth. She was perilously fair. 'Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!' Then he bent and laid a gentle kiss upon her smooth brow. He straightened and looked down at her. He would never see the White Lady of the Golden Wood, but before him stood the White Lady of the Golden Hall and he knew in his rejoicing heart that a fairer sight he'd never live to see. Eowyn looked at him, her eyes slightly wide, and a red tint to her cheeks. " Perhaps I can make her merry yet." He thought turning back toward the wall.
A/N: I don't own LotR. The opening passage is taken from The Window on the West(TTT), between Sam and Faramir, and everything Faramir and Eowyn say is from The Steward and the King. Does any one know if the real reason Faramir calls Eowyn the White Lady was ever stated? Thank you for reading, please leave a review.
' The Lady of Lorien! Galadriel!' cried Sam. 'You should see her, indeed you should, sir. I am only a hobbit, and gardening's my job at home, sir, if you understand me, and I'm not much good at poetry-not at making it: a bit of comic rhyme, perhaps, now and again, you know, but not real poetry- so I can 't tell you what I mean. It ought to be sung. You'd have to get Strider, Aragorn that is, or old Mr.Bilbo, for that. But I wish I could make a song about her. Beautiful she is, sir! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like white daffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di'monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far-off as a snow-mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in the springtime. But that's a lot o'nonsense, and all wide of my mark.'
'Then she must be lovely indeed,' said Faramir. 'Perilously fair.'
He blinked, unsure of why the conversation flittered through his mind. He looked over the top of the wall and over the wide scarred plains of Pelennor. The world around him seemed tense. His mind was heavy with dread but his heart was light for some reason he could not name. 'It reminds me of Numenor,' said Faramir, surprised at the sound of his voice after such a quiet. ' Of Numenor?' said Eowyn. He turned to her, she stood tall and proud, but there was unmasked fear clear in her eyes. ' Yes,' he said, the words falling for his mouth before he could stop to think of them, 'of the land of Weaternesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it.' He felt heat rush to his face, he hadn't meant to tell her that. 'Then you think that the Darkness is coming?' she whispered softly. 'Darkness Unescapable?' She drew closer to him at her last words and he saw the fear in her eyes grow. Faramir sighed inwardly; he had not meant to scare her.
'No,' said Faramir, looking at her trying to make amends. 'It was but a picture in the mind. I don not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny.' He looked at her, her face was no longer as sickly as it had been days before, her golden hair was tossed aside by the strong wind that blew, a pale hand held the blue mantle to her body, and her shoulders were set with determination. She was beautiful. Calm. Slender. Cold yet surrounded by golden warmth. She was perilously fair. 'Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!' Then he bent and laid a gentle kiss upon her smooth brow. He straightened and looked down at her. He would never see the White Lady of the Golden Wood, but before him stood the White Lady of the Golden Hall and he knew in his rejoicing heart that a fairer sight he'd never live to see. Eowyn looked at him, her eyes slightly wide, and a red tint to her cheeks. " Perhaps I can make her merry yet." He thought turning back toward the wall.
A/N: I don't own LotR. The opening passage is taken from The Window on the West(TTT), between Sam and Faramir, and everything Faramir and Eowyn say is from The Steward and the King. Does any one know if the real reason Faramir calls Eowyn the White Lady was ever stated? Thank you for reading, please leave a review.
