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Théoden could not believe it when he opened his eyes and found himself in a healer’s care. He had survived the battle. Éowyn and Éomer had survived. When Théoden awoke, Sauron had been destroyed and all was well in Middle Earth. The healers, however, seemed to be dancing around something, of that he was sure. It was Éomer, his nephew and heir who finally told him the truth. He would never walk again. When Snowmane, his beloved horse was slain by the fell beast, his legs were crushed by its weight, and while it grieved him greatly, Théoden was glad to be alive, and even gladder after hearing the other news Éomer had brought him.
“Éowyn is in love, uncle,” he said, grinning like an idiot. Théoden sank back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling for a while, smiling. “Éowyn is in love. I never thought I would see the day. Tell me everything, Éomer.” And Éomer did. Faramir was his name, son of Denethor, the late Steward of Gondor. Over tea and cake, the two men discussed it all, until they were interrupted by Éowyn and Meriadoc Brandybuck. “Washerwomen, the both of you!” Éowyn exclaimed, smacking her brother on the shoulder. “I have brought you better company, uncle. My brother is needed elsewhere.” Éowyn kept glaring at a giggling Éomer as they left.
“Master Brandybuck,” Théoden addressed the Hobbit, whom he counted among his dear friends, “you do not happen to know this Faramir, do you?” Merry sat down in the chair next to Théoden’s bed. “I do know him, he and my cousin Pippin are good friends. Although technically he’s Prince Faramir now I suppose. Strider will announce that soon.” “Strider?” he inquired. “You know him, tall fellow, fancy sword, has an army of ghosts-” “Aragorn? The King of Gondor?” “Yes, that one.” Théoden sighed happily. Éowyn was in love. With a prince even. Théoden decided at that very moment that he already loved this Faramir. Even though he had yet to meet him.
As the days passed, the king yearned to leave his bed. Someone had brought him a wheelchair and the king was never short of a volunteer to help him get around. So it happened one day, that Théoden and Éomer encountered Faramir and Éowyn on an afternoon stroll. Éowyn was not stupid, she knew that her brother had orchestrated this chance meeting. Now she had nowhere to run. “Éowyn!” her brother called out to her, “what a lovely surprise to see you. Uncle, I do not believe you have met Faramir yet.” Faramir felt his heart thumping in his chest as he bowed to the King.
“Your grace, it is an honour to meet you,” he offered politely. Théoden smiled warmly at the man, his eyes darting to Faramir’s left arm, to which Éowyn was holding on. “So you are the man who has managed to steal my dear niece’s heart.” “Uncle!” Éowyn exclaimed in shock, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Faramir felt a feeling of unease in his entire body. This was not going well. “I would never presume to do such a thing, your grace,” he politely replied, trying to appear composed, “I was only so audacious as to take it upon myself to keep the Lady company during your recovery.” “Coward,” Éomer feigned a cough, making Théoden chuckle. “Why don’t we all have some tea in the garden?” the king suggested. Now that he had this elusive Faramir in his grasp, he would not let him go.
“Tell me about yourself, Faramir,” Théoden commanded, “how are you holding up? I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a good man.” Faramir froze, holding his teacup in mid-air. Éomer stiffened in his seat and Éowyn failed at subtly rolling her eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” Théoden asked. He was utterly confused at the reaction of his kin. “Lord Denethor was sick, uncle,” Éomer offered an explanation. The King looked over at him, puzzled. “I thought he died during the battle?” Éomer shook his head. “What I meant was-” “My father has not been well for many years,” Faramir said. “The constant threat of Mordor had stirred a fear in his heart. When my brother passed, he became... distant.” “He tried to kill Faramir,” Éowyn proclaimed suddenly, fearing that they would continue to dance around the subject.
“In his defence,” Faramir added, “he believed me to be dead already.” Éowyn sighed. “Faramir, he had wanted you dead for years! He knew you were alive. They told him. He knew.” The King of Rohan found himself speechless. The boy had lost his mother at a very young age, his brother had passed away on the quest to destroy the ring, and his own father had wanted him dead. And still, everyone he asked had told him only the best of the Captain of Gondor. Of his bravery, his chivalry, his sense of humour. He had led the people of Minas Tirith during a time of great uncertainty, from the siege of the city until the return of the rightful king of Gondor. If only one person in all of Middle Earth deserved the love of his niece, it was Faramir.
Théoden enjoyed spending his days in Minas Tirith. He spoke often with the Hobbits, especially his friend Merry, and they smoked many a pipe together. The old king had decided to abdicate. It was time for Éomer to be king, and he accepted humbly, making his uncle promise to lend his counsel, as often as he required it. His niece Éowyn was happier than she had been in many, many years. She visited him often, sitting with him in the garden, or pushing him around the city in his wheelchair. Faramir accompanied her often. His initial nervousness was soon gone. Théoden came to love the boy like he did his niece and nephew, and though Faramir and Éowyn were not even officially courting, Théoden counted him among his family.
Faramir was officially named Prince of Ithilien on the day of Aragorn’s coronation and his wedding to the Lady Arwen of Rivendell. Even though they were still not officially courting, Éowyn stood beside Faramir and not with her brother and uncle. It seemed wrong to Faramir. A lady like Éowyn deserved to be courted properly. To be loved by someone who was not too cowardly to ask her brother - or her uncle - for her hand in marriage. Truthfully, he did not even know who to ask. It came to him after he had indulged in too much ale and even more pipeweed. He did not know, but maybe someone else did!
“Merry,” he turned to the hobbit, whose pipe he was sharing, “if I wanted to marry Éowyn, who would I ask, her uncle or her brother?” Merry looked utterly confused. “Why would you ask Théoden to marry you?” “What? No, I-” Merry started laughing so hard he almost fell over. “Took me a while, sorry. I honestly have no idea. But I know someone who will. Wait here, I will be right back.” Faramir remained in his chair and watched Merry, to his mortification, walk up to Théoden and King Éomer. He could see the exact moment at which they had understood what Merry was referring to. King Théoden slowly raised his hand and beckoned Faramir over to them.
Legolas, who was sitting across the hall whispered something to Aragorn, who, in turn, handed Gimli two gold coins. The elves had all heard the exchange between Merry and Faramir. Even Glorfindel, who was talking to Éowyn about her heroic duel with the Witch-king of Angmar. Time seemed to stand still as Faramir slowly made his way over to Théoden. He would strangle the Hobbit in his sleep! His palms were sweaty and he felt the blood rush in his ears as he sat down in the chair the King of Rohan had dragged over. Between the other two. “So,” Théoden began, “is there anything you want to talk to us about, son?”
Faramir cleared his throat. Éomer and Théoden were both leaning in slightly, fixing their eyes on Faramir’s face. “I wanted to ask if- I could potentially- even though I don’t deserve- ask you,” he turned to Théoden, “or you,” he turned to Éomer, “for the hand of- of the Lady Éowyn.” He looked down at the table, nervously tapping his foot, expecting to be ridiculed or sent away. Éomer laughed and clapped Faramir on the back. Théoden smiled. “You have to ask her yourself, son. But you have my blessing, even though that is irrelevant.” Faramir looked at Éomer expectantly. Would the king give him his blessing? Éomer shrugged. “Ask her.”
It was the next day when Faramir summoned all his courage and made his way to Éowyn’s chambers to collect her for their daily afternoon stroll, his mother’s ring in his pocket. He led her to the place where they had first stood together, looking east, anxiously awaiting news from the battle at the Black Gate. Éowyn wondered at Faramir’s nervousness, scolding him for smoking too much weed the day before. Something Faramir swore to her he would never do again, the effects having clearly affected his judgement. He took her hand in his, putting the other in his pocket to procure the ring.
Éowyn looked as though she might faint when she saw Faramir get down on one knee. “Éowyn, my dearest Lady,” he began. “Yes!” Éowyn exclaimed. “For Eorl’s sake, sister, you need to let him ask first!” Éomer’s voice came from a nearby window. Faramir jumped at the sound of his voice and Éowyn trembled with anger and embarrassment. After a moment, Faramir cleared his throat, preparing to start again. “Éowyn, my dearest Lady, I have known you for many months now, and have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I do not wish to be parted from you for even one day. Will you marry me?” Éowyn had tears in her eyes as she nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes!” Faramir slid the ring onto her finger and she pulled him to his feet and into a sweet and passionate kiss, uncaring that Éomer was watching.
Théoden cried at their wedding until Merry pointed out to him that technically, he did not lose a daughter, but gain a son.