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Mid-Urimë, Fourth Age 14
All in the Emyn Arnen of Ithilien slumbered on a peaceful summer night – all except the lord and lady of the realm. Éowyn stirred as Faramir left the bed for the third time to check the sky. A haze had begun to develop at sunset, and she knew he worried that clouds would spoil his plans. Drawing the covers closer around herself, she tried to return to sleep.
The creaking door and booted footsteps on the floor drew her out of her dozing a few minutes later, and she frowned in slight annoyance as a kiss fell on her ear. A whisper followed: “Come with us.”
“No, stargazing is an outing for you and Elboron to enjoy,” she replied, stifling a yawn, “if he is not in a foul mood when you wake him up.”
“The sky is beautiful tonight, melda,” Faramir said. “I wish to share it with you as well.”
A small, high voice piped up. “Come watch the stars with us, mami!” Éowyn finally opened her eyes and rolled over to see her son clad in his nightshirt and a coat. The boy clutched several sheets of paper to his chest, and his gray eyes sparkled in the light from the lantern that his father held. “We are going to find the shapes.” As she rubbed her forehead, he tacked on an earnest, “Please?”
“Did you not say a few days ago that it has been too long since we did anything together, just us three?” Faramir added softly.
She sighed. Indeed she had lamented that between managing the boundless energy and curiosity of their three-year-old twin sons and the quieter needs of their one-year-old daughter – in addition to managing assorted demands of the estate – she had spent too little time seeing how their eldest was growing and changing in his fifth year. She sat up slowly as some aches from the afternoon's work and misadventure in the gardens made themselves known. “All right, but allow me a few moments to get dressed and–”
“You are clad enough already.”
“A nightdress is hardly appropriate attire.”
“I do not think the owls and foxes will comment. Elboron is in his nightclothes, and I am in mine.”
“You were not wearing those working trousers when you came to bed,” she noted.
He grinned and, acting on a sudden thought, walked over to a trunk and set the lantern on the floor. After a brief rummage, he pulled out a dark blue mantle. “I believe this would be more appropriate attire, though perhaps too heavy for an evening like this.”
“Too heavy and too fine,” she said as she stood.
He did not heed her protest and instead walked over and draped the mantle over her shoulders. “Too fine to wear to study the work of Varda the star-maker?” With a finger he traced one of the embroidered stars that shimmered at her throat.
From the doorway came another question. “Can we go outside now?”
-*-
The gardens were filled with the steady trilling of crickets and a chorus of high-voiced peepers punctuated by the occasional low stuttering of a green frog. The mild air, stirred by a gentle breeze, was fragrant with fir and cypress resins as lord, lady and son navigated the stone pathways. Faramir carried the lantern, its shade cracked to provide enough light to see for walking but not so much that they lose their night eyes. Elboron insisted on holding his mother's hand – “So you do not trip and fall again” – and Éowyn held his concern in her heart.
The three came to the end of one of the garden terraces. Éowyn sat upon the low stone wall, but her son climbed up and stood beside her. He craned his neck back to stare at the sky. From its position atop one of the verdant hills, the steward's house commanded a sweeping view of the starry heavens.
“I see one!” Elboron shouted as he pointed at a formation of seven bright stars in the north. “I see the Valacirca!”
“Indeed, that is the Sickle of the Valar,” Faramir confirmed. “Varda, whom the Elves also call Elentári, set it in the sky as a challenge to Melkor. What else do you see?”
The boy's head swiveled. After a moment he frowned, jumped down and slowly shuffled his papers in front of the lantern's light. Éowyn noted that each sheet had a collection of ink dots. When he came to the end, he gave his father a forlorn look and said, “The others are gone.”
Faramir chuckled. “I think not.” He set the lantern down and tilted his head back, then suddenly put one hand on his son's shoulder while pointing to the northeast with the other. “Look, quickly!” Éowyn followed his gaze and saw a brilliant point of light streak across the sky before disappearing.
Elboron gasped. “What is it?”
“It is a falling star,” Faramir replied. “On a few nights throughout year Varda reviews her handiwork and removes any stars that are fading. This is her summer examination.”
“There goes another one,” Éowyn announced, pointing east.
Elboron's eyes widened. “But if she does that there will not be any left! She has already thrown out the great eagle!”
“She prunes her stars the way your mother and the gardeners prune their flowers and vines: trimming only what is unnecessary so that the rest of the plants may flourish,” Faramir assured him. “Soronúme still flies, but perhaps that tree is blocking your view.”
Father led son several steps farther along the pathway before halting. Éowyn watched as Faramir crouched, took one of Elboron's fingers in his own and traced a few lines in the air. The boy squealed and hopped on his toes. When he had settled down again, Faramir turned him slightly and traced another shape in the air. Their study of the sky continued awhile longer, and then Elboron went running back to his mother, who helped him climb onto her lap. Feeling a chill on his skin, she wrapped the ends of her mantle around him while his words spilled out.
“There are thousands and thousands of stars still left. Dadi showed me where the shapes are. We saw Soronúme, and the butterfly –“
“Wilwarin,” Faramir reminded him while taking a seat beside Éowyn.
“Wilwarin and the net –”
“Remmirath.”
“Remmirath and three more falling stars. But we did not see the swordsman,” Elboron finished sadly.
Éowyn stroked her son's raven hair. “No, he does rise until it is closer to wintertime.”
“Where does he go in the summer?”
“I do not know,” she answered. “Maybe he visits other lands and watches over them as well.”
Elboron sighed and shifted on her lap. Faramir chuckled, slid his arm around his wife's back and drew her and their son closer to himself. “Menelmacar was set in the sky as a foreboding of the Last Battle,” he said, “and so he must be ever watchful, here or abroad.” He continued with the tale of how Varda created the great stars from the silver dews of one of the two trees of Valinor ahead of the awakening of the Elves.
“Do you remember who among the Valar was the first to discover them, Elboron?” Faramir asked.
Éowyn knew from her son's stillness and steady breathing against her chest that he would give no answer. “He is asleep,” she said quietly before dropping a kiss on his hair.
Now Faramir sighed. “I suppose this means we should return to bed.”
Éowyn smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. “We can stay out a little while longer. He will be warm enough, and I do not mind.”
Faramir tightened his arm around her, and in comfortable silence they gazed at the stars innumerable.