Her choice is a little unexpected, but he sees the wisdom of it and nods at once, turning them to the right down a hallway. It turns out to lead to a series of hallways, all of them made of the same white marble and laden with statues. Their footsteps echo as they walk.

Fortunately it is not too many turns until he opens a door until a room, one where all the curtains are closed, no doubt to protect the paintings within from being damaged by sunlight when they are not being observed. He goes at once to the window and begins pulling the curtains open, tying them back, until the room is brightly lit.

It is a dazzling display of paint. The contents are a variety of sizes, from small head-shots to wide scenes. All of them contain people, and nearly all of those are the ruling Stewards and their kin.

Faramir points towards particular portrait, of a lady from the waist up, her gown golden and her eyes serene and undaunted. Her dark hair seems to blow in an unseen wind, for all that the paint is motionless and long dried, and even fixed in place she has a feel of graceful movement to her. "There, that one. I have wondered how accurate a representation it was. What think you?"