Ah. Faramir hears the unspoken question as well as the one asked, and his gaze flits to the starry cloak on Eowyn's shoulders before he joins her in staring at the picture on the wall. "It is," he confirms. "Finduilas of Dol Amroth. She passed when I was but five." Another thing they have in common, he and Eowyn. They both know what it is to have a mother who faded from grief.

He raises a finger to trace the line of Finduilas' hair, though he does not quite touch the canvas. "My father never recovered from her loss, I am told, and that matches my memories of the time. He loved her most deeply." He hesitates, considering, but finishes. "He had that cloak made for her before she came here, for it is much colder in Minas Tirith than in the southern regions."