I watched my young friends as we took our ease atop the highest hill of Emyn Arnen.
Aragorn looked out toward the distant White City. Nearby, Frodo dozed against a broad oak. Gimli jested with Peregrin and Meriadoc.
Faramir, our host at this site of his future home, stood with Legolas and Samwise. They spoke ardently of growing green fields and gardens, of flowers common to their lands, of preserving old trees while planting new crops.
When I left for Valinor’s untroubled shores, this Man and Elf and Hobbit would indeed be worthy to inherit my long stewardship of Middle-earth.
“But I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?” Gandalf, Minas Tirith, RETURN OF THE KING