Ithilien, F.A. 82
Throughout the spring, Gondor mourns its Steward and Ithilien mourns its Prince. In the summer, the Prince goes home, friend and father laid to rest.
Here healing is already underway. The year’s rhythms pulse. The groves and orchards swell. The harvest will be generous: better than the last year’s, less so than the year before. In the villages, men and women work and play, live and love. At Midsummer they will dance.
His father and his mother made this from ashes. Now the children hold the trust for a while: to tend and to maintain, and – in time – to deliver.