A palantir sat again in the place prepared, high in the tower of Minas Tirith. The Ithil Stone was no more; still the king paused before drawing back the cloth.

Gandalf’s hand dropped lightly on his shoulder. “It is a tool, and neither good nor evil of itself. You have the strength to bend it to your will.”

Uncovering it, Aragorn stared into the orb. Walking slowly around, he paused at times, but stood longest facing northwest. Finally, weary, he reshrouded the ball and sat, head hanging.

“All goes well in Gondor,” he sighed, “but I could not see her.”