Calves aching, we climb the still unrailed stair. The acrid fumes of new mortar invade my nose as I clamber up and see the top chamber at last. I pass from window to window caressing the smooth white stone sills. Birds glide below me, tiny shadows rippling over the thriving corn. Anduin’s silver line fades into the horizon farther than I have ever seen before. My breath feels ragged and not from the exertion of the climb.

“Too expensive and unnecessary.” Ingold sounds harsh. “You are not a king, Ecthelion.”

“I know.” Yet I am Steward of all I survey.

2698 Ecthelion I rebuilds the White Tower in Minas Tirith.
Tale of Years