The black gates of Mordor had fallen. The Eye was no more. A pale, sickly dawn crept over the Pelennor Fields, where the grass was still wet with the blood of Men and Orcs. Smoke rose from the wreckage of siege towers, and the Great Eagles circled the jagged peak of Orodruin, where the Ring had been unmade.
“Your father is beyond grief now,” Aragorn said softly. “But Gondor still stands. And it needs its Steward.” El Senor de Los Anillos - El Retorno Del Rey Ed...
Aragorn placed a hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “In the old days, the Steward of Gondor was the King’s chief counselor, the warden of the citadel, the voice of the people when the King’s ear was turned to war. I have spent my life fighting. I know little of peacetime. Will you teach me?” The black gates of Mordor had fallen
Gandalf stepped forward, his eyes kind but sharp. “Not nothing, Faramir. The Steward is not a throne. It is a duty. And Aragorn does not come to cast you aside. He comes to ask you a question.” Smoke rose from the wreckage of siege towers,