Eowyn had not thought to plan a garden solely for beauty, so early one morning Faramir took her by the hand, and they went down narrow, winding streets, thorough courtyards enclosed by intricate iron gates or low stone walls, to visit some old friends.

Each one they visited greeted them smiling, as gardeners always do, stopping to wipe muddy hands on skirts or trews before offering shy congratulations.They did not call him 'my lord', for it is the sun and rain who rule and for all his fine titles, in the garden he was a mendicant, the same as they.

“Here, taste this apricot, you’ll find none finer at the king’s table!”

“Let me give you some of this columbine, I’ve too much as you can see, it’s crowding out my gillyflowers…”

“Take some of this cordial, I remember how you always liked the raspberry! I’ve a few bottles left. And send someone down for some cuttings of the raspberry plants, they should do well in Ithilien...”

Laughing, arms loaded with baskets of seedlings, and bulbs, and fruit, and flowers– for who can resist such gifts? - they bid farewell and thanks for gardener’s bounty, the very beginning of the fabulous gardens of Emyn Arnen, famed throughout all Middle-Earth for centuries to come.