His first night out of the houses it rains.
It is a cleansing rain, meant to wash away the scars left by an age of war and he wonders if it will clean away his own scars as well.
His gaze falls on the mountains of the east, which no longer cast their dark webs on his city. His heart quickens at the thought.
The Shadow has departed, and for the first time in all his years it is truly his city.
He wears on his finger a ring never meant to be worn by him; he holds an office he was never intended to take. He has no place here, in command of the White City, if only for a short time. This place where his father's ghost lingers and thoughts of his brother, lost to the river's flow, ever take his mind.
The king will return, and the White Tree bloom again, he has no place in that either, for will be no need for a Steward. Perhaps, after he has shed his title, he will return to Ithilien where his heart is not as heavy as it is locked away inside the cold marble of the city.
He thinks of the Lady he left in the houses, of her sadness wonders if his place was by her side. Perhaps, if she'd willed it, his return across the river would not be so lonely an affair.
Lighting splits the clouds, illuminating the world for a single second before he turns from the window knowing the rain would not heal his hurts.