Quickly with swift speed I started running to Minas Tirith, killing all the orcs in the way with my sword. The High Steward had to be stopped from doing whatever he was doing!
‘What is the High Steward doing?’ I asked the little fat hobbit.
If memory serves me right, it was a fair day in a goodly Spring that the first stroke of the War of the Ring was struck, when an evil doom came to my door. I was sitting at table in my castle, somewhere in Gondor near Lamedon, enjoying a simple meal and pondering weighty matters of state, when I heard a knock at my door.1