Saruman's greed ultimately brought calamity upon himself. And it was the painful kind of calamity.
However, Garrett was not the brigand Saruman had shouted about. Friendly sparring was one thing, but he still left behind what Saruman wanted.
At most, this could be called a "reasonable forced trade."
In truth, if it had come to a real fight under normal circumstances, given Saruman's mighty sorcery, he wouldn't necessarily have been at much of a disadvantage.
But unfortunately, there was no "if."
Outside the tower, Saruman let out a cold snort, carried the beacon back into his chamber, and began examining it.
---
Meanwhile, Garrett returned with a white gemstone shaped like a star, resembling in some ways the Silmarils of old.
"My lord, your letter."
The moment Garrett came back, the messenger from Gondor immediately sought him out and personally handed the missive over.
The signature was unmistakable: Turgon.
"Thank you. Please convey my regards to your Ruling Steward."
The messenger bowed slightly.
At the city gates, he glanced back with some reluctance at this remarkable settlement.
Indeed, this lord's domain was somewhat different from other places.
Throughout the land, there was little sign of ostentation or excess, yet everywhere displayed prosperity.
Coin held little value here; what was prized more were the creations of skilled artisans, such as bas-reliefs carved from simple stone, or modest paintings in the galleries.
In daily life, even as a royal messenger, he received no special privileges, everything was as it should be.
Though no one provided him with courtly services, he could obtain whatever he needed through honest work.
The townsfolk showed no hostility toward him, a conspicuous outsider; instead, they treated him as though he were a neighbor.
It was pleasant.
But agreeable as it was, home still called from afar.
With a sigh, the messenger mounted his horse and galloped back toward his homeland.
---
Inside the stronghold, Garrett opened the letter.
As usual, it began with formal greetings, not much different from those in Ecthelion's letters.
Truly father and son.
"Indeed?"
When he reached the important part, Garrett sat up straighter.
"All ports of Gondor are now open to us."
That meant a new, fixed maritime trade route could now be established.
It also provided an opportunity for the young graduates of the navigation program to gain experience, running voyages there, learning from Gondor's seasoned mariners.
This matter should be entrusted to...
Garrett instinctively thought of a few familiar names, but then paused.
The people he was most familiar with, like Wade, the first community representative, and Taber, the first rector of Wayfort University, had already retired.
They were simply too old now, unable to handle the ever-growing workload.
"Perhaps it's for the best."
Let the elders of Wayfort finally rest.
They were plain, honest folk, who had quietly and faithfully contributed as long as their strength allowed, never once causing trouble.
"I should pay them a visit."
He put the letter away into the proper filing box, then headed to the residential quarter to see the two men he knew best.
---
"It's been a long time. I heard you've retired?"
In Wade's garden, Garrett sat in a chair, speaking to the old man across from him, who looked much frailer than he had a decade ago.
"Yes, my lord. I retired a year ago."
Leaning on his walking stick, Wade tried to stand and salute Garrett.
"No need, just sit comfortably."
"Hahaha..."
Wade laughed as he settled back down.
"Time really shows no mercy, my lord. In the blink of an eye, even standing up has become such an effort."
He looked at Garrett's unchanged face, a little bewildered.
"And you... as always."
Garrett shook his head and smiled as well.
Who knew what he was smiling at.
After a long silence, he finally said, "Relax. Enjoy your life."
"I am very content, my lord," Wade replied. "This is the most relaxed I've ever been in my entire life, right now."
"That's good."
Garrett suddenly asked, "Is there anything you still wish to do?"
"Something I wish to do..."
Wade gazed at the golden mallorn tree beside Wayfort, thought for a moment, then said, "No, my lord. If I must name something, then I only wish to see more of this place... And of you."
Garrett nodded silently.
After a while, he left Wade's home and went to check on Taber. But the house was empty.
After asking around, he learned that lately, whenever Taber had free time, he would always be working on something at the school. Though he had retired and was no longer the headmaster, his lifelong contributions to the school since its founding spoke for themselves, so people simply let him be.
---
Rustle.
In the school library, the pages of a book turned. An old man, wearing spectacles, squinted with effort at the words.
"What are you doing?"
In the silent library, the familiar voice rang out, startlingly clear.
Taber raised his head, instinctively about to admonish the visitor for speaking too loudly in the library, yet when he looked up, he immediately forgot what he had meant to say.
"My lord, why are you here?"
With a clatter, he pushed back his chair and stood, the sound far louder than Garrett's voice had been.
"Nothing serious, nothing serious. I just came to see how you've been."
"I'm honored by your visit."
Taber bowed slightly, still a bit flustered.
The two sat down.
"I've been doing quite well recently, my lord. It's just... well, I can't stay idle. I'm not used to living without books at my side. I must read something before bed to sleep soundly."
"That's good enough. And what's that over there?"
Following Garrett's gaze, Taber looked at the object.
"Oh, that's my journal. It's where I record fragments of little things that left an impression."
He stroked the journal and said, "You know, I've spent my whole life alone. Such things never crossed my mind before. But now... I keep thinking it would be good to leave something behind."
"Then do it. Just go ahead."
Taber smiled.
"That's wonderful. Now I have one more thing I can write about."
Taber. Wade.
They were among the oldest of this land's people, the very oldest.
After standing at the school gate for a while, Garrett went on to the barracks and the training grounds.
"Not here, huh."
That Halbarad, like himself, loved to roam about when there was nothing urgent.
The only difference was, if you really needed to find him, you could. He always returned to his usual haunts at regular intervals.
"Forget it. Better to let him see for himself."
Shaking his head, Garrett took up the Elendilmir, mounted his horse, and rode eastward.
Straight toward Rivendell.
This year, Aragorn was twenty-one.
The boy who once refused to be held had grown up. And certain truths... were about to be revealed.