This family of three... from grandfather to grandson, were the last three Ruling Stewards. The further time progressed, the heavier the burden of stewardship became.
In the garden, Garrett shook his head, not knowing what to say.
Before him stood Denethor, who had yet to realize how much pressure he would one day face, how many regrets and farewells he would endure, before finally collapsing under it all.
But still...
Garrett patted the boy's head and smiled.
"He's a good child."
"Alas..."
Watching the retreating figure of his aged father, Ecthelion sighed deeply, but soon regained his composure and continued conversing with Garrett.
"I'm glad to hear you say that."
At that moment, Denethor suddenly spoke: "Lord Garrett. I'd like to ask you something."
"Oh?"
Shing.
The boy drew the longsword at his side, raised his head proudly, and said, "I wish to test my skill against you!"
---
Moments later, Denethor put the sword away, eyes misty.
"If you have time, you can visit the garrison at Osgiliath. Any one of the soldiers there, even the newest recruits, understands more about swordplay than you do."
Garrett's words struck hard.
But surely the boy who would one day face Sauron himself for decades as Gondor's last Steward wouldn't be so easily discouraged... right?
"My lord, he's still just a child," Ecthelion leaned over and whispered.
"Ahem."
"He did quite well, too," Garrett added some encouragement.
Yet the seed of defiance had already taken root in the boy's heart. From that day onward, Denethor applied himself to all pursuits with extraordinary diligence, a near-obsessive drive that astonished both his tutors and his family.
The day passed quietly.
That night, Turgon lay awake, unable to sleep even as half the night slipped away.
In the depths of night, Ecthelion knocked on his chamber door, carrying a plate of fruit and a bowl of hot soup from the palace kitchens.
"Father, perhaps we need to have a proper conversation."
"What do you wish to say?" Turgon's tone was less than welcoming.
"I must disagree with something you said. Perhaps it isn't I who has been blind and deaf, but you. You've spent so much effort on distant affairs that you no longer pay attention to what's happening here and now."
"Then proceed, tell me, what value do these so-called 'current happenings' have?"
At this, Ecthelion's eyes brightened.
"This won't be brief. First, we must start with the refugees in the Vales of Anduin, then the Lonely Mountain..."
"I've heard all that. I know he is a mighty lord, whose swordsmanship and sorcery flow as naturally as breathing."
"Tell me something I haven't heard. Perhaps your tale will help me sleep." Turgon sounded uninterested.
"Then perhaps you haven't heard the rumors from the far East and South. Do you recall Captain Kane of the Ithilien Rangers, the one you dispatched southward? In the hall he only answered the questions you asked, but left out the reports from the South and the far East..."
"They too concern Garrett."
---
The sun rose.
The next day, Garrett once again visited the royal palace and met with Turgon before the throne.
With Turgon were his son Ecthelion, and Denethor, all three gathered together. But apart from Denethor, the elder and the heir both looked weary, as though they hadn't slept well.
After a brief silence in the hall, Turgon sighed and said, "Gondor is willing to befriend you."
And then he fell silent.
"No need for me to give formal greetings?"
Turgon said nothing, only looking at Ecthelion, then at Denethor.
At last, he shook his head.
"The future does not belong to me."
"Lord of the North, Garrett, it is an undeniable fact that Gondor has benefited from your aid."
"Do you have any request?"
"What I want is already here."
Garrett pulled out a bundle of flower seeds that the captain of the guard had personally delivered to him the previous day and gave them a little shake.
Turgon cast a puzzled glance at Ecthelion beside him.
"Those are flower seeds, Father."
"That can hardly be considered adequate recompense."
Though extremely reluctant, Turgon still forced himself to say it, sounding awkward.
"If you truly cannot think of anything, then let this serve as a reserved pledge, a Steward's promise."
"Gondor does not treat poorly any who have aided her."
"Well, it's not that I have nothing I wish to accomplish."
Garrett suddenly spoke, "I heard Gondor possesses a palantír?"
Turgon's brows furrowed.
Where had he heard that?
"It is true, we have one."
"I would like to borrow it."
"Impossible!"
Turgon's refusal was sharp. Even Ecthelion, who until now had been nothing but cordial, grew stern.
"No."
"I hope you understand."
Turgon spoke slowly, "The right to use the seeing-stone belongs only to the King. We are but its keepers."
"As you yourself said, I am Steward, Gondor's Steward. I have no authority to touch that stone, nor to hand it to another."
Having said this, he suddenly felt much better.
Garrett's earlier words had finally turned back like an arrow and struck him instead.
"And beyond that, the palantír is a dangerous thing. Any whose will is not firm enough may, with a single misstep, fall under the control of our Enemy on the other end."
"I have used other palantíri," Garrett countered. "Yet Sauron could do nothing to me. You really should have seen how furious he became."
"How can you utter that name so openly..."
Turgon spoke in alarm, and then suddenly realized...
What?
Though the Enemy's name had been spoken, no shadow of evil fell upon the place.
"What is it?" Garrett asked.
"I underestimated you."
Turgon's breathing steadied somewhat. "Perhaps your strength allows you to resist such influence. But I must warn you: that name itself carries power. To speak it aloud is to risk drawing the Enemy's gaze. With the slightest carelessness, one may be corrupted."
"You may not care, nor do I, nor even my son, but that name must never reach the ears of our people. If any ordinary soul were to grow curious and recite it, almost certainly corruption would be their fate."
"You wouldn't want evil to take root in your own land, would you?"
"Corruption?"
Garrett frowned and said, "That is indeed something worth noting."
If such a thing happened, it would truly be troublesome.
His way of dealing with trouble had always been to find the source and eliminate it directly. But if the source was Sauron, that would be another matter. Though Sauron was still in a weakened state, he had the dark tower of Barad-dûr.
He had never forgotten: Sauron was not merely the Dark Lord spoken of in men's tales, the mighty warrior who with one blow could overturn two High Kings, he was also a sorcerer, and a sorcerer in his own tower possessed a formidable home advantage.
Just as Garrett held sway in his own domain, each had their own environment lending them strength.
In truth, last time at Dol Guldur he had not defeated Sauron. Even after growing stronger since then, able to withstand magical assaults, able to crush the Nazgûl, if he were to recklessly storm Mordor and face Sauron in his own seat of power, disaster would be very likely.
This was something that would have to be planned carefully.