"Are you looking for him?" Ecthelion asked.
"No, not really. I just happened to pass by and wanted to visit Thorongil, to see how he's been doing lately. But as you've seen, I always seem to miss him."
"That's a pity. But as long as we still walk this world, paths are bound to cross again."
Ecthelion continued, "As for his movements, I do know something. After arriving at Pelargir, he crossed the great river Anduin and departed from Gondor through Ithilien. Perhaps he went south, or maybe east."
"Maybe he discovered something, and is heading deep into enemy territory to investigate."
"That would indeed be..."
Ecthelion sighed, not knowing what else to say.
He held no resentment toward Aragorn's sudden departure, only that this young man, who left a good impression on him, was simply too unpredictable, always doing whatever came to mind.
Whether enemy or ally, all were left astonished by his bold and unexpected actions.
"It's truly a pity we couldn't keep him here," Ecthelion finally said.
A pity?
Hearing Ecthelion's words, and seeing how Garrett seemed to have come deliberately in search of that "Thorongil," Denethor felt a sourness well up inside him.
Before Thorongil's arrival, he had been Gondor's most capable commander, hailed as the most kingly of Gondorians in a thousand years. Wherever he went, people welcomed him with open admiration, and that filled him with pride.
But once Thorongil came to Gondor, everything changed overnight.
Though unwilling to accept it, Denethor had to admit that this young man, just a year younger than himself, was indeed a military genius. At once, he pushed Denethor aside, becoming Ecthelion's trusted confidant, winning both his father's affection and the love of Gondor's people.
His father's favor and the people's acclaim, both stolen away. This sudden reversal was unbearable for the ever-proud Denethor, who struggled for a long time to come to terms with it.
For years, he was forced to live in the shadow of this stranger, eclipsed by the dazzling light Thorongil radiated.
Driven by these feelings, Denethor began secretly investigating Thorongil's true identity, and what he found was shocking.
"He is no ordinary man."
"That Grey Wizard clearly intends for him to be Gondor's king."
Denethor's heart was filled with turmoil. He felt an ominous premonition: perhaps Gondor's long tradition of being ruled by its Stewards would end with him.
In principle, such a change would be good for the realm. But for Denethor himself, considering all that had happened, it was a bitter thought.
Not everyone can calmly endure such rises and falls.
For many reasons, Denethor felt no regret over Aragorn's departure. In fact, he secretly rejoiced.
"Well then, gone is gone. Every man has his own path. None can be forced to stay."
With that, Garrett drew the matter to a close, then turned and said, "Let us instead look at the tall and strong Captain of the White Tower standing here. I've heard many things about Denethor in recent years."
The Captain of the White Tower, like the Marshal of Rohan, commanded the capital's armies, a post usually held by the Steward's heir.
"He has accomplished much, and he too is most excellent."
"Indeed, the most kingly of all Gondorians."
Garrett raised his head and patted the shoulder of the tall young man.
Truly, whether Denethor or Aragorn, these young men of Númenórean blood were each taller than the last, most standing over six foot four.
With such stature, what Orc would not be terrified?
Imagine a man of such height, half a head taller than you, clad in shining armor, brandishing sword and shield, charging forward with a shout. That would strike fear into anyone.
Confronted with Garrett's sudden change of subject, Denethor's complex expression froze for a moment. Then he straightened up, calmly accepting the praise.
Garrett looked at this worthy leader and nodded in approval.
He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but ever since he arrived, the man seemed noticeably happier.
It seemed that after all these years, Denethor had truly missed him.
"Come now, little one. I know you must have missed me. Come, give me a hug."
Garrett spread his arms wide.
This abrupt gesture left both Denethor and Ecthelion completely dumbfounded.
Especially Denethor. Now in his forties, he was still fairly young, but his face already bore faint traces of age.
Hearing Garrett say such words, he nearly choked on his own breath.
Lowering his head slightly, Denethor quickly protested, "You must understand, I am no longer a little one. I have seen fire and blood, I have walked through valleys filled with poisonous mists, I have stood at the very front of soldiers and felt the sharpness of sword and spear with my own body."
"Of course I know all you've been through. But in my eyes, you'll always be that awkward boy. Don't you remember? I even carried you in my arms when you were small."
"No, you didn't. I refused back then."
"Oh really? That's all right. No matter how many years pass, to me you'll always be a child. Now come, let me hug you."
Garrett stepped closer and closer.
"No, wait! I said no!"
Denethor backed away step by step, casting desperate glances for help.
Ecthelion, seated at the table, gave an awkward laugh or two but did nothing.
Father, why are you just sitting there watching?
The reception hall was anything but quiet that day.
Moments later, Denethor walked out with an uneasy expression.
That hug just now had been far too "fiery," in the most physical sense.
Yes, Garrett had once again forgotten to remove his armor.
Another victim of the Dragonflame Steel armor.
The only ones who could embrace him without harm when he forgot his armor were the Dwarves.
And yet, though Denethor left with a stern face, it was obvious that his steps were lighter than before.
Seeing this change, the old father Ecthelion smiled faintly and lowered his head to sip his tea.
No one knows a son better than his father, and no one knows a minister better than his lord.
Ecthelion was both father and ruler to Denethor. He had seen all that his son had endured over the years.
But what is lacking is simply lacking. Ecthelion did not show favoritism just because Denethor was his son.
His trust and closeness with Aragorn was precisely a mark of his fairness.
As Denethor left, Garrett sat back down at the table and resumed his idle talk with Ecthelion.
Their conversation wandered from south to north, from east to west. At last, they had a proper reunion.
As the people of Gondor had said, not long after the Pelargir fleet's triumphant return,
To the east of Pelargir, on the border between southern Ithilien and Harondor, Aragorn abandoned a small boat and set foot on the land.
His journeys with Rohan and Gondor were over. His next goal lay to the south and the east.
Here began a road he would walk alone, a solitary quest into the rights and wrongs of mankind.
Along the way, he would also seize chances to uncover Sauron's plots and gather what useful knowledge he could.
As he began his travels across the wilderness of Harondor, certain memories surfaced in Aragorn's mind.
He had heard that Garrett once fought here, defeating the lord of the Harad's armies, forcing them to retreat, and covering the withdrawal of a Gondorian ranger company.
Heh...
The thought made Aragorn smile suddenly.
In a way, he was now following in Garrett's footsteps.
It seemed that wherever he went, traces of that man's legend lingered.