The spring of that new year did not bring much warmth.
Perhaps from overwork, or perhaps he had simply fallen ill, Bard suddenly collapsed. Bain hurriedly brought him milk and healing potions, but nothing seemed to help. He lay in bed asleep for a whole day, and when he awoke the next morning, he ate only a little.
Though his condition was worrying, thankfully, once he woke, he soon returned to his usual self. His life remained calm and orderly as ever.
During those days, Garrett often came to visit.
Many times, when he entered the house, he would see Bard pick up his pen, as if wanting to write something. But in the end, it always seemed that nothing was ever written.
"Would you like an apple?"
In this not-so-pleasant spring, Garrett took out a golden apple, trying to do something, anything that might help.
Facing Garrett's sudden, unprompted gesture, Bard merely smiled. He did not take the apple.
"You know, I'm not sick, nor am I hurt. I just... perhaps I only need a little more rest."
Sensing something in Garrett's expression, he suddenly sighed softly.
"An era is about to end, Garrett. I can feel it. I'm standing at both an ending and a beginning. It's an honor, to have witnessed all this with my own eyes, and to have lived through it myself."
Across from him, Garrett opened his mouth, but for a long time, no words came forth.
Knock, knock, knock...
The door sounded.
It was Bain, bringing Brand along. For once, they had no pressing matters, so father and son had come to spend a peaceful afternoon with Bard.
As always, Bain sat quietly beside the table, simply keeping him company.
Brand was just as lively as ever.
He hugged his grandfather, said a few words to him, greeted Garrett, got his hair patted twice, and then ran outside to play.
Everything seemed the same as usual. Nothing at all had changed.
When the quiet, peaceful afternoon passed, Bain took Brand home.
Standing at the doorway, Bard watched their backs disappear into the distance, smiling.
There was kindness in that smile, and joy, and pride... and also release.
Returning to the table, Bard leaned back in his chair and said softly, "We did it, Garrett."
"What?" Garrett lifted his head.
"Decades ago, you once said that if everyone could value their homeland more than gold and power, then the world would become a much better place. Tell me... has the world become as you wished?"
After a brief silence, Garrett slowly nodded.
Bard smiled again. Looking at the empty cup before him, he said, "I feel... a bit thirsty. Could you pour me some tea? All these years, it's always been me pouring tea for you. Would you let me be a little selfish this time and enjoy the lord's tea service for once?"
"Of course. Why not?"
Garrett turned around, picked up the kettle that had long been warming on the hearth, and began to brew fresh tea.
"...I really don't want to say goodbye to you."
From the chair, Bard murmured as he watched the busy figure before him.
He slowly closed his eyes, as if to rest.
The soft sound of water flowing filled the air as the teacup gradually filled, thin wisps of steam rising from it.
But he did not open his eyes again.
Garrett set the teapot by the table, sat back down in the chair opposite, and simply gazed out the window. He remained motionless for a long, long time.
Like a statue.
The scene before him began to blur.
Snap!
A string pulled, and a small gift box opened.
From inside, a little candy popped out.
Time seemed to flow backward, back to those years right after the Battle of Five Armies had ended.
While Dale was still under reconstruction, a child running along the roadside had handed him a small handmade gift.
Bard, standing beside him, had explained, "That's a traditional toy from Lake-town. Just pull the string, and the wrapping and the box inside will spring open. Usually, they contain small sweets or other little keepsakes."
"Judging by the sound," Bard had continued with a grin, "I'd guess this one has—"
"Stop!" Garrett had quickly cut him off.
"If you tell me, it won't be a surprise. Let me open it myself."
"Of course." Bard had blinked innocently at the time.
He never could have imagined that this tiny box would stay tucked away in Garrett's pack for decades to come.
"There really aren't many people as calm as you."
Back then, after stopping Bard from spoiling the surprise, Garrett had put the box away and said, "If everyone could value their home more than gold and power, this world would be a much better place."
Evidently, Bard had agreed with that deeply. He remembered those words for the rest of his life.
In the year 2977 of the Third Age, Bard the Bowman, Lord of Dale and Rhovanion, passed away.
During his rule, the realm had flourished, prosperous and at peace.
"Garrett!"
At year's end, on the very last day of that year, Garrett returned once again to that same house, to that same table, and there Bain greeted him.
"I'll go make some tea."
He hurried to his feet, afraid that if he delayed even a moment, Garrett might slip away again.
"You've worked hard lately."
Garrett took a sip of tea and offered words of encouragement.
After Bard's passing, by the collective choice and vote of Dale's people, Bain had naturally inherited his father's responsibilities, becoming the second Lord Steward.
Though the title itself seemed modest, many already regarded it as a post akin to Gondor's Ruling Steward, a position of great respect.
The only difference being that one realm had a king, the other did not.
"I've only done what I should," Bain replied softly, a faint daze in his eyes.
Since his father's death, Garrett had not returned to Dale until now. It was a rare reunion indeed.
The house was just as it had always been, unchanged in the slightest.
Garrett sat in the chair by the window, Bain in his usual place beside the table.
And the chair across from Garrett... stood empty.
"Father, I brought some treats."
In the quiet of the room, the door suddenly opened. Brand came in, carrying a bundle of freshly bought pastries, piling them neatly on the table.
"You're getting stronger every day."
Bain chuckled and tousled his son's hair, leaving it a tangled mess.
Brand blinked his bright, clear eyes in mild protest, shook his head helplessly, and was about to sit down in the empty chair opposite Garrett.
But Bain reached out and stopped him.
He gently shook his head at the confused boy.
Brand didn't understand why, but he obeyed, dragging another small chair over to sit quietly by his father's side.
"Don't worry about it too much."
Garrett smiled faintly and patted the boy's head.
The dead are gone. And since an age has passed, let it pass.
The living must always move forward.
That winter grew colder than ever before.
When Garrett left the house and passed once more through Lake-town, he saw, outside the Master's hall, a hunched, familiar figure.
Alfrid.
He was sitting blankly on the steps beside the building, staring at the frozen surface of the lake, lost in thought.
Looking at the silent old man, Garrett too fell into a daze.
He really had changed.
In the old days, if something like this had happened, that man would have run into a crowded street, weeping and shouting "My lord!" and other such words, just to make sure everyone saw his display of emotion.
But now, he simply sat alone in a quiet, familiar corner, not wishing to be seen by anyone.
Garrett didn't disturb him. He only turned away quietly and walked on.
When he had gone some distance from that familiar wooden house, he suddenly stopped.
He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
Closing his eyes, he stood still, waiting silently for the coming of another new year.