"I should be leaving now."
On the third day back in Gondor, Garrett bid farewell to the Steward's family as well as Thengel's household.
"The caravan has sold nearly all its goods. I'll take this chance to travel with them for a while."
"You must visit often, Gondor's gates will always be open to you."
Ecthelion clasped Garrett's hands tightly, reluctant to let go, his sentiment was neither mere courtesy nor pretense.
"Come find me anytime."
Thengel stepped forward with his family as well.
Smiling, he said, "Traveling with you has been wonderful, and so refreshing. I'll never forget it for the rest of my life."
Hearing Thengel's words, Ecthelion leaned over and added, "I've heard about what happened in Rohan. That was truly remarkable! If you ever undertake such a journey again, you must take me with you."
"I'd love to know what it's like to travel with you. Honestly, I haven't left Gondor for many years now..."
As he spoke, he stole a glance at his elderly father.
"Ahem." Turgon gave a soft cough from the side.
"There are still many duties awaiting you. We'll discuss this matter later."
Ecthelion visibly deflated.
He was no longer the young man with grand ambitions who could once lead armies across the land.
Now past sixty, his body was aging, and Turgon was already nearing the point of passing down his position.
When Ecthelion finally became Steward, he would have no chance to travel anymore. Gondor's affairs would bind him completely, and for security reasons, his subordinates would never allow him to wander freely.
If he still wanted to venture beyond Gondor's borders, these next few years would be his only opportunity.
"Perhaps there will be a chance."
After exchanging light embraces with everyone, Garrett prepared to leave for the caravan.
But as soon as he turned around, he suddenly felt a sharp, needle-like sensation on his back.
He turned once more.
Ah, right, he had said goodbye to everyone except the old Steward standing at the edge.
So Garrett placed his hand upon his chest and extended it forward.
It was an Elven gesture, signifying an "embrace."
After all, even his namesake was taken from the High King of the Noldor, of course Turgon understood the meaning of the gesture, and he returned it in kind.
Later, this moment was captured by a Gondorian artist, carefully framed, and hung in the Steward's private chambers as a treasured memory.
It recorded the friendship between Garrett, the Steward, and Gondor itself, its value beyond measure. Many sought every possible means just for a glimpse of it.
"This time, I really must be going."
Beneath the clear sky, the group watched Garrett depart, following him with their eyes until his figure disappeared at the far end of the steps.
---
Minas Tirith, northern marketplace.
By then, the townsfolk had finished their shopping, their needs satisfied. The caravan members had packed up their wares, waiting only for one last person to arrive before setting off.
"Never thought we'd get the chance to travel with the lord himself."
On the wagon, two apprentice Rangers were buzzing with excitement.
"Do you think we'll encounter something extraordinary, like in the adventure tales? Maybe we'll face a deadly foe, and the guards will fight valiantly to protect the lord..."
At the mention of protecting the lord, one of the Rangers, Yavin, suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
The other, Arje, gave him a strange look.
"Protect the lord? You really do have grand dreams. Stop reading so many of those fanciful storybooks!"
"Hey, can't I at least imagine it..."
Protecting the lord... The chances of that happening weren't particularly high.
In other kingdoms or realms, perhaps, but look at their rulers, princes, and lords: whenever they traveled, it was always with an entire company of heavily armed guards.
But in Wayfort, or among the Free Cities as a whole, things were the complete opposite.
If you combined all the armies of Wayfort and Dale, they still wouldn't be as formidable as their lord alone. Who would be protecting whom was genuinely hard to say.
"Have the goods sold well?"
As they were discussing this, Garrett approached, waving his hand in greeting.
"Very well indeed."
The caravan leader, Charlie, reported, "All our wares sold out. The people of Gondor loved them. With the coin we earned, we've also purchased plenty of local specialties, everyone will enjoy them back home."
"Good. Not bad."
Garrett nodded.
Neither asked about profit, nor did Charlie report exactly how much they had earned.
Clearly, for Wayfort, neither lord nor citizens focused much on such matters. Following Garrett's example, this had become their established way of thinking from top to bottom.
Why ask, when there was no need, and it didn't truly matter?
All that could be said was: so long as everyone was content, it was enough.
"Then let's set off."
"Yes, my lord!"
The caravan's merchants and guards, including the two Rangers, gathered at the front of the wagons, standing in neat formation like soldiers, and answered in unison.
"My lord, which way shall we go? Back the way we came?" Charlie asked.
"North, to Dale!" Garrett declared.
"North..."
Charlie looked down at the map, his gaze shifting upward from Gondor's position.
"Are we truly going that way?"
Heading north meant either crossing the Dead Marshes and the rocky hills, or taking the great road that passed before the Black Gate.
The first route would avoid Mordor's armies, but the terrain was nearly impassable. The second... well, the name said everything. The Black Gate meant Mordor's very doorstep, crawling with orcs.
Neither option sounded appealing.
"It's fine. We'll take the main road, I came this way myself."
Garrett pointed out the route on the map.
"Follow the North Road into North Ithilien, then take the Harad Road past the Black Gate, and from there onto the Anduin Road. That will lead us straight into the wilds of Rhovanion. It's the shortest route."
"Once we get there, it's just a little farther north to Esgaroth. None of you have been there yet, have you?"
"Indeed, we haven't."
When this caravan first set out, the Sky Road hadn't yet been completed, in fact, even now it wasn't officially open.
The reason was standing right before them, their lord. Everyone had insisted on waiting for his return before holding the completion ceremony.
As for the lands on the far side of the mountains, also belonging to the Free Cities, both sides were deeply curious about each other. Most people had only ever heard tales of what lay beyond, had a vague impression, but had never had the chance to see for themselves.
Soon, however, the two places would be directly connected. The journey would take only a few days, and frequent exchanges between the cities were easy to imagine.
Still, curiosity aside, Charlie voiced his concern about the road.
In theory, it was the shortest route, with the smoothest terrain, but no caravan in history had ever ventured to travel it. They would rather endure the bitter snow and treacherous mountain passes than go near that place.
"It's fine, just take it. If anything happens, I'll handle it."
Garrett tapped his chest as a promise.
"Right then!"
At that moment, the entire caravan was filled with resolve.
The Black Gate, here we come!
Rumble...
The wagons rolled out of the White City, setting off north under the gaze of Gondor's people. They passed the forward beacon of Amon Dîn, closest to Minas Tirith, then crossed the bridge spanning the Anduin at Cair Andros, even stopping to greet the Gondorian garrison stationed there.
A few days later, the company reached the border of North Ithilien, stepping onto the ash-strewn battle plain, Dagorlad.