The evening wind carried away the songs from Wayfort.
Feast or celebration, no matter what form it takes, all noise eventually comes to an end.
With a start, the captain of the Woodland Realm awoke at the table and slowly stood up.
"I won."
At this moment, no Dwarves were still standing, nor were any other Elves.
Yet, as he looked at the silent hall, that small triumph strangely faded away.
These Dwarves were actually rather... agreeable.
But as he gazed at the slumbering figures before him, he could not tell whether he should feel pleased or melancholy.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly smiled.
Now he somewhat understood why his own king was so reluctant to leave the forest.
For an Elf, only his own kindred could remain by his side through the Ages, like the clans of Mirkwood, or the folk from Rivendell and beyond.
"It is time to return home."
Shaking his head, the captain walked toward the entrance to the Sky Road.
"Wait."
A voice stopped him.
Glóin, propping himself up against the table, lifted his head with difficulty and muttered groggily, "You're... not half bad, you know."
Hic.
And then he collapsed again.
The captain stood there in a daze for a while before continuing on his way.
"Hold there!"
Again, someone called out to him.
What now...
He turned back, only to see Garrett approaching with something in his hands.
"Take this with you. I think Thranduil will like it."
Garrett pulled out a beacon.
The captain's breath caught.
No one could resist such a pure crystallization of beauty.
Last night, the words the Elves repeated most were: "Please, let me gaze upon the star within that beacon a little longer."
If the Dwarves merely admired and liked the beacons out of common aesthetic appreciation, then the Elves were utterly captivated, this artifact struck directly at the heart of their very nature.
Elves especially treasured silver, even preferring it over gold at times, the root of this preference being that silver resembled the color of the stars.
They loved the stars in the sky, for the very first sight their people beheld upon awakening was a sky full of starlight.
And the nether star, why do you think it held such appeal?
Precisely because it so resembled the stars above, yet was even more beautiful, even more pure.
Most importantly, it was here before their eyes, tangible, close enough to be cherished.
Facing Garrett's gift, the Woodland captain truly did not know how to respond, his hands trembling slightly.
He even considered returning to drag his king forth to receive it personally.
For allies who offered genuine friendship, Garrett was not miserly, especially with something he had in abundance.
Even though others regarded it as a priceless treasure, he felt no need to use it as leverage for negotiations or treaties.
It was purely a gift. You like it, so I give it to you. Nothing more.
In the end, Rivendell, the Woodland Realm, and Erebor, all the allies present, each received a beacon from Garrett.
Thorin wished he could make the thing the new royal treasure, embedding it into the wall behind the throne.
"Dig through the mountain, its light must shine throughout!"
The Dwarves were in unanimous agreement, their enthusiasm needed no words.
Meanwhile, Elrond felt its significance, both in his hands and in his heart.
"Such a magnificent gift, even those dwelling in the Blessed Realm across the sea would rejoice to receive it."
"We shall remember this always."
From that day forth, Rivendell gained a sacred sanctuary for the beacon. elven craftsmen there poured out their accumulated artistry, perfecting every detail of the shrine's design and construction.
Then, following Elrond's guidance, they carved murals, recording the origin of the beacon, and the one who bestowed this great gift.
The beacon, with a base of obsidian and encased in a pure, transparent crystal cover for protection, held within it the flawless nether star, radiant as a true star of the sky.
Perhaps the power it contained could not match the three Silmarils, nor could its brilliance compare to the sacred light of the Two Trees preserved within those jewels, yet it possessed a different kind of beauty and a more immediate strength.
When the Elves, following Garrett's instructions, placed it upon layers of precious metal blocks, the beacon revealed its power, the life force it emitted slowed, even halted, the weakening of elven bodies.
This was an Age destined for decline.
The fate of the Eldar was to sail West, to return to the Undying Lands, for only there could the fading of their forms cease.
All Elves unwilling to take ship would eventually fade under some unseen power, their physical forms dissolving until they became invisible spirits.
Most Elves did not trouble themselves with this, for they yearned for the West, ready to depart when the summons came.
But the Elves of the Woodland Realm were different.
They resisted being ruled by the proud Noldor, and they did not wish to heed the call of the Valar.
They believed that a natural existence, unguided by the will of the Valar, was the truest life for their people. And so this folk refused the Westward sailing.
Yet the only end awaiting them was fading into nothingness.
Despite their resistance, their fate was not theirs to command, for this earth was no longer as pure as at its creation. All its substance bore the shadow of Morgoth's corruption.
Elves dwelling in such a world could not remain untouched; their bodies were no longer as enduring as originally designed. The longer they remained in Middle-earth, the more apparent their decline became, until, in the end, they might lose their physical forms altogether, becoming spirits invisible to mortal sight.
The next chapter of the world belonged to Men.
Yet now Garrett had offered another choice, or perhaps, a form of aid.
The beacon.
The life force radiating from the beacon granted them more time to remain in this world.
When the beacon's light pierced through the leaves of Mirkwood, Thranduil suddenly rose from his throne, eyes wide with wonder.
"I must see Garrett."
He was no longer content to remain reclusive.
For Garrett's deed... bore great significance for the fate of the Eldar.
It was, in truth, a delicate matter.
"I only wish to spend a little more time with my friends."
That was his answer.
---
"They must have cheated somehow."
Far away, deep within Erebor, Balin sat alone in the empty hall, his eyes moist with emotion.
"How is it that once again I'm the one left behind..."
"I'm never drinking with you lot again."
Time, like flowing water, carried all things away.
That year, Garrett finally remained in one place instead of wandering, keeping mostly to his lands, especially the towering spire, constantly crafting and improving all kinds of things.
While working, wagon after wagon of original manuscripts and copied texts were brought inside, filling the shelves.
No one could count how many shipments had arrived, only that the tower's library must have reached an astounding number of volumes.
In time, it gained a new name: the Tower of Knowledge.
Of course, Garrett was not entirely confined within the tower. He also undertook another great work, constructing Nether highways from Wayfort to Gondor, and from Gondor to Dale.
These two massive projects, together with the tower's enhancements, nearly exhausted Garrett, leaving him little time to rest that entire year.
It could be said he labored intensively, yet contentedly so.
With the Sky Road fully operational, more and more people traveled upon it. Its fame spread far, prompting many to abandon the ancient routes handed down by their forebears. The maps of Middle-earth underwent a new round of revisions.
And the road's influence was far from spent.
Greater changes were still brewing.
Thus the year passed, quiet and uneventful.
Another spring and autumn turned.
In 2948 of the Third Age, a messenger from Gondor arrived at Wayfort, bearing tidings from afar.
"A letter from Thengel."
Garrett broke the seal and read.
Nothing unusual, mostly courteous greetings and fond remembrances.
But beyond these, Thengel shared one piece of joyful news:
"My first son has been born. I have named him Théoden. He is vigorous, restless, loud of voice, a healthy child. Should you ever have the opportunity, you must come and see him."