“That’s truly a pity.”

In the end, the palantír could not be used by Garrett, because the stone belonged solely to the King of Gondor, and only the King had the authority to decide its use.

And at this moment, Gondor had no King.

“This place is the closest to Mordor. Using the palantír here would allow us to peer directly into its depths.”

“These past two years, Sauron has been unusually quiet. I suspect he’s secretly brewing some malicious scheme.”

He voiced a concern of his own.

“Rest assured, we will keep watch for you. The moment we learn anything, someone will be sent to notify you,” Turgon answered thus.

“In that case, I have nothing more to say.”

With a wave of his hand, Garrett turned to leave.

Ecthelion stepped forward a few paces, following Garrett out of the royal hall, escorting him all the way to the gates.

Turgon gazed at the departing figure.

By his side, Denethor, who had only observed in silence, unable to say a word from start to finish, lowered his head, his eyes unblinking.

It was the first time he had learned the name of the Enemy his father and grandfather spoke of day and night.

Sauron.

At the same time, something else was etched deeply into his heart.

The palantír.

Sauron and the palantír, two things that seemed capable of troubling even the otherwise invincible Garrett.

An unutterable name and an unusable relic… Was that really true?

A fierce sense of rivalry surged inside him. He raised his proud head, watching the figure vanish beyond the palace gates.

Beside him, Turgon clapped his shoulder and could not help but nod.

“That’s how a son of Gondor should carry his pride.”

At this time, Gondor still stood tall, just as its rulers did.

—

Ecthelion and Garrett strolled leisurely through the streets of the residential quarter, looking like nothing more than ordinary passersby.

“This is far enough. You don’t need to escort me further. I’m going to meet a friend before heading back.”

“A friend?”

Ecthelion looked curious. “Someone from Gondor?”

“Yes. You may know him, the captain of the Ithilien Rangers who was sent south. Kane. I promised to meet him here for a quick farewell before leaving.”

As they talked, they arrived at a tavern and stopped at the entrance.

The passersby froze as well. Whether intending to go in or out, the moment they saw those two standing at the door, it no longer seemed necessary to pass through at all.

The most excited of all was the tavern keeper.

By the Valar, both the Steward’s son and that legendary figure visiting my establishment? This is worth boasting about for years!

“I do know him, quite well, actually. I personally recruited Kane into the army and entrusted him with the captaincy.”

Ecthelion smiled. “Look, here he comes.”

When Ecthelion, Garrett, and Kane walked into the tavern together, all the noise instantly vanished, as though someone had cast a spell of silence. Only the clinking of cutlery and mugs against tables remained.

“My lord, you…”

The tavern keeper hurried over with obsequious eagerness.

Ecthelion waved him off. “I’m just an ordinary guest. Treat me as you would any other. Continue as usual.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stripped of all needless ceremony, Kane wasn’t particularly surprised by the scene before him.

Clearly, Garrett’s meeting with the Steward had gone well, as it should have.

Who would be foolish enough to make an enemy of him?

The three sat down, and before long, simple fare of bread, roast meat, ale, and fruit was set before them. None at the table were particular about their food, and with Garrett present, no one would put on airs of status. So they ate and drank as they pleased, in comfortable fellowship.

“There’s a certain magic in being with you. Somehow, when I’m by your side, all sense of rank and station vanishes, leaving only ourselves.”

Ecthelion bit into some bread, then drained a mug of ale in one bold gulp. Wiping the froth from his mouth, he stifled the belch that nearly escaped, remembering the dignity he owed the royal house.

“We are ourselves, and nothing more,” Garrett replied.

As he ate, his words began to flow more freely, and he started talking about his own lands.

“The young rangers at Wayfort are still waiting for me to review their training. By now the new road should be finished too, and the final inspection has to be done personally by me.”

“Honestly, I have my doubts about whether they can properly handle the road connection work. But it doesn’t matter, at worst, we’ll tear it down and rebuild. It’s not much of a project anyway…”

“That rumored ‘Northern Sky Road,’ is it?” Ecthelion picked out the key words.

“Exactly. It connects the eastern and western regions. One day, you should all come and see for yourselves. In recent years, northern trade has flourished, there will be things to your liking.”

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“May it prosper.”

Ecthelion and Kane offered their good wishes, though neither responded to Garrett’s invitation.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to go, it was that they couldn’t.

For nearly a hundred years, even in the rare lulls when the enemy pressed less fiercely, Gondor could never afford the slightest negligence.

Before them sat the future Steward, and a captain of the front-line rangers, neither of them could leave their posts.

All they could do with Garrett’s invitation was listen politely.

“You mentioned rangers.”

Kane seized upon the word that piqued his interest.

“Does your domain also have strike forces?”

“Not quite. They usually operate in scattered groups, no more than ten in a squad, and they don’t face too many enemies at once. Their scale can’t compare with yours for now.”

“Usually four or five in a group. Their main task is hunting down orcs that haven’t yet formed war-bands, sometimes clearing out bandit dens, and occasionally driving away trolls that wander south from the Ettenmoors.”

At Garrett’s explanation, Ecthelion and Kane exchanged a glance.

“Northern rangers,” Kane said.

“Or perhaps Dúnedain. The way they operate sounds much the same as the Rangers of the North.”

“Exactly.”

Garrett nodded. “The ones training them are Dúnedain. I have plenty of cooperation with them. At Wayfort, the children call them ‘instructors.'”

“Every fledgling apprentice ranger must undergo trial by combat before they can officially take up the title of [Ranger] at Wayfort.”

The position of [Ranger] carried a great deal of responsibility…

“In truth, the ‘rangers’ you speak of are no different from strike forces.”

When Garrett finished, Kane added, “At their core, strike forces and rangers are the same. Or rather, a strike force is simply a gathering of many rangers. A ranger on his own is just a ranger, gather them together, and you have a strike force. The difference lies only in the name.”

“I see.”

Garrett understood.

“The North must be a very peaceful place,” Ecthelion mused, recalling the maps in his mind, unable to think of anything there that could pose a threat to this lord before him.

The Dúnedain were formidable enough to keep the orcs at bay, and with Garrett’s rangers added to the mix, that force was not to be underestimated.

“It’s not bad. At least the stretch from the Shire to Rivendell is perfectly clear now. The war-bands of orcs and wargs that once roamed there have been wiped out, every last one,” Garrett answered casually, then suddenly turned to Ecthelion with a thought: “Your father asked me earlier if I had any requests. As it happens, I might indeed have one.”

“What is it?”

At this, Ecthelion perked up.

“I need a piece of land. Give me a territory.”

Even though they were prepared for the possibility that Garrett’s request might be unusual, the words still made the two at the table start in surprise.

What an appetite, asking outright for Gondor’s land?

“Ah, don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean a fief or anything like that. I mean I want a vacant, unclaimed plot of land, somewhere I can build a house to store some things, just a foothold.”

Gondor was no closer to Wayfort than Wayfort was to Dale. If he had to make the full trip every time, it would be exhausting. Better to claim a spot now and establish a Nether portal as a shortcut.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep