“You’re finally back.”

At the mayor’s office of Lake-town, as soon as Garrett stepped inside, Bard quickly shut the door with a firm click, clearly intent on preventing any chance of escape.

Garrett had no doubt that if he were to stand up and walk toward the door right now, Bard would immediately declare: “You shall not pass.”

“Can’t you have a little faith in your own lord?”

“Oh, I do, plenty of faith. I have complete faith that if I so much as take my eyes off you, you will vanish without a trace.”

Even as he said this, Bard went to prepare a cup of hot tea.

Drinking tea had become something of a ritual for Garrett by now. Every time he visited, Bard would, almost instinctively, put the kettle on.

“I stopped by Crossroads Town.”

Garrett accepted the tea and took a sip.

Mm, still the same comforting taste.

“Quite impressive. In fact, calling it a town doesn’t do it justice, the place is already bigger than most cities.”

“So should we rename it Crossroads City?” Bard poured himself a cup of tea and settled down across from him.

“That sounds… odd.”

Garrett shook his head.

“Let’s leave it as is for now. There’s no rush, we can see how it develops.”

“When will you return to Wayfort?”

Once the topic of Crossroads Town was finished, Bard immediately brought up another matter.

“That Sky Road only needs the final section completed. Everyone’s waiting for you, the townsfolk are eager for it to open, even though it’s already been passable for some time.”

“Soon.”

Garrett took a small biscuit from the table along with his tea and said, “I’m back now, aren’t I? I’ll go and preside over the opening ceremony shortly.”

“Good.”

Bard let out a breath of relief.

One matter settled.

“By the way, I’m still curious, where exactly have you been all this time?”

Though he was displeased with his lord’s constant absences and disappearances, Bard remained interested in Garrett’s adventures.

“This time I went south.”

Garrett thought for a moment, then said, “You’ve probably heard, down south they have many fruits and crops we don’t have here: lemons, oranges, pomegranates, dates, watermelons… all excellent things.”

“I bought some while I was there. We can try planting them in the open fields nearby.”

Bard nodded.

“Very well, I’ll set aside a new area of land for them.”

As he answered, he also felt relieved.

So it was just a journey south for supplies. That was reasonable.

An ordinary trading expedition, nothing concerning about that.

“The scenery down there is actually quite beautiful. The architecture’s different from ours, very distinctive. The people there… they weren’t very friendly.”

“Not very friendly?” Bard had a sudden bad feeling.

“Yeah. I only rescued a prisoner, and they sent thousands of men after me. They even had mûmakil. I had no choice but to drive them all back.”

“…Right. Perfectly reasonable. I’m guessing you rescued someone important.”

“Yes, the captain of Gondor’s frontline forces.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure his men must be very grateful to you.”

“They are. His soldiers, none of them were lost. At least… I believe so. He probably survived.”

They moved past that subject and continued conversing.

When Bard heard how Garrett had defeated a Nazgûl, restored Gondor’s honor, and even received the Ruling Steward’s greatest gift, he was genuinely pleased. Partly for Garrett, who had been honored and respected, and partly because the Free Cities had gained a powerful ally.

It seemed there would be many opportunities to work with Gondor in the future.

“And then? You just returned home?”

“No, after that I went to Rohan.”

“To Rohan? So we’ve gained yet another ally?” Bard muttered as he raised his teacup and took a sip.

“I beat up their king.”

“…What, excuse me?”

Bard coughed hard, nearly choking on his tea.

A major diplomatic incident.

“What are you so anxious about?”

Garrett patted Bard on the back, took a towel from Bain, and wiped the tea off the table.

“Look how tall you’ve grown.”

Glancing sideways, he realized that without him noticing, Bain had nearly reached his height.

“Yes. I’m a grown man now.”

Bain straightened his shoulders and raised his head, showing Garrett a confident smile, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting inspection.

“Your voice has deepened too. The boy whose hand trembled when he first held a sword, that boy has really grown.”

Garrett sighed with emotion.

“He even enlisted in the militia. Just finished his training recently. By the way, among the recruits, Bain’s archery skills were the finest. His hand is very steady.”

“Excellent.”

Garrett nodded.

“If you’re skilled with a bow, you could become a Ranger. At Wayfort they have professional instructors for that sort of training. They’ll teach you properly, and you’ll get plenty of real combat experience.”

The region around Lake-town had become too peaceful. Ever since the orc stronghold was cleared out, they had hardly seen any orcs or goblins in the area.

Now they were all holed up in Mount Gundabad or the dark depths of Mirkwood. You could say they’d been driven back into the mountains entirely.

“I will,” Bain replied.

“Let’s wait until the Sky Road is finished first,” Bard said, waving him off to attend to his own duties.

But after that brief interruption, he realized something.

Right, if Rohan’s king had been beaten up, it was Rohan who should be worried, not him.

“So what was Rohan’s reaction? Did they apologize?”

Beating up someone’s king and then expecting them to apologize, it sounded absurd. But in this case… it somehow made sense.

“It’s a little complicated,” Garrett explained briefly, and Bard soon understood.

“Sounds like his reign won’t last much longer. Once Thengel returns to inherit the throne, everything will be set right.”

That wouldn’t be far off, at most, a few years away.

“Oh, there’s one more thing.”

Just as Garrett thought they had finished discussing everything and he could finally enjoy his refreshments in peace, Bard brought up another piece of news.

“Do you remember the Beornings of the Vales of Anduin?”

“Of course.”

“Their chieftain, Beorn, has asked whether you would accept their allegiance. The Beornings are willing to join the Free Cities and become one of its territories.”

Pfft.

This time it was Garrett who sprayed out his tea. He really hadn’t expected this, or rather, he hadn’t given it much thought.

After all, even the entire region around Lake-town had been incorporated into his domain only half-reluctantly. His desire for territorial expansion was genuinely quite modest.

At heart, Garrett respected and supported every free people’s right to choose. Whether it was Wayfort or the settlements of Dale’s territory, his actions had already demonstrated his intentions clearly.

Whether they swore allegiance to him or not, whether they joined his territory or not, no one within his reach was left hungry or homeless. That was simply the current reality.

The Free Cities, in the truest sense, never forced or coerced anyone. So long as there was no malice in their hearts, its protection was unconditional.

Once again Bain came over with a clean towel, having heard the commotion.

“Thanks.”

As Garrett wiped the table, he asked, “When did this happen?”

“Just last month. He said it was the result of long consideration.”

“Very well, if that’s what he wishes, so be it.”

After cleaning the table, Garrett said, “I’ll stop by on the way, officially declare it as part of the territory. That should satisfy them, shouldn’t it?”

“You make it sound like they’re forcing you.”

Hmm? Well… it did sound a bit like that.

Bard shook his head, dismissing the odd thoughts in his mind. “Anyway, I see it as beneficial, good for both sides.”

“Then that’s settled.”

Finishing his last sip of tea, Garrett stood up.

“Where are you going?” Bard stood as well.

“Relax, I’m not leaving. Just going for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Suit yourself.”

The two left the office, and before long were riding in a cart toward Dale. Following the smooth road, it wasn’t long before they arrived at the foot of the Lonely Mountain.

“This city hasn’t changed a bit.”

Prosperous, bustling, vibrant.

“Wait a moment, I remember there was a bakery over there. Ah, it’s still open.”

Garrett went over, selected a cream bun, and promptly found himself given an entire basket of pastries by the shopkeeper, who refused to accept any payment.

Just like the last time he had visited, except that time it was a large basket of honey-cakes. Hmm… he still hadn’t finished those; they were still tucked away in his inventory.

“Now, now, that’s far too much. By the way, your baking has improved again, this bun is even more delicious than the honey-cakes from last time.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your praise is the finest payment I could ask for.”

The baker was grinning so widely his face nearly split.

Carrying the large basket of pastries, Garrett wandered into a familiar alley.

Years ago, it was here that he had chatted with an old man while waiting for Gandalf. He hadn’t eaten that day and had shared half a biscuit and a cram with the fellow.

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

Suddenly, several residents moving furniture caught Garrett’s attention.

“My lord,” one of them set down an old piece of furniture, greeted Garrett respectfully, and explained, “The owner of this house has passed away. We’re sorting through his belongings.”

Garrett froze for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Ah… was the owner an elderly man?”

“Aye, my lord. He died of old age. No illness or suffering, he passed very peacefully.”

“…I see. That’s good to hear.”

The residents picked up the furniture again and continued clearing out the house.

Garrett stood there, holding his basket of bread, suddenly uncertain of his direction, unsure what to do next, or where to go.

Time had begun to reveal its true power.

After a long while, Garrett sighed and gave the house a small bow.

Just as that old man had once done to him.

When he left, his expression was much more somber. His thoughts wandered, restless and troubled.

“My lord!”

One of the residents called after him, hurrying up.

“Forgive my interruption, my lord, but I found this… the owner left it for you.”

He handed over a letter.

Garrett hastily set down the basket of pastries, so hurried he didn’t even bother with his inventory, and took the letter, tearing it open immediately.

The paper was filled with shaky, labored handwriting, like that of someone who had learned to write late in life.

—

To my beloved lord, Garrett:

My life has not been a happy one. Since my wife died of illness, and my son was killed by orcs on the road, loneliness and poverty have been my companions for decades.

Though you may not even remember me, I was glad to meet you, to be under your protection, to even have my own house, though I lived in it alone.

When I spoke with you, I felt at ease and content. The cram you gave me was delicious. It was the first time in my life I had ever tasted honey, and I shall remember that taste forever.

My dear lord, I can feel my time drawing short. It grieves me that I could not see you one last time.

But even if I had, I do not think I would have had much to say. I only wanted to say…

Thank you.

—

The letter ended there. There was no signature.

“My lord, there was also this, found beside the letter.”

The resident handed him a cram stuffed with honey and cream, wrapped in paper.

That style of pastry was uncommon now.

After so many years, the old man had saved what he considered the finest bread and left it for Garrett, just as he had once shared his own with him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep