When The Apprentice was launched, its blueprint was also preserved by Garrett, labeled as “Apprentice-class.”

This made future construction much more convenient.

However, so far, he was the only one in the entire territory capable of building such a flagship. Others were still learning, and for now no one else had reached that level of expertise.

“It rivals the largest ships I can recall, perhaps even more refined.”

When The Apprentice was officially completed, Garrett stood at the bow to make the announcement, while Círdan, one of the witnesses, stood below.

Among the crowd, there was also a conspicuous wide grey hat.

“It’s truly massive. Just the crew required to operate and maintain it could form a full company of soldiers.”

Gandalf looked around at the ship, gazing at the beacon light piercing the sky above it, unable to hold back a sigh.

According to Garrett, each “Apprentice-class” vessel had to be equipped with at least one beacon. It was practically a giant mobile fortress.

As he observed, he fell into memory.

“The last time I saw a ship this grand was long ago. But that ship sank, along with the throne it carried, and the kingdom to which that throne belonged.”

“Trust Garrett,” Círdan reminded the old wizard at his side.

Of course, he knew exactly who Gandalf was speaking of, and which ship it was.

Ar-Pharazôn’s Alcarondas, the Castle of the Sea, the flagship of the last King of Númenor, when he sailed to assail Valinor itself.

Naturally, everyone knew the outcome of that assault: the supposedly invincible fleet, together with the whole realm of Númenor, was swallowed by the sea, erased from the world.

“Of course I trust him.”

“I just feel that… ah, never mind.”

Gandalf shook his head halfway through his thought.

“It’s still a good thing, in the end.”

The news of The Apprentice spread quickly, reaching even distant lands.

For example, Gondor.

When the messenger returned with the detailed report, many among the high council felt their scalps tingle with unease.

But Turgon kept his men in check, stifling the dangerous thoughts some of them began to entertain.

“Open Pelargir’s port. Allow the fleets of the Free Peoples to pass through.”

“But…” someone began to voice their concern, only to be cut off by Turgon.

“If he truly had hostile designs, would he need to resort to subterfuge?”

The whole hall fell silent.

After the meeting, Turgon dragged his increasingly frail body back to his chamber, picked up his quill, and began to write.

He wished to convey Gondor’s goodwill, shown in its decisions regarding their ally’s development, to the distant settlements, particularly that newly established port city.

—

Spring, 2952.

A royal envoy set out, carrying the letter and gifts from the crown.

“What, your lord isn’t here again?”

But when he finally arrived, after much travel, at Wayfort on the western side of the Misty Mountains, this was the message he received.

“Nor is he at Dale.”

“Then…”

“Don’t ask me, friend.”

The townsfolk replied, “No one knows where our lord has gone. And please don’t take offense, this is simply our lord’s way.”

“Then I’ll wait here.”

“Of course. You’re very welcome to stay with us for a time.”

The envoy, resigned, settled down at Wayfort.

Meanwhile, Garrett… had nearly crossed paths with him.

As the Gondor envoy was heading west, Garrett was traveling east.

—

“What brings you here?”

On the Old South Road, Garrett was riding when a group suddenly emerged from the bushes, clad in animal hides, wielding axes and spears.

They were the Men of Dunland.

Not very polite in their approach.

He was startled by their sudden appearance, and they were just as startled by him.

“No, lord, we were hunting, just passing through,” said the leader of the Dunlendings, stepping forward.

Garrett didn’t recognize them at all, but they knew him all too well, their ears full of tales of his deeds.

“Hunting? From your look, it seems more like you’re off to mischief.”

“Absolutely not, lord.”

The leader lowered his head guiltily, while the others stayed silent.

“Tell me your purpose, and who sent you.”

Garrett dismounted and stood before him.

Just stood there, watching.

Cold sweat trickled down, and finally the chieftain could no longer withstand the pressure.

“It was Lord Saruman. He ordered us to keep watch on anyone passing through here. But I swear, we had absolutely no intention of launching an attack, whether against you or anyone else!”

“Ah, Saruman?”

“I was just on my way to see him. What you say had better be true.”

“I swear to you, my words are not false in the slightest.”

“Good enough. Go back now, and don’t loiter around here again.”

“Yes, lord!”

They withdrew hastily.

Garrett mounted his horse and continued east, all the way to Isengard, before the gates of the tower of Orthanc.

Many years had passed, yet nothing here had changed. The lake was clear, the trees lush, the sky blue.

Only the old face atop the tower was less than pleasant to behold.

“Saruman! Open up, open the gate! It’s me, open up already!”

In front of the sealed gate, Garrett pounded heavily. With each knock, cracks began to appear in the surface, widening as he kept hammering.

“Enough! Can’t you wait a moment? It takes me time to walk down!”

Just as it seemed the gate would break apart, a voice rang out.

Saruman hurried to stop Garrett, opening the gate at once.

“I thought you weren’t here.”

“I’ve been here all along. The gatekeeper was simply called away by me to handle other business.”

“Oh, what an unfortunate coincidence, the moment I arrive, your man happens to be elsewhere.”

“Yes… most unfortunate.”

Saruman’s expression remained stiff, his tone flat, as if he hadn’t heard the implication in Garrett’s words.

—

“So, what business brings the ‘Great Shipwright, Master of the Grand Shipyards of Wayfort’ to visit me here?”

In the upper chamber of the tower, he brewed a fine pot of tea and poured Garrett a cup.

“I must admit, the tea is excellent. It seems Saruman the White truly deserves the title of ‘the Wise’, your taste alone marks you as exceptional.”

For once, Garrett offered the wizard a compliment.

But Saruman gave no reply. For the tea had been imported from Wayfort.

Seeing his silence, Garrett dropped the pleasantries and went straight to the point:

“I’m here because I have a request. I need something from within your tower.”

“And what is that?”

“The Elendilmir.”

Saruman narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No need to hide it. I know it’s here.”

So the visitor came with purpose.

“Well then?”

Seeing Garrett’s firm stance, Saruman stopped pretending. Yet even so, he was troubled.

It wasn’t exposure itself that concerned him, but how it had been exposed.

The fact that he had taken the Elendilmir was something no one had known for centuries. No one had ever suspected it lay here.

And as for someone sneaking into Orthanc’s sealed chamber to see the jewel, impossible. The key had never left his possession, and the door was warded with spells no ordinary man could break. Even a Nazgûl couldn’t force it open.

“How did you find out?”

“I guessed.”

At that answer, Saruman’s hand froze; he nearly crushed the teacup in his grip.

“It isn’t here. What I said just now was nonsense.”

“It’s here.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“I said it’s not.”

“I said it is. All right, I didn’t come to rob you.”

Garrett set down the teacup and said, “Name your price. I’m taking it with me.”

Ah, so it was a misunderstanding.

Saruman’s expression eased somewhat.

“Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I should tell you the arduous tale of how I have safeguarded it all these years…”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep