The eting with Gondor's Ruling Steward ended abruptly. The result of the encounter was, Garrett and Turgon reached no agreent at all.
They simply exchanged a few sharp words and then parted on bad terms.
"Ensure our guest is well entertained!"
That was the Steward's parting order.
---
"We wish to befriend you."
Outside the palace, Ecthelion hurried forward and said, "Please forgive my father. He is simply too preoccupied with matters of authority and prestige, but he has no intention of becoming your enemy."
If it had been an ordinary lord, a respectful bow would have smoothed things over. After that, relations could be nded, gifts exchanged, and the matter spread as a gesture of goodwill.
As for the accusation of commanding Gondor's forces without proper authorization, was that really such a grave offense?
But unfortunately, the one he encountered was Garrett.
Had the Steward spoken to him as a respected ruler, Garrett would have responded with appropriate courtesy. But he insisted on wielding his authority to assert dominance...
"This is the first ti soone has spoken to like that."
"Even the Elven lords and the Dwarf-kings show more wisdom than he does."
If not for Ecthelion stepping in to diate, the matter might not have ended so diplomatically.
"But it's understandable, many old n suffer from an ailnt that makes them obstinate."
He chuckled and said, "Your father is an interesting man."
Although tensions appeared high on the surface, Gondor's reputation had actually risen substantially, now reaching the level of "ally." That ant whenever Garrett required assistance, they would be willing to send military aid.
He spoke casually, but in Ecthelion's ears, the words carried another weight. Hearing him, he felt a surge of complex emotions.
This legendary figure clearly attached no importance to such protocol, or more precisely, he placed no value on ceremony or displays of power.
Even if today's scene were replaced with a humble village, and the village elder scolded him for taking vegetables from soone's garden, his attitude would have remained the sa.
No, in fact, he might have shown even more humility, since he really would have taken the vegetables.
"The Steward requests your presence."
After chatting briefly with Garrett, a palace guard suddenly approached to summon Ecthelion.
"I'll visit you again later," he said this to Garrett, then followed the guard back into the palace.
---
"Listen carefully."
Beside the throne, Turgon rose briskly, walked to his son, and spoke with solemnity, "That northern lord harbors ill intentions. You should avoid associating with him."
"I understand, Father."
Ecthelion answered seriously, then asked, "But what should we offer him? I believe that he and his realm lack for nothing. Perhaps establishing a trade route would be a good approach?"
"Were you listening to what I just told you?" Turgon's expression darkened.
"What?"
---
Ecthelion, formally "Ecthelion II," was the twenty-fifth, that is, the heir apparent to the Stewardship of Gondor.
The current holder, Turgon, was the twenty-fourth Ruling Steward.
But his retirent was not far distant. He was already ninety years old, and he could not continue in office for more than another decade.
He was well aware of this himself, which was why Garrett was able to et Ecthelion before the throne, he was already training his successor in advance.
"In recent years, whenever my father governs, he has observe, and even participate in so of the decisions."
In the royal gardens, Ecthelion conversed with Garrett.
This son of the Steward, now in the pri of his life, was quite different from his father. He did not project such overwhelming authority; instead, his eyes held more warmth.
"I am keenly aware of the burden upon my father's shoulders," he said. "From the day he took office, Gondor had remained at peace, until recent years, when news ca of the ancient Enemy's return. Mordor suddenly stirred to life, and corsairs from the south grew bold."
"It was then that we realized our long peace had been an illusion. The Enemy had rely been dormant, gathering strength."
"Mordor sends soldiers constantly into Ithilien. The Southrons are no longer content with rely harassing Harondor. The Corsairs of Umbar also cast covetous eyes upon Gondor's southern coasts."
"They spread rumors that Gondor is dood, claiming that anyone who surrenders to them will escape destruction and enjoy riches in the South."
"Many young n have been corrupted by such whispers."
"Oh?"
Garrett raised an eyebrow but said no more.
"In truth, under the fierce assaults of the southern pirates and raiders, even so of our great lords have wavered. A few fled with their entire treasuries to join the Enemy. This is what has made my father feel the crisis so acutely."
At this, Ecthelion gave a bitter smile.
Garrett looked at the Steward's son and said, "I imagine your burdens are no lighter than your father's."
After all, he was next in the line of succession.
"I believe you will uphold Gondor's honor."
He recalled what he knew, Ecthelion, in later years, would be rembered as a wise Steward, ruling with openness, encouraging n of talent from near and far to serve Gondor in the struggle against Mordor.
It was during his tenure that Aragorn, under the na "Thorongil," would serve him as a captain of Gondor and win great rit.
"Thank you," Ecthelion said earnestly.
"To earn your approval is my honor."
"Father!"
As they spoke, a youthful voice rang out from the garden entrance.
Both n looked up and saw a boy of about his early teens running toward them. He first bowed respectfully to Ecthelion, then glanced at Garrett, his face showing a trace of hesitation, as though unsure of the proper greeting.
"I was just about to introduce you."
Ecthelion placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, drawing him forward. "This is my son, Denethor."
"Denethor, greet Master Garrett."
"Hello."
Before Denethor could speak, Garrett had already risen, reaching out as if to ruffle the boy's hair, who, though not yet of age, was already nearly as tall as he was.
But a pair of resisting hands stopped him.
"Sir, please don't. I am no longer a child who needs such attention."
"Ah... haha..."
Garrett laughed awkwardly.
Just like Aragorn, one proud child after another.
---
Inside the palace, having dismissed his disobedient son, Turgon rose to his feet. After several deep breaths, his mood finally cald.
And once the tension eased, stray thoughts crept in.
"When did it begin, that my son would no longer heed my counsel?"
As he reflected, he realized that since the border conflicts had grown frequent and local affairs multiplied, he had scarcely paid attention to his family. It had been so ti since he had spoken with them outside the halls of governance.
"Alas."
For so reason, his heart softened. He beckoned to a servant, ordered a tray of fresh grapes, then carried it himself as he walked toward a certain place beyond the palace.
"At this hour... I recall he enjoys strolling in the gardens. Sotis he is there as well."
"They both favor grapes, especially the green ones. I wonder if their tastes have changed."
For once, he smiled, setting aside all vexations, and that even more vexing figure.
The lightness in his heart lasted until he reached the garden gate.
Clatter.
The silver tray fell to the ground, scattering the carefully washed grapes across the stone path.
His smile froze.
There before him sat his son, chatting amiably with Garrett on a bench. And his grandson stood respectfully before that man, as though seeking his counsel.
The commotion at the gate quickly drew the attention of the three in the garden.
Ecthelion's heart instantly sank.
"Father, please allow to explain—"
"Ah! What a touching scene indeed!"
The smile vanished from Turgon's face in an instant. With a sweep of his heavy robes, he scowled, "By all ans, continue your conversation. I have pressing matters to attend to and will not disturb you."
His footsteps carried him swiftly away.
Behind him, the grapes lay scattered across the ground.
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