In the year 2973 of the Third Age, Garrett traveled abroad to visit Rohan and Gondor, reuniting with two old friends.
That sa year, Gondor's commander Thorongil led a surprise assault on the port of Umbar, burning a great number of ships and slaying one of their captains, greatly reducing the threat from the southern seas.
This deed beca widely known throughout the realm, yet to everyone's confusion, Thorongil vanished without explanation after achieving such a remarkable feat, never appearing in public again.
It was the sa in Rohan. The people there still rembered this valiant captain who once fought alongside Marshal Théoden, defending the borders with exceptional courage and skill.
So attempted to seek out the Grey Wizard who was always seen with the young commander, his ntor and friend, but soon discovered that the wizard's whereabouts were even more elusive than Thorongil's. Thus, they abandoned the search.
Though Thorongil had disappeared, the Free Peoples still rembered the remarkable young man who had contributed so greatly to their cause.
His deeds would be recorded and passed down through the ages.
Ti moved swiftly onward.
Everyone continued their own journeys, not knowing where their paths would ultimately lead.
In the blink of an eye, many more years had passed.
In recent years, Garrett had rarely ventured far from his territories.
He spent most of his ti within his own lands, particularly in the city of Dale, where the people often saw him walking the streets or inspecting the markets.
It seed Dale had beco his preferred place of residence.
The quarters at Wayfort and the riverside manor in the City of Waters had long stood empty, uninhabited for quite so ti.
However, the people of both Wayfort and the City of Waters had grown accustod to their lord's extended absences.
After years of careful education and institutional developnt, each territory had adapted and established mature systems of governance.
Even without his direct presence, the lands continued to prosper and would only grow stronger.
The difference was that when he was actively involved, his realm often made great leaps forward, as it had with the construction of the Sky Road and the founding of the City of Waters' grand works.
When he was away, growth proceeded at a steadier pace.
In any case, the fact that he remained within his territories was welco news for his people. It mattered little which settlent he chose to reside in, so long as he stayed within the realm.
As for his preference for Dale, that was of little concern. After all, the distance from Wayfort or the City of Waters to Dale was not great. Even if sothing urgent occurred, news could be relayed swiftly without significant delay.
...Well, probably without delay.
Another winter arrived in Middle-earth.
Garrett, wrapped in his traveling cloak, walked quietly along the snow-dusted road, occasionally returning the greetings of townsfolk who recognized him.
Snowflakes drifted down gently, lting before they could even settle upon his shoulders.
Knock, knock, knock...
When he rapped on that familiar door once more, the sounds from within ca slower than in years past.
Creak.
Bard opened the door and welcod Garrett inside.
Cough, cough...
He coughed twice as he settled into his chair at the table, then pushed a steaming cup of tea toward Garrett.
The weather was growing colder with each passing day.
"How have you been lately?" Garrett spoke first.
"Sa as always... well enough," Bard replied simply, then fell silent again.
Garrett looked at his white hair and thin fra, saying nothing for a long while.
After so ti, another knock ca at the door.
This ti, Garrett went to answer it.
"Bain, and young Brand," he greeted warmly, smiling as he donned his gauntlets and lifted the lively young boy into his arms.
The child, only four or five years old, was at that age of boundless curiosity and playful mischief. But such naughtiness usually appeared only before his parents.
In the presence of Bard or Garrett, he always behaved.
"Have a biscuit," Bard said with a gentle smile, offering him a soft cookie.
"Thank you, Grandpa."
Brand reached out to take it, his bright, clear eyes wide open as he nibbled at it in tiny bites.
Bard gently stroked the boy's head.
Garrett settled back into the chair by the window, facing Bard across the table.
Bain, still holding Brand, took his place at the side.
"A new bridge has been completed to the east of Dale," he began his report. "Travel to Dorwinion should be considerably easier now. The borders have remained quiet as usual. No disturbances to report. This year has been another peaceful one, Father."
"Good." Bard nodded as he listened to his son's accounting.
He was no longer capable of handling overly complex affairs himself, nor could he personally inspect construction sites or ride to the borderlands anymore. Naturally, all those responsibilities had passed to Bain.
And he fulfilled them admirably, no less capably than Bard himself once had.
"You'll take good care of this land after I'm gone, won't you?"
"Father..."
"If you wish to see, then look for yourself. Nothing is truer than what your own eyes behold."
Garrett interrupted their exchange, clearly unwilling for the conversation to continue down that lancholy path.
Brand glanced from one adult to another, not quite understanding what was being discussed.
"The prosperity of this region owes much to you," Garrett said.
In recent years, as he had settled here and observed more closely, he had co to appreciate the true state of the Vales of Dale.
Its strong friendship with Erebor, the free flow of trade along the Running River, the thriving towns scattered throughout the valley, all of these were influenced in part by his presence and capabilities.
But reaching this level of widespread prosperity owed just as much to Bard's wise managent and dedicated stewardship.
When Wayfort was first founded, people moved there because they had heard that a legendary figure was willing to shelter the displaced and offer them new lives.
But the settlents of Dale were different.
Many ca here from distant lands. So were drawn by Garrett's reputation, certainly, but a large number, perhaps even the greater number, ca because of Bard's personal character and were inspired by the fair and just policies he had implented.
Acting as Steward of Dale, he had generously shared the wealth to create better lives for his people, while also maintaining harmonious relations with surrounding powers.
Through his tireless efforts, the reputation of Dale, the Free Settlents, and even Garrett himself rose steadily among their allies.
This entire region, vast and prosperous, had never given Garrett cause for worry or undue concern.
That winter and the Yule celebrations that followed, Garrett once again spent his days in the city of Dale.
The season passed peacefully and without incident. There were no great events, rely shared als, displays of craftsmanship, and quiet visits with close friends.
Of course, in Dale, his closest companions were Bard and Bain's family.
At table, they enjoyed the various dishes Garrett himself had prepared, eating with delight. Brand especially had never seen so many delicious foods before and nearly ate until he could scarcely walk.
The clear sound of cups touching echoed over the table as they raised them together in fellowship.
They drank deeply.
After the al, when Garrett had taken his leave, Bard returned to his desk.
He poured himself another cup of tea, took up his pen, and began writing sothing in a leather-bound journal.
But as he wrote, his hand gradually slowed and finally stopped altogether.
He shook his head with a quiet sigh, set down the pen, and leaned back in his chair.
His eyes closed as if to rest, but perhaps also to rember.
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