LOTR: TMCP Ch. 405

The flames of Mount Doom erupted once more, surging into the sky, a force so tremendous it could be felt by everyone across the world. The walls of Barad-dûr suddenly collapsed, and the dark tower burst apart with a thunderous roar. Massive stones rained down, crushing the bridge that led to the tower and blocking every path.

"Sauron has been utterly defeated."

Gandalf gazed blankly at the crumbling Dark Tower and murmured, "Just like his master Morgoth, he has been completely banished from this world, cast into the void beyond the universe. It's over."

At his declaration, everyone's spirits lifted.

Aragorn raised Andúril high, shouting with all his might, "Victory belongs to the Free Peoples!"

"Yeah!"

The people cheered, danced, and embraced one another, celebrating the final triumph. In everyone's hearts welled up countless emotions, but in the end, all were washed away by joy and laughter.

---

Scorching magma shot skyward, forming a crimson curtain. Garrett stood silently at the end of the stone steps, motionless for a long time. In his eyes shone a radiant brilliance, covering all that had once been visible within them. He could now perceive more than just the physical world. His vision reached toward some higher, unknown dimension.

The One Ring had unlocked almost all his power. Its lingering resonance had not yet faded, allowing him to see far beyond ordinary sight. For instance, he could now perceive Galadriel, who at that very moment was also trying to perceive him.

She looked at him, and he looked back. They stared into each other's eyes. Galadriel felt a moment of confusion, for all she could see was endless white. So she spoke to the Garrett of many years ago, "Your future is filled with uncertainty."

Then, perhaps ages later, or maybe only moments, as Garrett perceived it, another gaze met his.

It was his own.

He suddenly felt a mischievous impulse. He smiled at his past self and gave a little wave. He successfully startled himself.

Boom!

The volcano trembled violently, snapping Garrett's attention back. This place was about to be destroyed too.

So he began to walk outward. With each step he took, the stairs within the Cracks of Doom crumbled behind him, swallowed by flame.

Outside the great forge where the One Ring had been born, he met Sam and Frodo, who had managed to follow him. The lava cascaded downward. No ordinary being could survive in such conditions.

But Garrett was there. Shielding the two Hobbits, he led them down the slope. Then came the Great Eagles, descending as if on a divine mission. They carried Frodo and Sam away from the land now sinking into ruin.

Trailing behind the eagles came Weymir, who landed beside Garrett. Bracing against the burning torrents of magma, the dragon scooped Garrett up and soared skyward.

Lying upon the dragon's back, the radiance in Garrett's eyes slowly faded, returning to normal. His power drifted away on the wind, dissolving into the air. But at that moment, a premonition stirred within him.

If he could reach the Blessed Realm beyond the world, the power and essence awakened prematurely by the Ring's influence could be restored... and unleashed again, even more completely than before.

What that complete form might be, though, he would only know once he arrived there.

Hiss.

A familiar sound came from nearby. After such a long battle, Garrett immediately recognized it.

A fell beast.

Weymir instinctively wanted to spew a blast of fire to annihilate the surviving relic of an ancient age, but Garrett stopped her with a raised hand, halting the dragon's breath mid-release. Upon the beast's back sat a shadowy figure, one of the Nazgûl.

Ordinarily, with the Ring destroyed, the Nazgûl should have vanished, their souls freed at last. But this one, he clung to existence.

Barely.

Even without Garrett's intervention, he was clearly about to fade away completely. Yet he didn't seem to come seeking trouble.

In their brief meeting, he simply lifted a hand in farewell to Garrett, then, with his fell beast, dove headlong into the lava gushing from Mount Doom, embracing his own destruction.

It was over.

Garrett looked away and gazed up at the sky, exhaling deeply. Dark clouds covered the heavens, and heavy rain poured down, a curtain of water washing over the land, as though veiling the entire world in glass. For the first time in ages, the dry lands of Mordor received clean rain.

Everything was washed pure again.

---

Days later, after Frodo and Sam had recovered, they finally reunited with their long-missed friends.

Pippin, Merry, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and Gandalf, the Fellowship of the Ring was whole once more.

Elrond arrived upon hearing the joyful clamor. Seeing the nine together again, he solemnly declared, "I announce that the mission of the Fellowship of the Ring is complete!"

When he finished, looking at the unharmed faces before him, a genuine smile spread across his face. "It gladdens my heart to see you all reunited, none lost."

Behind Elrond, Bilbo hurried forward and embraced Frodo tightly.

"You did it, Frodo. You came back. I'm so proud of you."

Then, glancing around, he asked, "Wait, where's Garrett?"

At that moment of reunion, after greeting everyone, Bilbo finally noticed one was missing.

"He..."

Gandalf turned toward the east and said, "He told me he still had something to take care of. Perhaps he'll return soon."

Indeed, Garrett was finishing some final business. After the victory was declared, he had immediately returned to the Tower of Cirith Ungol to find the oddball commander and his men. There, he made an unexpected discovery. They had somehow captured Gollum.

By now, Gollum was of no further use. His fate no longer mattered to anyone.

After much consideration, Garrett finally ordered that he be transferred to a prison in the North District, to be held there for the time being.

As for the odd fellow and the orcs who followed him, they had done much to redeem themselves, secretly delivering vital intelligence to the Rangers of Ithilien and the Crossroads, information that had changed the course of battle.

One way or another, they deserved a proper resolution.

In the end, they chose to move to a secluded region under Garrett's protection, far from mankind, where they could begin a new life, one where they no longer had to serve anyone or fight for anyone's cause.

Perhaps the orcish nature would remain difficult to change. Perhaps their lives would continue to be chaotic for a long time.

But at least things would no longer get worse. They no longer had enemies, and could face their own end in peace. No one knew what fate awaited this twisted race, one not born of nature, but Garrett would continue to watch over them and take responsibility for both their future and his own choices.

After that, there was still much to do.

For instance, in southern Mordor lay the Sea of Núrnen. Around this vast lake stretched fertile green lands where, for years, slaves captured by Mordor had been forced to till the soil and grow crops. Now, all those slaves were freed. The lands they once worked under the lash, the Sea of Núrnen and its surrounding fields, became their new home.

This time, no one would compel them. All the fruits of their labor would belong to them alone.

Next came the question of the Easterlings and the Men of the South. Freed from Sauron's control, the Easterlings finally ceased their invasions. The shadow that had long hung over them would fade with time, and they too could look forward to a free and brighter future.

Khand, the nomadic realm where many stories had unfolded, at last gained true independence.

The South, however, was more complicated.

The Haradrim were easier to deal with. Under the guidance of Alatar and the other Blue Wizard, Pallando, Sauron's defeat, followed by Garrett and the Free Cities' show of power, quickly led them to surrender. A fair peace treaty was soon signed.

Like the Easterlings, the Haradrim would gradually escape Sauron's shadow. Moreover, under pressure from Gondor and the Free Cities, they abolished slavery and were forced to transition to new systems.

Then there was Umbar, farther to the south.

That place was far more tangled, home not only to local pirates and citizens, but also to descendants of Gondorian rebels who had fled there many years ago. Their hatred of Gondor was not merely the result of Sauron's manipulation. Once the rebels realized the tide had turned and Sauron could no longer be used as a tool for vengeance, they scattered, some fleeing, others hiding, their cause collapsing in a short time.

The remaining pirates were brought to justice. The guilty were punished, while the oppressed and enslaved were freed to live their own lives.

With these external matters settled for now, attention turned back to internal affairs.

For instance, Isengard.

The wizard's mission was over, and Saruman had departed, leaving the place empty.

Eventually, Isengard was placed under the care of the Ents. Treebeard took charge, tending the land and cleansing it of rubble and ash, restoring it to a place of beauty once more.

After Isengard came a smaller episode.

After recovering from the long ordeal in Mordor, several Hobbits visited the North District prison and met Gollum again. Garrett had entrusted them with deciding his fate. Perhaps they had seen enough bloodshed. Both Sam and Frodo chose to forgive him, to let him go. The others had no objection.

Before leaving, Sam even cooked Gollum a meal he'd once mentioned long ago, fried potatoes and pan-fried fish. But Gollum clearly wasn't interested. After one bite, he spat it out, earning a scolding from Sam for wasting food.

No one knew where Gollum went afterward. He was rarely seen again, but it was certain that he was finally free from the torment of his "Precious," the madness that had long consumed his mind.

His unnaturally prolonged life was at last released, and the Creator's gift to mankind, mortality, came to him, slow and gentle. By the time all these loose ends were tied up, a full month had passed.

During that month, Garrett and Aragorn were the busiest of all.

Garrett never took a rest. Aragorn, after visiting Frodo and reuniting with the Fellowship, hurried back to Gondor to work alongside Garrett on postwar affairs.

The sheer volume of matters was overwhelming. Fortunately, one of them didn't need sleep, and the other's extraordinary stamina let him endure sleepless nights for days on end.

Otherwise, things would never have been handled so quickly.

At last, everything was settled.

When the battlefields were cleared and order restored, on a bright morning Gondor welcomed an extraordinary gathering of guests. Elves, Dwarves, wizards, Hobbits, envoys from the Free Cities, and one man riding a dragon. His arrival startled everyone, but when they saw who sat upon the dragon's back, the citizens relaxed.

It was the very same legend who had achieved so many feats, the bane of the Dark Lord, Lord of the North... Garrett.

The grand assembly of guests had gathered for a single purpose, to witness the coronation of Aragorn. Before the ceremony began, Gondor's heralds formally welcomed the distinguished attendees.

"Welcome, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, Legolas, son of Thranduil, Gimli, son of Glóin, the Hobbits of the Shire, the great hero of the Fellowship, Frodo Baggins, and the Ring-bearer's brave companion, Samwise Gamgee..."

As each name was read, Aragorn greeted them one by one, bowing, saluting, or embracing them, while the crowd cheered for the heroes and honored guests.

Until someone else appeared.

The herald suddenly faltered.

"Quick, quick, go fetch me another one... no, make that two more! Don't ask why, just hurry!"

Moments later, two more heralds joined him.

The three of them conferred briefly, then began to take turns reading.

"With the highest respect, we welcome the Lord of the North, the great legend, the Bane of the Dark Lord and all evil, founder of the Free Cities, Supreme Leader of the Free Alliance, Shadow of War, Slayer of Balrogs, Dragonsbane, Master Shipwright, Builder of High Walls, Architect of Unyielding Towers, Creator of Miracles, Friend of the Dúnedain, Ally of Elves and Dwarves, Guardian of the Riverlands, Savior of the Vales of Anduin, Great Eater, Square Wizard, Alchemist, Chef, Champion of Banquets, Brewmaster, and Friend of Women and Children..."

Wait a second!

At that point, Garrett's face suddenly froze.

Had he just heard a strange title flash by?

Many people's eyelids twitched violently at the sheer length of Garrett's titles, yet that didn't stop the crowd from giving him the warmest, most enthusiastic welcome possible.

Later on, all of his titles were written down in a storybook, and "reciting every single one of Garrett's titles in one breath" became a sort of challenge among storytellers.

But that is a tale for another time.

The coronation ceremony finally began smoothly, with Gandalf himself placing the crown upon Aragorn's head. Garrett stood silently to one side, witnessing the moment.

"From this day forth, the age of kings returns to Gondor."

The king had come home at last.

The people cheered with overwhelming joy.

Even Denethor, albeit unwillingly, joined in with a reluctant clap. He knew his own era had ended. Before this day, he had already, of his own accord, returned the Steward's staff to Aragorn.

Aragorn had accepted it, only to hand it back immediately, asking Denethor to remain as Steward. He also granted Ithilien to the House of Húrin, further elevating their standing.

After the crown was placed upon his brow, Aragorn turned and bowed deeply to Garrett and the four Hobbits, personally praising their deeds before all. Every witness present offered their heartfelt respect. They had earned it.

Some days later, Gandalf led Aragorn to a sacred place of Gondor, the slopes beneath Mount Mindolluin.

There, Aragorn found a young sapling of the White Tree. Joyfully, he transplanted it to the fountain courtyard before the royal palace of Minas Tirith.

And once again, a holy White Tree grew in Gondor.

Life flourished anew.

---

One lazy afternoon, in the high gardens of Gondor, Faramir and Éowyn met. The sight of them leaning together startled two unexpected onlookers, Denethor and Boromir, passing by.

"Look at your brother," Denethor muttered. "When did he end up with the Princess of Rohan? Though, I must admit, the two of them do look rather well-matched."

Boromir laughed. "They met during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. One thing led to another, and here they are. I'm happy for them."

"And you, Boromir?"

Denethor suddenly jabbed him with an elbow.

"You've made your name, you're no longer young. Have you considered... starting a family?"

Boromir froze.

Oh no. The fire's on me now!

It seemed his peaceful days were over, but elsewhere, happiness blossomed.

Aragorn and Arwen were finally wed, their union sealing the bond between Elf and Man. Arwen became Queen of Gondor.

---

In the Shire, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry returned in triumph. The four met at the Green Dragon Inn for a grand celebration, drinking and laughing until dawn.

One day, urged on by his three friends, Sam finally gathered the courage to confess his feelings to the girl he loved. And so he found his happiness, marrying Rosie Cotton during a beautiful season.

Later, he became Mayor of Michel Delving.

Merry became the Master of Buckland, known far and wide as Meriadoc the Magnificent.

Pippin, with his achievements, was appointed Thain of the Shire, its titular highest authority.

But in truth, according to Hobbit custom, such titles were mostly honorary, symbols of respect rather than real power. Only in times of emergency would the Shire rally under their Thain's call, to defend their home or organize its people.

In short, as old Bilbo wrote at the end of his book, "And afterwards, they all lived happily ever after."

---

That year, the Free Cities were livelier than ever. Festivals filled the lands, and people lived each day in joy and peace.

Old friends, Thorin's Company, Brand, Grimbeorn, and others, or their descendants, came to visit Garrett again and again. Each visit was precious, as though every extra moment together was a gift. The Lonely Mountain grew wealthier. Dale prospered as always.

Upon the graves of Bard and Bain, small white flowers had begun to bloom.

Beneath the mallorn tree, Weymir had seemed gloomy ever since returning from Gondor. She had apparently overheard something from a certain talkative wizard, and now she often stared at the castle beside her, as if afraid the person inside might vanish. But one day, after a quiet conversation with Garrett, the dragon brightened up again. He sprawled lazily on the grass, basking in the sunlight, carefree as ever, as though he had never been worried at all.

As if he wasn't afraid he might never see Garrett again.

That day, more old friends arrived.

Halbarad and Erestor came together to visit Garrett, who welcomed them warmly. They were among the first friends he had made in this world, companions who had shared his longest journey.

The former, Halbarad, now served as an advisor to King Aragorn. It was said the King even wanted to appoint him Chancellor of the soon-to-be-restored Arnor, but Halbarad didn't seem eager. He claimed he would rather travel the world, relax, and enjoy the scenery than rule from behind a desk. As for the latter, Erestor, he would soon be leaving for the Blessed Realm, returning to Valinor. Together with Garrett.

That day was both reunion and farewell.

Inside Wayfort, a castle neither small nor large, but old with history, Garrett, Halbarad, and Erestor reminisced about the past.

"There was a man named Halbarad," said Halbarad with a wry smile. "A kinsman of mine, brave in battle. On the field, he saved me by striking down an assassin."

Perhaps because it was a parting, the usually quiet Halbarad spoke much that day, sharing story after story, as if afraid there would be no chance later. And perhaps there wouldn't be.

He was no longer young. He was now one hundred and eighty years old, his hair pure silver, though his body still strong and his spirit unbroken. But how much longer that strength would last, no one could say.

Garrett, on the other hand, looked exactly the same as ever.

For once, he didn't drink milk. Instead, he quietly downed a cup of the strongest liquor and said, "I met that young man. He fought bravely."

Halbarad nodded. "He's taken over my work now. He often operates near the Prancing Pony."

"Everything in this world passes from one to another," Garrett replied.

Yes, it always does.

Every story ends. Within the tale and beyond it, people come and go. And now, at last, their story had come to its end. The journey, too, seemed to have reached its final stop.

Except, for a few.

---

"I've never ridden such a large ship before," said Bilbo, full of wonder.

They stood aboard The Apprentice, the flagship personally crafted by Garrett, docked at the Grey Havens. Beside him, Frodo held his arm carefully, steadying him so he could take one last good look at the world they were leaving behind.

Nearby, Sam, Pippin, and Merry had also come to see them off.

Frodo handed Sam a book he had finished writing himself, then embraced each of his friends in turn. Their farewells were quiet, simple, heartfelt. But the same could not be said of another part of the deck.

"Never thought I'd see the Sea again," Alatar murmured as he slowly boarded The Apprentice. He gazed westward, his eyes filled with longing for home.

Beside him stood his companion and fellow wizard, Pallando.

"I once thought we'd never return," Pallando said softly.

"Don't say that," Alatar replied with a half-smile. "This ending's not bad at all."

"Though it seems," Pallando added after a pause, "someone doesn't quite share the sentiment..."

Both of them glanced toward the dejected Saruman.

"What are you looking at?" Saruman barked. "You think your missions went any better? Mind your own business!"

The two quickly fell silent and turned away.

Fine then, they thought. Wait until we get home. See if we don't tell everyone what you did in the East.

"All right, all right, no quarreling," Gandalf interjected, stepping in as peacemaker. "Everyone aboard, it's time to set sail."

"Hold on," Alatar said, counting heads. "Aren't we missing someone?"

"The Brown one?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Radagast is still fulfilling his duty, devoted to nature and the beasts. He's not coming with us. Not anytime soon, by the look of it."

"Well then," said the others, nodding. It certainly sounded like something the Brown Wizard would do.

After the wizards boarded, came Elrond, Galadriel, and Glorfindel, along with many of their kin among the Elves. And last of all came Garrett.

He was the final one to step aboard.

Behind him stood the stewards and envoys of the Free Cities, and countless friends and allies. The harbor was nearly filled to capacity. Many among the Free Cities folk wept openly, but no one could find the words to ask him to stay. They all knew their lord loved adventure, and whenever he set out, he might vanish for years at a time. They were used to it, used to his departures, used to his long absences. And yet, they also knew he always came back.

But this time...

Garrett quietly raised a hand toward those gathered on the docks. At once, the onlookers froze, falling silent. The tears stopped. Their expressions turned solemn. They stood there, still and reverent, watching their lord depart, like the Elves left behind in the Grey Havens.

Their composure was admirable.

"Will I ever see the lands of Middle-earth again?"

The citizens hadn't asked it aloud, but on the ship, Frodo couldn't help voicing the thought.

"Take a guess," Garrett said with a small, cryptic smile. Then suddenly added, "Do you remember, Frodo, the birthday gift I promised you? The one that's still unfulfilled?"

"You don't mean to tell me that dreadful trip to Mordor was the gift, do you?"

At that, Frodo's eyes widened, and then, slowly, he began to smile, suspecting what Garrett meant.

"You mean..."

"A journey," Garrett said. "One where I choose the destination, and you choose the time."

He smiled mysteriously. "That promise still holds. The time is up to you."

Frodo's face lit up.

Though he bore wounds that only the Undying Lands could heal, his mischievous Hobbit spirit was as bright as ever.

Gandalf, overhearing a bit of their talk, suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

Oh no... what is he planning this time?

Through the mist, pale white shores appeared on the horizon.

After a long voyage, The Apprentice sailed straight and true, finally reaching the legendary Blessed Realm, and docked safely.

"How does it feel, old friend?"

The moment Gandalf stepped upon the land of Valinor, his voice changed, vital, steady, no longer aged. Garrett turned to look, and was astonished. Gandalf no longer looked like the grey-bearded wanderer he had known. He was tall and radiant, his hair dark as night, his eyes bright with wisdom and power. The other wizards had undergone similar transformations.

Garrett let out a low whistle of admiration. "Well now, look at you, Gandalf. Or should I say..."

The figure smiled and bowed slightly.

"At this moment, allow me to properly introduce myself. Olórin, at your service."

"Well then, Olórin," Garrett replied with a grin. "I feel just fine."

He raised his hand, and before him appeared a transparent command box.

He typed a single line:

/gamemode 1

[Creative Mode Enabled]

[END]