Bilbo held the bucket of milk in his hands and drank it all in one gulp.
"Still the same taste as before," he said.
In other words, no taste at all.
"Really? You are planning to keep that as part of your belongings too?"
After Bilbo finished his milk, Gandalf asked.
"Of course. It is not as if I have any real use for it. Look at it, so beautiful, filled with mysterious magic. If I just keep it here, it will only gather dust and never serve any purpose again. That would be such a pity..."
"Pity...?"
As he spoke, Bilbo himself began to look confused.
"Why should I feel pity?"
He reached into his pocket and took out the Ring.
Rumble.
For a moment, the room seemed to darken. Gandalf blinked, his breath catching for several seconds before he could recover.
On the other side, Garrett also glanced at Bilbo's hand.
Like a single drop of water falling into a lake, his consciousness rippled slightly, but did not waver.
After all these years, he had faced Sauron himself many times through the palantír. If merely looking at the Ring was enough to afflict him, that would be far too pathetic. At least, before there was any direct contact, the corruption he could not reduce by ordinary means would not increase.
"It is mine, I found it, it is my... my... my precious..."
Bilbo was already lost in obsession again.
The Ring's influence ran too deep. No amount of daily milk could counteract it.
If he truly had not been affected at all, he would not have lived this long. Like Gollum, his soul had been stretched thin by years of contact.
Only, in Bilbo's case, the changes were minor. He simply did not look old. He had not turned into something like Gollum. Perhaps that came down to his temperament and natural resistance. But after more than sixty years, even his steady heart had begun to show cracks.
And perhaps it also had something to do with Sauron's growing power.
Garrett, who had encountered Sauron not long ago through the seeing-stone, could feel it most clearly. The Dark Lord had changed.
He was no longer impatient.
There was now a calm sense of control, as if everything was proceeding according to his design.
"Bilbo Baggins!"
While Garrett was still thinking about that recent encounter, Gandalf suddenly called out Bilbo's full name, his voice booming like thunder.
At the same time, an indescribable aura of awe and majesty radiated from him.
For a brief moment, the Grey Wizard revealed a glimpse of his true nature as one of the Maiar.
Even that faint glimpse was enough to shake any mortal to the core.
Bilbo froze in place, all obsession with the Ring wiped clean from his eyes.
"Come to your senses, old friend."
The terrible aura slowly faded, and he returned to his usual gentle demeanor.
Bilbo trembled, then threw his arms around him.
"I only want to help you, Bilbo."
Gandalf patted his back softly, comforting him.
"Trust my judgment, as you always have before. Leave it behind."
Bilbo hesitated.
Under the combined gaze of the two, he took a deep breath and finally nodded.
"You are right."
He drew the Ring out once more, closed his eyes, and loosened his grip.
Clink.
The Ring fell to the floor, the tiny sound somehow heavy.
He let out a deep breath, like a Hobbit who had just laid down a great burden. His whole body seemed lighter.
"I am leaving," he said with a smile. "I am going to see the places I have always dreamed of. I want to visit Rivendell again, see the newly rebuilt Lake-town, the Lonely Mountain beyond the ranges, and finally, the valley beyond."
"I will finish my book, the one I have been writing all this time."
"I already know the ending."
"He lived happily ever after, to the end of his days."
"Farewell, Gandalf. Farewell, Garrett."
He walked over and embraced them both one last time.
"Farewell, Bilbo," Garrett said, crouching slightly to meet his eyes. "We shall meet again."
Bilbo nodded.
Moments later, he set off, his figure fading into the distance, accompanied by a soft, melodic song:
"The road goes ever on and on..."
---
Inside the house, Gandalf slowly approached the Ring lying on the floor, reaching to pick it up.
Boom!
The instant his fingers neared it, a blazing shadow of flame flashed through his mind.
"I can feel his presence, that evil, dark, and unfathomable power. There is no mistake."
Unable to help himself, he turned toward Garrett, who had been standing quietly this whole time, uncertainty written across his features.
"You must know something, do you not?"
"Of course I do. I have known for a long time," Garrett said calmly. "That is the One Ring, the Master Ring itself."
"How can you be certain?" Gandalf asked, still doubtful. "Saruman said the One Ring was swept away by the river long ago, lost to the sea, impossible to find."
"That is true, in a way. The One Ring has not appeared in this world for thousands of years."
Since the second year of the Third Age, nearly three thousand years, it had remained hidden.
"Do not place blind faith in Saruman. He has motives of his own."
Garrett rose and stepped closer. Gandalf moved aside, revealing the One Ring on the floor. The two of them stood there, staring at it in silence. If the One Ring had feelings, it would probably be sweating nervously right now.
"What do you feel?" Gandalf asked.
"Heavy. Dark. And if you could just move a little to the side, that would be appreciated. I am about to stand up and I will probably hit the beam. Also, you are blocking the light."
"Oh, my apologies."
Gandalf shifted aside.
Even then, he could hardly bring himself to believe it.
The meanings were too vast. The fate of the entire world might soon revolve around that small, unassuming thing.
"Will it really, though?"
He shook his head again and again.
"If it truly is..."
He looked over at Garrett, who quickly waved his hands. "Do not look at me. I am not touching that thing."
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you think I am not touching it?"
The two rose together and returned to the table. Gandalf lit his pipe and Garrett poured himself a cup of tea.
The Ring remained where it had fallen by the door, untouched.
"This matter affects too much," Gandalf said gravely. "I must be certain that this really is the One Ring before taking any further steps."
"You are being overly cautious, Gandalf."
"Not overly cautious, simply appropriately cautious."
For once it was confirmed that this was indeed the One Ring, what would follow could only be the final war of Light and Shadow.
The whole world would be plunged into turmoil.
"No one will be able to stay uninvolved."
Gandalf fixed his gaze on Garrett.
"As the leader of the strongest realm of Men at present, you must understand that."
Looking eastward toward Mordor, there were three powers of Men standing guard in their own ways: the Free Cities, Rohan, and Gondor, all holding the line against Mordor and the dark forces from the East.
The Free Cities hardly needed mention. They relied purely on strength of arms to block every northern route the dark powers could take, sealing them off completely.
Gondor, with its Steward's iron will and its brave, battle-hardened soldiers, held the heaviest burden, fighting the Witch-king and the orcs at Mordor's very gate, while also warding off southern corsairs and the raiders of Harad.
Rohan mostly played a supporting role, its skilled Riders patrolling the vast plains, guarding against orcs slipping westward from the central lands, and clashing fiercely with the Dunlendings to the west.
Busy, yes, but still holding the advantage.
As Gandalf considered the state of the world, he asked, "If a final war like that of the Last Alliance were to come again, are you certain of victory?"
"Hard to say."
"Hard to say?"
Now it was Gandalf's turn to be surprised.
"I thought you would be far more confident."
"Confidence, yes," Garrett said. "But there are still too many hidden dangers I cannot quite identify."
He took a sip of tea and continued, "You do not know this, but just last year, Saruman used the palantír atop Orthanc. He was nearly ensnared by Sauron's will. It was right around the time you left. Fortunately, I arrived only a moment later. Otherwise things might have turned out far worse. The Orthanc palantír is now sealed in the topmost chamber of the nameless tower at Wayfort. I use it from time to time myself."
"That is not exactly reassuring," Gandalf muttered, shaking his head.
Saruman, too reckless, too proud, not nearly humble enough.
After a moment's thought, he asked, "What did you see through it?"
"An army without end."
Garrett's eyes narrowed as he recalled the vision. "There are tens of thousands of orcs in Barad-dûr alone, along with trolls, spiders, and other great beasts. Some of them could fly, twisted, lesser breeds of dragon. And that is just within Mordor's inner regions. What I glimpsed of the outer lands was only fragments, but by my estimation, Mordor's full strength, combined with its allies, must number well over a hundred thousand. Possibly twice that. And that is only what can be seen on the surface."
"Over a hundred thousand..."
Gandalf fell silent, turning the number over in his mind.
Decades of peace and prosperity among the Free Cities had dulled his instincts, almost making him believe things were truly going well.
But in truth, they had never been truly secure.
Even the rise of the Free Cities only tilted the balance slightly toward the Light.
Without them, it would be utter disadvantage. Sauron would not even need the Ring. A direct assault would be enough to conquer Middle-earth.
Destroying the Ring had never been a bold gamble. It was the only desperate option remaining.
"That is why," Garrett said quietly, "though I have known all along that this was the One Ring, I never chose to act before."
Back then, Wayfort had only just been founded, and he was not strong enough to ensure success.
Even now, the task remained formidable.
And as for more radical options...
If the Ring could not be destroyed, then let Mordor burn.
Of course, if everything could be resolved at the smallest cost, it would be better to take the cautious path.
He looked at Gandalf and said, "As I told you, I tried long ago to destroy it by my own means, but all attempts failed."
Gandalf exhaled a puff of white smoke. "That is not surprising. None of the Rings of Power can be easily destroyed. This matter requires careful thought. But for now, we should first decide what to do with the one lying on the floor."
No sooner had he spoken than the sound of footsteps came from the doorway.
"I cannot believe he actually left," Frodo said, stepping inside with a wistful sigh.
"What is this?"
He picked up the One Ring from the floor, turned it over curiously, and scratched his head.
It looked perfectly ordinary.
Gandalf's eyebrow twitched.
Garrett glanced at Frodo, then at Gandalf, raising his own brow slightly. The two exchanged a long look, then, in unison, turned their eyes toward Frodo.
There was meaning in that silence.
"That is your Bilbo's ring," Gandalf said at last. "One of the things he left for you. Do not worry. He has gone to live among the Elves."
He picked up an envelope from the table. "As for Bag End and all of Bilbo's possessions, including that ring, they now pass to you. Come, Frodo."
He opened the envelope, motioning for him to drop it in.
Without hesitation, Frodo slipped the ring inside, without even a pause, as though it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket of little worth.
Snap.
The seal came down on the envelope.
"It is done," Gandalf said. "Together with Bag End, that ring is now officially yours. Keep it safe, Frodo. And let no one know of it."
As he handed over the sealed envelope containing the Ring, he finally exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.
Then, almost reflexively, he turned once more to Garrett, who smiled faintly. "It seems we have bought ourselves a little more time. Do what you must, Gandalf. I will handle things here. I promise, everything will be well."