This time, he had finally stepped outside the gate.
Sigh...
Garrett couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. He hadn't managed to kill Shelob. That creature's vitality was unexpectedly strong, thicker even than a dragon's. After severely injuring her, she still managed to escape.
After all, he had already searched for over a month. It wouldn't make sense to keep wasting time there.
Judging by her condition, though, she probably wouldn't be able to move around for a long time. That mountain pass should be safe for now.
And then there was Gollum.
That little fellow hadn't been found either. He didn't seem to be there.
But that was fine. There were some oddballs guarding near the pass, and Garrett had already instructed them to have their troops search for Gollum. All he needed to do now was wait for news.
This trip wasn't entirely fruitless, at least. He'd gained an insider, an orc chieftain who had turned traitor.
Sauron probably would never have imagined that a traitor could arise among the orcs.
The race was chaotic, yes, often sabotaging themselves through infighting, but throughout history, for tens of thousands of years, there had never once been an orc who betrayed their supreme master.
After all, they were born of darkness itself. By their very nature, they could only ever belong to the forces of darkness.
For that reason, the supreme leaders of the dark powers throughout the ages had always been somewhat complacent about the orcs' loyalty. They might think the orcs were unreliable in execution, or that their individual combat ability was lacking, thus creating new species to supplement them, but when it came to the possibility of orcs being turned by the enemy, their guard was surprisingly low.
Not that Mordor looked down on orcs. On the contrary, they were considered an important war resource, of great strategic use.
Still, that was another matter entirely.
"I can stay here a while longer," Garrett said.
In the grand hall, he was still speaking with Denethor.
"If they really intend to make a major move, I'll be here."
"And not just me."
Hearing Garrett's words, Denethor felt a rare sense of relief settle in his heart.
Yes, Garrett wasn't alone. There was the power behind him as well.
If Gondor had possessed the kind of strength that Garrett's faction commanded, would the corsairs of Umbar or the savages of Harad along the borders still act so brazenly?
They'd have long since retreated into their holes.
Denethor didn't hide much about Gondor's internal affairs. As they chatted idly, he casually revealed a few of the kingdom's highest-level secrets, things known to very few, some only to himself.
For instance, the garrison of Minas Tirith, its precise organization and deployment. At present, the city's local defenders combined with reinforcements from other fiefdoms totaled over twenty thousand men, all well-equipped elite soldiers.
Even if Mordor sent its tens of thousands of orcs and several thousand trolls to attack, Gondor could still meet them head-on. There was room to maneuver.
Of course, while a head-on clash could happen, it was unlikely to come to that.
After all, those twenty thousand men represented nearly all of Gondor's main fighting force, while the orcs they'd face would be only a fraction of Mordor's might.
Even that fraction was already enough to make one's chest tighten.
For safety's sake, Garrett stayed in Gondor for several months.
Unlike Gandalf, Garrett was received with open arms. Denethor, normally regarded as a stern and reticent steward, was exceptionally welcoming, as was the rest of Gondor.
Even Faramir, now a grown man, often came to seek Garrett's guidance on various matters. This time, Denethor didn't stop him. In fact, he even encouraged it, a rare gesture.
"Learn more from Garrett," Denethor told his younger son. "He once stood alone against an army of ten thousand and drove them into a rout. He is both brave and powerful."
Then, the steward added gravely, "I know you are careful and considerate. These traits help you perceive the hearts of others, but they will not help you stand against the deepest darkness and evil."
"Father," Faramir replied, "your words have enlightened me greatly... but I still hold some different views."
He tried to argue.
But clearly, Denethor had little patience for his younger son's opinions. He cut Faramir off mid-sentence and said sternly,
"You have never stood face-to-face with the darkness. You do not truly understand what I speak of. I do not blame you for that."
"But you should learn more from your brother."
"Yes... Father."
Faramir lowered his head and replied helplessly. He had long grown used to his father's favoritism. So used to it, in fact, that it no longer bothered him. The respected Grey Wizard had once said that true strength of will and courage exist within a person's heart, revealed through action, not through hollow words or self-assurances.
In the end, only by testing oneself could one know the truth.
"Don't mind what others say. Just do your best at what you believe in."
One night, when Garrett saw the young man gazing gloomily at the sky, he came over and said a few words to him.
Faramir nodded, trusting him completely. His father had told him to learn from Garrett.
Garrett, in turn, told him to follow his own path.
Though that advice somewhat contradicted his father's words, since his father had already said he should listen to Garrett and learn from him, then logically, Garrett's advice carried more weight.
Therefore, his reasoning was sound.
"I understand," Faramir said.
Garrett had no idea what exactly the young man understood, but he nodded anyway.
"As long as you've come to terms with it, that's good enough. You don't have to be just like your brother. You're two different people, after all."
After a few more words, Garrett didn't linger further.
By year's end, once it was confirmed that Mordor was merely reinforcing its defenses and planning nothing more, he departed and returned to his own lands.
On the way back, he stopped briefly in Rohan.
Théoden was still in good health, and there were no unwelcome figures in the Golden Hall.
Saruman, curiously enough, had been unusually quiet and well-behaved in recent years.
Without him stirring trouble, Gríma Wormtongue had lost his role entirely. He had yet to appear at all, and likely would never again stand in that hall as "advisor to Rohan."
With Garrett's departure, changes began to unfold.
In the following year, Gondor's western armies began to withdraw in stages, redeploying to other regions.
Only two orc units remained stationed at Cirith Ungol, each led by its own captain, guarding the tower halfway up the mountain. The evil stone sentinels at the gate were repaired, but clearly, the restored statues looked far less menacing than before, even a size smaller.
Thus, after more than a full year, Mordor's state of martial lockdown was finally lifted.
Gondor, too, breathed a sigh of relief.
That same year, Faramir was officially sent to the front lines, joining his elder brother in defending Osgiliath and fighting the savage enemy.
The two brothers stood watch on opposite sides of the great river, one in the western city, one in the eastern, each guarding the other from afar.
As time flowed on, quiet changes began to take shape.
Some grew stronger through the trials of war.
Others, broken by torment, grew weaker in spirit, until at last, they spilled everything they knew.
"The Shire, he's in the Shire! His name is Baggins!"
A wail echoed from the depths of Mordor.