Some people always act with incredible decisiveness, one moment they make up their mind, and the next, they're already on their way.
That very night, two figures galloped out of Minas Tirith on horseback, racing swiftly across the vast grasslands.
Meanwhile, Ecthelion sought out his father and presented him with the golden apple.
"Does it truly possess such power?"
A golden apple that would never spoil and could even save a life, whether in terms of function, appearance, or material, it was undeniably a rare treasure. Even to the eyes of the ruler of the mightiest realm of Men in Middle-earth, it was extraordinary.
"Yes, Father. I believe Garrett would not lie."
Gently taking the apple from his son, Turgon felt his hand sink slightly under its weight, as though his heart sank with it as well.
This apple... in every sense, it carried great weight indeed.
"Keep it safe yourself."
After a brief silence, he handed the apple back.
"My body has little need for such a thing anymore."
"Yes... Father."
The golden apple was soon placed into a custom-made case and stored away securely.
With the matter settled, Turgon asked again, "I hear you held a small feast. How did it go? Did you get along well?"
"It was quite pleasant. Garrett showed us his excellent cooking, it was delicious. Both Thengel and I ended up drinking rather more than we should have."
"That's good to hear."
Turgon nodded, then asked, "And where is our friend now? If it's convenient, I'd like to pay him another visit tomorrow."
"He's no longer here, Father."
"When did he leave?"
"Just now. The moment the feast ended, he dragged Thengel away with him. They should already be outside the city."
"And what was his purpose?"
"He..."
Ecthelion hesitated, unsure how to phrase it.
"He said he was going to give the King of Rohan a thorough beating. Thengel agreed with the idea and insisted on accompanying him."
"...I see."
Turgon gave a short reply. After a moment of silence, he added, "He truly is a loyal friend."
---
"Are we really just going to ride straight in like this?"
As night faded and the first light of dawn broke, Garrett and Thengel had already crossed the Mering Stream, the border between Gondor and Rohan, officially entering the lands of the Rohirrim.
Dew clung to the grass. Now and then, a drop, disturbed by the tremor of distant hooves, would roll down through its thin layer of frost.
"What else can we do? You can't fly, can you."
"...But can we take a rest? I feel like I can barely breathe." Thengel pleaded.
"That's your own doing."
Garrett turned back to look at Thengel, who had wrapped himself tightly in a large cloak and layers of dark cloth, even covering his head, leaving only his eyes visible. Garrett showed no sympathy in his words.
At a glance, he looked more like a highway robber than a prince.
"There's no one around here. Can't you at least take that heavy cloth off for now?"
"No, absolutely not. I won't let anyone see my face."
Thengel declared stubbornly: "I swore I would never return to this land. Even if I'm merely passing through, I refuse to be recognized."
"Very well then. Just don't suffocate yourself."
"So... can we rest for a while?" Thengel asked again.
Judging by his appearance, he truly might suffocate at this rate.
The horses halted, and a campfire was lit.
Garrett pulled out a pot and set it over the flames. Plucking two mushrooms from a rotting log by the roadside, he intended to cook a mushroom stew with the meat he carried.
"Those mushrooms look far too bright in color, and the cut surfaces even change shade. Honestly, I have my doubts, are they truly edible?"
Seeing Garrett about to toss the washed mushrooms into the pot, Thengel couldn't help but voice his concern.
"Don't worry, they're perfectly safe."
"How can you be certain?"
"I've eaten them before."
If you eat them and don't get a poison effect, then they're good mushrooms.
"Well, that's... reassuring."
Bubble, bubble.
A rich, savory aroma drifted from the pot, making their mouths water.
"Even just for this soup, I feel tonight's journey was worthwhile."
Thengel eagerly took the bowl Garrett handed him and drank a mouthful without hesitation.
"Mushrooms stewed with meat are truly delicious. I'll remember this recipe. Do you mind if I teach it to my family? It would be a shame for them never to taste something like this."
"Do as you like, if you can make it properly."
"You said so yourself."
Ignoring the steam still rising from the bowl, Thengel downed the soup in a few gulps, then ladled himself another serving.
Ahh.
After finishing the second bowl, he let out a long breath, releasing the heat pent up in his chest, and his whole body relaxed.
How long had it been since he last felt this kind of carefree ease, like being on some pleasant outing?
For no particular reason, Thengel felt cheerful, until he noticed a cluster of dark shapes approaching in the distance.
He quickly set down his wooden bowl, pulled on his cloak, and rewrapped his face tightly with the cloth.
Rumble...
The vibrations grew stronger as a company of riders approached. With practiced skill, they spread out to both sides, surrounding the two travelers completely.
Only then did Garrett gently put down his bowl of soup and rise from the stone he had been sitting upon.
"Hello."
He waved cheerfully at the horsemen gripping their spears.
"They bear us no ill will," Thengel whispered.
"Their spears aren't pointed at us, and besides..."
Just then, a figure rode forward from behind the éored. He dismounted, removed his helmet, an act that signaled trust, showing he came as a friend, not an enemy.
"Greetings, Lord Garrett the Renowned."
He bowed as he spoke.
"From the armor style, that's a Marshal of Rohan. By the way, 'Marshal' is their highest military rank, equivalent to Gondor's supreme commander," Thengel murmured from behind his covered face.
"You seem to know a great deal about Rohan," the Marshal said, looking at Thengel with some surprise. But after a brief pause, his expression shifted, and he exclaimed in astonishment:
"Wait a moment, this voice... could it be you, Your Highness—"
"You've got the wrong person!"
A sharp voice suddenly interrupted beside Garrett, startling him enough to glance over.
Thengel, pinching his throat to disguise his tone, cried out: "I'm merely a passing traveler!"
"Oh... oh, I see."
The Marshal gave the "traveler," who was now drenched in nervous sweat, a long, meaningful look, then turned back to Garrett.
"Please forgive our intrusion. We meant no offense, you simply happened to pass through our patrol area."
He pointed westward. "Over there is Helm's Deep, our cavalry stronghold. If you need a place to rest, you're most welcome there."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm in a hurry. Once we finish eating, we'll be on our way."
"Then may fortune ride with you."
The Marshal nodded, donned his helmet again, and mounted his horse.
"Oh, one more thing."
As he prepared to leave, he asked, "Just a formality, may I ask your destination and purpose?"
"To Edoras, to give your king a sound thrashing."
"What?!"
The Marshal's eyes went wide. He looked at Garrett, then at Thengel.
"Say that again?"
"I said, I'm going to give your king a thorough beating."
"Sorry, the wind's rather loud, I didn't catch that!"
Several meters away, the Marshal shouted at the top of his lungs. Then, with a sweeping gesture, he barked an order: "We're moving out!"
And just like that, they rode off.