In the year 2958, a construction team set out from Crossroads Town toward the ruins of the old capital of the Kingdom of Rhovanion, near East Bight, where they began repairing buildings and establishing watchposts.

This activity immediately caught the attention of the Woodland Realm.

It was simply impossible not to notice.

The last time humans had lived in this place was more than fifteen hundred years ago. Back then, a group of Northmen had established the Kingdom of Rhovanion here. Then came wars, alliances, conflicts, and eventually, its downfall. From its founding to its fall, the kingdom lasted just over six centuries.

After the dissolution of Rhovanion, part of its people formed a new nation: the Éothéod, ancestors of the Rohirrim. In a key battle, they saved Gondor, and Gondor rewarded them with vast lands. There they founded their own kingdom, what is now Rohan.

Others went north to form Dale, living alongside the Dwarves, an event recorded in dwarven history.

Thorin once remarked, “When my grandfather once more became King under the Mountain, many Men who honored him migrated along the Running River and built a merry little town in the valley near Erebor, called Dale.”

Besides these, some went even farther. Some settled in scattered villages in the Vales of Anduin, while others traveled to live in Dorwinion.

In fact, if one traces back far enough, many people in present-day Wayfort are descended from the Kingdom of Rhovanion. The place has no small connection with Garrett.

In summary: there once was a kingdom here called Rhovanion, which lasted more than six hundred years. After it fell, its people each sought their own path.

Six centuries is not long for the Elves. To them, it was merely as if a human kingdom had sprung up next door, events unfolded, battles were fought, and then it dissolved.

By this era, the Elves were no longer as active as before. They preferred to retreat into their chosen refuges, where opening and closing their eyes spanned millennia. As long as outside events did not touch them, they cared little and bothered with nothing.

However…

During the development of Rhovanion, they lacked resources, especially timber.

So they cut down a vast swath of the eastern Greenwood, leaving behind the wasteland now filled with nothing but stumps and broken branches, known as the East Bight.

To the west of this wasteland came to be called the Narrows of the Forest, the narrowest stretch of the forest.

The Elves of the Woodland Realm were left speechless. Living peacefully in their forest, a huge part of their land was suddenly gone, felled for someone else’s city.

But they said nothing. After all, the kingdom was gone. What was there to argue about?

They could hardly demand an explanation from its scattered descendants.

In any case, over a thousand years had passed since the fall of Rhovanion. Now that Men had returned once more to these lands, it drew the attention of many Elves.

They had received no prior word, so, out of curiosity, they came to inquire.

The Woodland Realm’s deputy was tasked with handling the matter, and he was ordered to speak with Garrett.

Garrett greeted him, and after a bit of pleasant conversation, they got to the point.

“We intend to build an outpost here, both to watch over the movements of this wilderness, and to prepare for future expansion.”

“You don’t think we plan to chop down the forest trees again, do you?”

With history in mind, Garrett could guess what they were concerned about.

“Rest assured,” Garrett said. “I have the seeds of every tree in Mirkwood the Great.”

“What do you mean by that?” the deputy asked, a little puzzled.

Why had the topic suddenly jumped to seeds?

“Look.”

Garrett pointed to the border between the East Bight wasteland and the forest.

There, the trees belonging to Mirkwood had not diminished in the slightest. On the contrary, some new native species had begun sprouting in the wasteland beside them.

They were reclaiming the barren land.

Life was reviving upon it.

The deputy’s eyes widened.

“The forest is healing.”

He turned to look at Garrett, opening his mouth but struck speechless, unable to utter a word for a long time.

“You are the first lord who has ever made me feel such deep respect…”

That year, Garrett brought his pioneers to the ruins of the old Kingdom of Rhovanion near East Bight. Buildings were repaired, and the abandoned wasteland of East Bight gradually became covered with trees and grass.

It was foreseeable that before long, the so-called East Bight would vanish entirely, and with it the name Narrows of the Forest, which had arisen because of it, would also disappear.

Both would pass into history, replaced by a whole and unbroken forest.

Elves… born close to nature, always sensed things within it that others could not.

It was for this very reason that the Ents, the tree-folk, befriended them.

In the beginning, the Ents had no speech; it was the Elves who, perceiving them and communicating with them, inspired in them the desire to speak, and from that, they created their own language.

“Think nothing of it. After all, I didn’t come here for this purpose. It was merely something I did along the way.”

Garrett spoke words that carried a distinctly Elvish flavor.

Merely along the way… yes, just like when the Elves once marched to Dale, not with the primary purpose of saving the humans there, and the great supplies they brought were also “merely along the way.”

After finishing his conversation with the deputy of the Woodland Realm, Garrett wandered through the construction site, confirmed that everything was proceeding smoothly, and, finding no further issues, mounted his horse and rode off.

He continued southward.

Traveling along, he came to the riverbank and boarded a boat, arriving at the northernmost reaches of Rohan.

The Northern Wold.

Here there were only a few scattered small towns, with far fewer people than in the southern lands where the capital lay.

But at least there were some.

In one of the larger towns, Garrett saw what seemed to be a long avenue.

From the townsfolk he learned that this was the Folde Road. By following it south and crossing the second bridge, one would eventually reach the capital of Rohan.

“This is no short journey,” Garrett said, studying his map.

To travel from the Northern Wold to Edoras meant crossing the whole of Rohan, the two places lying at its northern and southern edges.

Fortunately, there was at least a road, so caravans or travelers would not find the passage too troublesome in the future.

Thus, after several years, Garrett once again arrived at the capital of Rohan.

In the great hall, King Thengel sat with his head in his hands, speaking wearily with Rohan’s high council over matters of state.

Until a guard burst in, interrupting the meeting.

“What is so urgent?”

Thengel frowned.

“We are in the middle of important discussions. I hope your message outweighs them in importance.”

At the king’s command, the guard hurried forward and whispered a few words in his ear.

“The meeting is adjourned. All of you, withdraw. We will continue tomorrow.”

The king announced suddenly. The council members glanced at one another, puzzled, unable to make sense of it.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep