Snow.

This stuff usually could only be seen in the high altitudes of the Misty Mountains or the great snowfields of the far north. In other regions, one would have to wait for winter.

But snow had never demonstrated much practical utility, so Garrett hadn’t paid it much attention. However, while snow itself might prove useless, the ice that often accompanied it was more valuable.

Ice, or more precisely, the non-melting packed ice synthesized from regular ice, was essential for constructing high-speed transport routes.

In his first winter after arriving in this world, he decided to stockpile some materials.

On this day, after returning from his expedition, he cleared the snow from the stronghold gate and invited Gandalf inside for a meal.

Then the old wizard hurriedly departed again without even remaining the night.

“My thanks for the invitation, but if I don’t depart now, I won’t arrive in time. I truly don’t want the children to call me a promise-breaker.”

“Alright then. I hope you have a wonderful Yule.”

After seeing Gandalf off, the first thing Garrett did was clear the frequently used areas of his territory. Although the thick layers of snow were quite beautiful, they seriously hindered movement.

Just clearing that much provided him with an entire chest of snow.

Despite having been absent for several months, the animals were all the same as before. Even though they were exposed to the snow, they showed no unusual signs, impressively resilient to the cold.

As for the original native animals, cattle, sheep, horses, and such, they were all comfortably sheltered in covered areas with warming fires. They had ample food and water and were living in cozy comfort.

In contrast, the farm appeared rather miserable.

As temperatures dropped, all the water sources on the farm had frozen solid. With the water turned to ice, the surrounding farmland dried out, and the crops simply scattered seeds onto the frozen soil.

He placed several glowstones beneath the water to provide heat and prevent freezing, then replanted the fields.

“Just a bit of snow, not enough to damage my crops.”

After handling the snow-related issues in his territory, night had already fallen.

Looking at the dark sky above, he suddenly recalled something Gandalf had mentioned.

So that night, he did something unusual, he actually went back to his room and slept.

—

“Ahh, that felt good.”

When he awakened, Garrett felt revitalized in a way different from his usual energetic state. It was as though his entire being had been restored, not just replenished with energy from food or rest, something fundamentally different.

“Time to work!”

He headed into the warehouse and retrieved a large pile of materials, then designated a wide area to construct an ice harvesting site.

To create packed ice, one required nine regular ice blocks for just one. Building high-speed ice roads would clearly demand enormous quantities of it. This was going to be a long-term collection project.

He produced a pickaxe enchanted with Silk Touch and Mending, then began tirelessly mining ice, day and night.

Of course, after each harvest, time was needed for the water to freeze again. He didn’t simply stand idle during those intervals.

Instead, he used the break to continue developing his territory.

After shoveling snow once, he didn’t want to repeat the task. But unfortunately, he couldn’t control the weather, once it snowed again, the territory would be covered in white throughout.

Thankfully, there were methods to address that, such as placing torches or glowstones.

These heat-emitting blocks could automatically melt falling snow, sparing him the trouble of manually clearing it.

So along the frequently traveled paths and main thoroughfares of his territory, he constructed one beautiful and warming streetlamp after another, using either glowstone or torches.

With streetlamps established, proper roads were necessary. So he gathered his materials again and built roadways along the lamp lines.

But having only roads and streetlights appeared too dull. So along both sides of the roads, he added decorative elements, cultivated trees, flower beds, stepped benches, fences, small ponds, gentle streams, and charming wooden bridges.

As he continued building, he couldn’t help but recall the scenery and architectural style of Rivendell, and elements of that aesthetic unconsciously influenced his work.

—

While the artistic character of the stronghold kept evolving, on the other side of Middle-earth, Gandalf had just concluded a magnificent fireworks display in the Shire, surrounded by a cheering crowd of children, his kindly face lit with such joy that his eyes nearly disappeared.

“Ohhh, very well, very well, just one more! Only one final one, agreed?”

Boom!

A firework exploded in the sky, illuminating the earth for a moment, drawing gasps from all the hobbits in the village.

It was an incredibly joyous evening. He delightedly set off fireworks to his heart’s content, and the children were so thrilled that they spent the entire night discussing them, unable to fall asleep even in their beds.

Perhaps in their dreams, those fireworks would bloom again.

“Will you come again next year?”

The following morning, the children surrounded the departing wizard with eager questions.

“Well, that… that I cannot say with certainty,” Gandalf replied, “but I promise, this won’t be my final visit. Ah, I believe it’s time I departed. Farewell!”

Waving his hand, he took his leave.

I have a feeling… heading this direction might be wise.

And so he once again embarked on his journey, destination unknown.

People returned to their own routines and continued with life as usual.

Nothing extraordinary occurred.

Days quietly passed, one after another.

A flash of lightning.

Boom.

A heavy downpour marked spring’s arrival.

—

March 15th, Third Age 2941.

Inside The Prancing Pony, Gandalf suddenly turned his head, his eyes falling upon a dwarf, slightly disheveled in appearance, but possessing a certain noble bearing.

That face… appeared familiar…

Thráin’s son, Thorin?

The moment he observed the dwarf, he suddenly remembered a prisoner he had encountered nearly a century past in Dol Guldur, a dwarf who had been tortured until nearly unrecognizable, his memory almost shattered.

That dwarf had handed him a key and a map, requesting him to deliver them to his son. But until now, he had never known who that dwarf truly was, nor who his son might be.

Yet in that instant of seeing Thorin, everything suddenly became clear.

The dwarf who gave him the key and map… was none other than Thráin II, King under the Mountain of Durin’s line!

And the dwarf now before him, was Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful heir to that title.

In a flash, Gandalf’s mind raced with countless thoughts.

—

At this moment, the travel-worn dwarf prince was quietly focused on the food before him. But in the noisy inn, several unfriendly gazes were gathering upon him.

Two ruffians who had been waiting approached slowly, moving from either side to form an encirclement.

They were informants, bought by enemies from without.

Thorin slowly set down his food, one hand already resting on his sword’s hilt.

“Mind if I join you?”

A calm, reassuring voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

Thorin looked up to see a grey-robed old man settle across from him without awaiting permission.

Sensing this unexpected development, the two ruffians exchanged glances and decided to withdraw, for now.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey.”

“I know of you,” Thorin said.

Clearly, he had heard of this renowned wizard.

“Ah, excellent. What a fortuitous meeting, truly, so tell me, Thorin Oakenshield, what brings you to Bree?”

“I heard someone witnessed my father wandering the wilds near the lands of the Dunlendings. I went searching… but found nothing.”

“Thráin, indeed…”

Gandalf sighed softly.

The great symphony of fate had begun to play once more.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep