When Thorin and Gandalf returned to the banquet hall, the atmosphere was already ablaze with revelry.

A large group of dwarves and elves were completely drunk, some slumped over tables in a daze, others had collapsed on the floor fast asleep, still clutching their mugs.

And the contest was far from over.

Neither side had conceded from the start, and everyone who could still stand kept drinking.

The Men of Dale were also caught up in the festive mood. They gathered around, cheering the contestants on, and a few who could play instruments started performing lively melodies. Perhaps finding the music too plain, others began rhythmically pounding on the tables or clapping and stomping to liven things up.

It was a scene of pure celebration.

But what first caught Thorin and Gandalf’s attention was a large table nearby.

Hic.

“To our victory, this drink!”

“That’s the fifth time you’ve toasted our victory, Glóin.”

Garrett clinked mugs with him and drained a massive mug of ale in one draught.

Glóin tried several times to raise his mug and take a sip, but couldn’t even manage to open his mouth properly.

Garrett, however, showed no mercy.

“Are you keeping fish in your mug? If you leave that much, I fear it might drown soon.”

“You… You… That’s an insult to my honor!”

Enraged, Glóin gritted his teeth and tilted his head back, downing the drink in one gulp.

A moment later, Thud.

The dwarf could no longer remain upright. His eyes rolled back and he toppled under the table, ale trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re next, Balin.”

Garrett refilled his mug again and pointed at the only one still standing.

As for the others, they had already fallen like Glóin, snoring away, having completely forgotten their bold declarations at the start.

“No, no, no! I yield! I have things to do. I must take my leave!”

Balin hurriedly waved his hands in surrender. He now fully understood what the orcs must have felt when facing Garrett.

It was a feeling of utter despair, an unstoppable force with no apparent limit.

“Haha, looks like you’re all having a good time,”

Gandalf observed as he sat down, picking up a mug and clinking it with Garrett’s before draining it.

Thorin plopped down as well, picked another mug, and toasted with Garrett.

“It seems the tales weren’t exaggerated, your capacity for drink matches your prowess in battle.”

With that, he too emptied his cup.

Garrett naturally drank along.

“It’s fine, I don’t feel much. But they do seem a little sleepy.”

Hearing Garrett’s words, Thorin turned to look at Balin, who forced a stiff smile.

“Y-yes, quite remarkable.”

As he struggled to maintain composure, Balin silently vowed never to let the dwarves lying unconscious on the floor hear this conversation, otherwise, they’d be demoralized for weeks.

After drinking the strongest warriors among the dwarves under the table, a notification appeared:

[Erebor Dwarves Reputation +100]

Garrett paid little attention to the notification.

At his current reputation level, a hundred points was barely noteworthy.

If he wanted to, he could ask Thorin for a lordship on the spot, and no one present would object.

That included the elves.

As for Dale… He was already the acknowledged ruler of that territory, and his reputation was unquestionable. Those singing in the corner had even composed ballads about his deeds.

The hall roared with celebration, but outside, things were more peaceful.

Due to their size, the Great Eagles couldn’t move freely indoors, so they remained outside, feasting on roasted meats.

Radagast and Beorn were also taking their meal outdoors.

The former wasn’t particular about food, he was content as long as there was something to eat. The latter, despite his ability to transform into a great bear, had preferences more akin to the Firstborn. Beorn avoided meat entirely. In fact, his home contained only berries, honey, bread, and various vegetables, no flesh at all.

Originally, after the war’s end, the Lord of the Eagles had planned to depart immediately. But Thorin persuaded him to stay a few more days along with the other eagles that had helped.

With no pressing matters and free provisions being offered, the eagles had agreed to stay.

Beorn had been convinced by similar reasoning.

“I believe he wishes to express his gratitude to you,” Radagast speculated.

“Peace itself is the greatest gratitude,” Beorn replied, and indeed, many others shared that sentiment.

—

Dale.

While the feast raged within Erebor, this place lay quiet, without a sound.

Legolas stood alone atop the city wall, gazing at the battlefield, lost in thought.

Just as he was about to descend the stairs, a figure blocked his path.

Thranduil.

Upon confirming that Legolas was safe and whole, the Elvenking’s eyes seemed to brighten with relief.

Father and son regarded each other for several heartbeats.

“I cannot return.”

Legolas was the first to speak, he had already chosen exile.

“Where will you go?”

“I know not.”

“Cross the Misty Mountains and continue westward. There lies a stronghold there, it is Garrett’s domain,”

Thranduil spoke in a distant tone. “Much will change in that place. Perhaps you should witness it yourself.”

His gift of foresight activated quietly, and he continued, “After that, you might seek out the Dúnedain of the North. Learn of their ways, until their chieftain returns to them.”

Legolas listened in silence and nodded, turning to depart.

He had already taken several steps when Thranduil suddenly called out awkwardly.

“Legolas.”

Legolas paused.

Thranduil gazed at his son’s back and said, “Your mother loved you always… More than anyone. More than life itself.”

As do I.

That final sentiment was never spoken, but the wave of emotion required no words.

Legolas lowered his head, turned sideways to bow, hand over his heart, then extended it toward Thranduil, who quickly placed his own hand upon his chest in response.

That gesture signified an embrace among the Eldar.

Legolas gradually walked into the distance, vanishing from sight.

Thranduil closed his eyes and stood motionless for a long while before finally turning away.

All these years, he had been so consumed with the stolen treasures, his wife’s jewels taken by the dwarves, that he had forgotten what she truly left behind: what was most precious of all.

As he walked, he suddenly spotted an elf and a dwarf sitting together on the far side of the wall, leaning against each other while gazing up at the stars.

His expression immediately darkened.

He quickly changed direction to get away from that area.

Whether in silence or celebration, the night passed.

—

The following day, the dwarves donned their finest armor and weapons, assembling in the great hall.

Thorin, wearing the crown of his forefathers and draped in the magnificent royal mantle, stood atop the high platform before all the dwarves.

The coronation of the King under the Mountain had begun.

Garrett, the members of the company, the leaders of each faction, along with the two wizards and the skin-changer, stood in a place of honor to witness the ceremony.

Thorin glanced toward them and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Seeing the moment was right, Balin raised his sword high and proclaimed:

“Long live the King!”

“Long live the King!”

All the dwarves present lifted their weapons and echoed the cry in unison.

Thorin bowed deeply to his people.

The coronation was swiftly concluded.

After the ceremony, Thorin personally presented the Lord of the Eagles with a golden circlet, pledging that dwarves and eagles would remain allies for generations to come.

Beorn, who had also come to their aid, received generous rewards as well, including the dwarves’ goodwill and friendship, which helped dispel much of his former prejudice against their people.

As for the wizards, they expected no material reward. Save for Saruman, the Istari never cared for worldly possessions. As always, peace for the Free Peoples of Middle-earth was the greatest reward they could receive.

Following this, Thorin and Thranduil held audience before the royal throne.

Thorin had Kíli retrieve a chest from the treasure vaults, which was placed before Thranduil. Its contents shimmered and sparkled.

This time, the dwarves made no attempt to reclaim it.

After so many years, Thranduil at last recovered the relic of his beloved, the white gems that gleamed like the stars themselves.

The ancient enmity between Elves and Dwarves was, for now, came to a close.

—

Elsewhere, in the treasure chambers, Garrett was wandering about, stretching his arms leisurely.

He had just finished helping the dwarves repair the blast damage to the mountain’s structure and cleared the blocked passages, restoring Erebor to its former glory.

As he walked, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure sitting on stone steps, staring blankly at the piles of treasure.

“So much wealth… Honestly, I’ve no idea what to do with it all.”

Bilbo looked troubled as he gazed at the mountain of gold in the vault.

“If someone heard you say that, they’d probably be too jealous to sleep.”

Garrett walked over and stood beside Bilbo, also pondering what to do with such vast riches.

One-fifteenth share.

Even just that portion was so massive it couldn’t fit in his inventory, even if smelted down into ingots.

One could say he’d achieved complete financial freedom, at least for the foreseeable future.

“This could probably fill ten hobbit-holes the size of Bag End,” Bilbo muttered. “I don’t want my home overflowing with gold.”

“Oh, Garrett!”

He suddenly exclaimed, “You probably have use for this gold, don’t you? I’ve seen those golden apples of yours, they’re crafted from gold, aren’t they? You must require quite a lot.”

“You’re right. The more gold I have, the better. There’s a lot I want to do that requires it.”

“Then it’s all yours.”

Bilbo said casually, “I’ll just take enough for a comfortable future. The rest belongs to you, you need it more than I do, and it’ll serve a better purpose in your hands.”

This hobbit had just given away a fortune large enough to purchase the entire Shire several times over.

Garrett smiled warmly.

“Then I’ll gladly accept it, Bilbo.”

“If you ever get the chance, visit Wayfort sometime, the gates are always open for you.”

“Oh, and take these. If you’re ever feeling unwell, take a bite.”

Garrett synthesized a batch of golden apples on the spot, packed them into a satchel, and presented them to Bilbo, who opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated.

So these things can be mass-produced?

Since it wasn’t practical for Bilbo to carry so many golden apples during travel, Garrett agreed to hold onto them for the time being.

With that, everything requiring attention had been resolved.

—

After their farewells, Thranduil and the elven host returned to the Woodland Realm. The Lord of the Eagles departed with Radagast and Beorn. Gandalf and Bilbo, however, remained behind, they were waiting for Garrett.

But Garrett’s mood at that moment was far from lighthearted.

In the ruins of Dale, he stood on the city wall, looking down with a headache.

Below the wall, a large crowd of townsfolk were looking up at him, waiting for him to speak.

Bard approached and said, “The people await your command. After all, you’re their lord in everything but formal declaration.”

“I may be their lord in title,” Garrett replied, “but they’re not truly my people.”

“No,” Bard shook his head firmly. “They acknowledge you willingly and already call you their lord.”

Garrett looked down at the assembled crowd.

All the people below stood silently, their earnest expressions confirming Bard’s assertion.

A notification appeared:

[Population threshold reached.]

[Faction creation conditions met.]

The system confirmed Bard’s statement.

Garrett opened the faction interface.

It displayed his two territories: Wayfort and Dale.

But one was to the east, the other to the west, with an entire mountain range between them. Even under ideal conditions, the journey was so arduous that it would take ordinary travelers months to go from one to the other.

As a unified faction, his domain suffered from terrible connectivity. But perhaps… he could construct a road, a very special road.

That was a concern for another day.

Right now, Dale’s reconstruction was the immediate priority.

In name and fact, the city was his domain. The townspeople and even Bard were willing to accept his leadership.

By all rights, Garrett could be crowned King of Dale immediately, and likely no one would object.

But that’s just it, they wouldn’t object.

There were only two individuals publicly recognized as qualified to lead these people: Garrett and Bard.

Garrett was like a figure from legend, he had slain the dragon, repelled the orc armies, saved countless lives, and earned universal respect through impossible deeds.

But Bard was a man among men, a fellow human who labored and lived alongside the townsfolk, cared for his family, struggled to make ends meet, yet still found strength to aid others, feed the hungry, and stand against corruption.

Reputation wasn’t born out of nothing.

If a legendary savior ruled, none would protest. Even if Garrett did nothing, people would honor him and dutifully fulfill their roles.

He certainly had the right to be king, and in many ways, the townspeople would benefit greatly from his rule.

However…

“Bard, are you all really sure you want me to be the lord?”

Bard immediately replied, “None of us have any objections. This was decided by unanimous agreement. Besides, have you forgotten? This has long been your territory. It’s not that we’re allowing you to be lord, you already are one.”

“Alright then.”

Garrett nodded with resolve.

“Then, as Lord of Dale, I will now issue my first order.”

The townspeople stood at attention beneath the walls, listening intently.

“I hereby appoint Bard as Steward of Dale. From this point on, all affairs will be handled by him. He will have full authority to manage everything within Dale’s borders.”

After announcing his first command, he turned to Bard once more.

“And, I now entrust you with one-fifteenth of the treasure from Erebor to manage, to be used for rebuilding Dale and ensuring its future prosperity.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Bard offered a respectful bow.

[Steward of Territory Appointed: Bard]

Cheers erupted among the townspeople, for their lord, and for their lord’s chosen steward.

“Oh, regarding Lake-town, my lord…”

Bard was already slipping into his role, beginning to consider matters on Garrett’s behalf.

Garrett lost his composure slightly. “Don’t, don’t call me ‘my lord.’ I’m not used to that. Just keep calling me Garrett. There’s no need for titles between us.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“What did you say?”

“My lord.”

“That’s not—”

“Garrett.”

“Much better.”

Garrett nodded and addressed Bard’s earlier question: “Lake-town isn’t part of my territory. Why are you asking me about it?”

“But the people there…”

“No buts. The Master of Lake-town fled, and his deputy has vanished. They need new leadership. You grew up there and know the place best. The people also want you to lead.”

“I’m here!” someone suddenly shouted from below.

Thud!

He promptly fainted.

Ignoring the disturbance below, Garrett continued, “And besides, to be honest, I don’t care much about worldly power or wealth. Whether I gain or lose a lot doesn’t really matter to me. It’s better to leave these things to someone who’s good at them.”

“…I accept.” Bard agreed to the position with a bit of unease.

The situation felt surreal to him.

Garrett gave off an unusual impression.

This legendary figure seemed indifferent to power and wealth, unconcerned with losses or gains. Yet to say he cared about nothing would be inaccurate.

He could still experience joy or frustration over certain things, but those emotions always seemed distant, almost as if… as if he were playing a game.

It was like a king pretending to be a merchant selling wares, not because he needed profit, but for the enjoyment of the experience itself. But if you asked that same king to sell goods for the rest of his life, he definitely wouldn’t do it.

Once immediate matters were settled, Dale’s new steward and Lake-town’s new mayor began his work efficiently. Bard quickly organized the reconstruction efforts and arranged for some residents to return to Lake-town.

As for Garrett, on his very first day as lord, he became what one might call “an absent ruler.” All he wanted now was to return home and tend to his crops, and perhaps construct a Nether portal connecting his stronghold to Dale.

In the Nether, one block of travel equaled eight blocks in the Overworld. Using this mechanic, he could drastically reduce travel time between his territories.

Though the portal would be for his personal use only, it was still a huge convenience.

Nether portals could only be constructed within his claimed territory, but he had plenty of land for such projects.

“Maybe I can use this to set up fast-travel outposts…”

With these thoughts, he set out west with Gandalf and Bilbo. Along their journey, they visited the Woodland Realm and stopped at Beorn’s home, where they received warm welcomes.

As they approached the Misty Mountains, the three boldly took the most dangerous pass, yet not a single orc or warg appeared.

The silence was unnerving.

“Anyone home?”

Garrett called out at the entrance to Goblin-town.

No response came.

“They’re not very welcoming,” he said.

Gandalf nodded, glancing sideways. “Indeed not.”

Bilbo, walking behind them, said nothing for a long while. He simply stared at the stone gate with its two-meter-deep crater, lost in thought. Eventually, he instinctively reached into his pocket to touch something.

It was still there.

The goblins of Goblin Town weren’t the most hospitable.

Before departing, Garrett even kindly sealed the entrance with stone blocks, effectively preventing future attacks on travelers.

After safely crossing the mountains, the three paused briefly at the trolls’ former hoard. When they left, Bilbo carried two large, somewhat malodorous chests, both filled with treasure.

Even the trolls’ collection alone represented enormous wealth for the hobbit. So much so that, in years to come, a riddle would circulate in the Shire: Why does Bilbo’s gold never diminish?

But that was a tale for another time.

Because he was carrying so much, he postponed further travels with Garrett. He planned to return to the Shire first to settle his affairs before coming back.

Thus, at the crossroads leading to Bree and Garrett’s territory, the three companions temporarily parted ways.

Garrett headed toward his stronghold, while Gandalf continued accompanying Bilbo.

They traveled together until reaching the Shire’s borders.

Suddenly, Gandalf stopped walking.

“We part ways here.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Bilbo said. “I quite enjoyed traveling with you both. Whether it was you or Garrett, you always brought me good fortune.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Gandalf stepped closer and spoke slowly. “Do you really think all your adventures and narrow escapes were mere luck?”

“That magic ring of yours should not be used lightly, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked up at Gandalf, instinctively wanting to deny it, but the wizard interrupted, “Don’t take me for a fool. I know you found something in the tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains.”

“No… I didn’t…”

“I’ve been observing you throughout our journey.”

“…Very well.” Bilbo chose honesty.

Arguing with a wizard was never wise.

“I understand. I’ll be more careful.”

“You’re a good soul. I enjoyed traveling with you as well.”

Gandalf spoke meaningfully, “In this vast world, perhaps you and I are but small figures. But sometimes, even the smallest person can change the course of the future, when they have the courage to do what is right.”

Bilbo didn’t fully grasp the meaning, but he listened carefully nonetheless.

After another farewell, he clasped Gandalf’s hand, then turned toward the Shire under the wizard’s watchful gaze.

While Gandalf was seeing Bilbo safely home, Garrett had already returned to his stronghold.

“What’s this?”

After half a year’s absence, he noticed something new near his territory.

Not far from his walls, several crude tents had been erected, with people dwelling within.

This sparked his curiosity.

“Hey, you over there, what are you doing?”

He immediately went over to ask.

The tent dwellers were startled and quickly dropped what they were doing and came out.

When they clearly saw Garrett’s face, their expressions transformed from weariness to joy.

“It’s our lord! The lord who saved us has returned!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep