Year 2960, northern Brown Lands.
"Garrett, I really think the names Northward and Southward sound beautiful. Whether from a geographical perspective or from their inherent qualities, they're very fitting. And they're easy to understand, yet still full of meaning."
By the riverbank, Bard muttered on and on.
Garrett, with his back to Bard, sat silently on a small stool fishing.
"If you bring this up again, I'll get annoyed with you."
"Fine."
Bard sighed and had to give up.
No matter how much he racked his brains, he just couldn't figure out what was wrong with those names.
"Well, since our Lord of the North said so, of course I'll comply."
At the mention of that title, Garrett felt another shiver run down his spine.
Nothing to be done about it, people always loved giving out random titles. Though, to be fair, this one did match reality well enough.
"Actually, if you went ahead and crowned yourself High King of the North, no one would object."
"That's none of your business, Ba... Gandalf?"
Garrett suddenly turned around, only to see a grey-robed old man standing silently behind him.
Plop.
The water rippled. Garrett pulled his rod, and up came a salmon. He tossed the fish into the bucket, which then became a bucket of fish.
"Nice weather today."
Gandalf sat down beside him and formally greeted: "Good afternoon."
"Nice weather?"
Garrett and Bard both raised their heads. Above them was a sky full of dirty, grey-yellow clouds. The sun was blurry and dim, as though hidden behind a heavy, murky curtain.
This was simply the normal state of the Brown Lands.
No bright sunlight. No clear skies.
Which was exactly why orcs could roam these lands freely, without obstacle.
Just as Sauron had intended, or rather, that was precisely why he had scorched the earth.
Gandalf smiled and said, "I believe the clouds will disperse."
"One day, they will."
"Hard to say."
Garrett wasn't hopeful.
Sure, the two cities by the river looked lush and green, with endless forests and grasslands in sight.
But the land was still the same land, lifeless. Other than the special plants Garrett had provided, nothing else could survive.
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, a spark of inspiration hit Garrett.
Of course.
If the original soil of the Brown Lands was no good, why not transplant grass blocks from elsewhere?
He could strip off the top layer of dead dirt, replace it with normal soil, then let the grass slowly spread outward. Wouldn't that eventually turn this into a true green land?
"I've thought of something."
Garrett added the idea to his to-do list.
Gandalf nodded and said, "Then next time I come, I'll be seeing two very different cities."
"Something to look forward to."
After finishing the topic of the environment, Gandalf brought back what had been glossed over earlier:
"Have you really not considered it? Becoming the High King of the North, leading the lords, this is a title countless rulers throughout history dreamed of, but never attained."
The title of High King was not one an ordinary king, ruling just one people, had any right to claim.
It represented immense honor. Like Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, who once ruled over all the Eldar in Middle-earth.
"I could personally place the crown upon your head. You would become the one and only High King in Middle-earth."
Perhaps it was just imagination, but Gandalf's gentle, kindly words seemed to carry a subtle magic, luring the listener into vivid daydreams.
Even Bard wasn't immune.
The one and only High King of Middle-earth, what greater honor could there be?
"If I actually wanted to be one, would I need your help?"
Garrett's single sentence shattered the atmosphere.
Gandalf froze, then pouted.
"Fine, fine, you don't need me."
The old wizard, stung by the remark, stood up at once, looking ready to leave on the spot.
But after taking only two steps, he turned back on his own.
"Truly not reconsidering?"
"I have no interest in such titles. Let's discuss it another time."
"All right."
Hearing this firm reply, Gandalf sat back down with a smile, no trace left of his earlier irritation.
He said with meaning: "You're still the same as ever, completely indifferent to power."
"Power?"
Garrett shook his head.
"It's of no use to me. I don't crave it."
"If I must give you a reason, then simply this: I'm not interested."
Gandalf lit his pipe, took a puff, and said: "Very well then, Lord of the North, the master of nearly all northern lands, Garrett."
"Fitting enough."
A title true to fact.
"But regardless, should the day come when you desire it, I will support you."
This time, his voice carried no trace of persuasion, just warm, steady kindness.
Plop.
Another fish was hooked.
This time, it was a swollen pufferfish.
Garrett didn't answer Gandalf's words. He held up the fish and shook it in front of him.
"This thing's stronger than the harshest liquor. Want me to roast it for you to try later?"
"Oh, is that so? I suggest you keep that delicacy for yourself. I couldn't handle it."
Gandalf leaned back.
As if I've never seen such a thing before, huh?
"What a pity."
Then it could only be used for brewing medicine.
A short while later, Garrett's daily fishing ended. He set up a campfire on the spot and laid out the various fish he'd caught to roast.
Soon, one by one, the fish were ready. Gandalf picked up the one nearest to him, blew on it twice, and bit straight in.
Fragrant and delicious.
After a few mouthfuls, he set the fish aside and said, "I truly didn't expect, even the Brown Lands could be claimed by you. For thousands of years, this place was always the orcs' playground."
"Well, they're not laughing anymore."
"Indeed."
Gandalf nodded in agreement.
"The orcs' space for activity has been compressed once again. Once, Rhovanion's wilderness was full of their figures. But now, this is no longer the 'Great Wilderness.' It has a master."
In a way, the Kingdom of Rhovanion had been revived, though in another form.
Now it was no longer truly a kingdom, but rather an administrative region, or you could even call it a 'province.'
Looking at the map now, Gondor, Rohan, the Free Cities, together forming an iron wall of Free Peoples, firmly blocking Mordor and the immense threats of the East and South, protecting the peace of the many folk behind them.
In this situation, Sauron must be feeling quite frustrated.
Though not without possible weaknesses...
Gandalf mused. Then he looked up, just in time to see Garrett sprinkling some seasoning onto Bard's roasted fish. Bard took a bite, his face full of enjoyment.
"This is the reason I came."
With that single bite of roasted fish, the weariness of a morning's work seemed to melt away.
Gandalf simply watched Garrett, saying nothing.
After a while, when Garrett and Bard had finished eating, they stood together, discussing plans to restore the brown land before them.
Behind them, Gandalf sat alone, clutching the jar of seasoning Garrett had given him, staring eagerly at the fish still roasting over the fire.
"Ents."
When Garrett and Bard were done discussing serious matters, Gandalf, who had been silent till then, suddenly spoke a word.
Of course Garrett knew what he meant.
Ents, the tree-herders of Fangorn Forest. They usually rooted themselves into the earth in tree form and fell into slumber, sometimes for thousands of years. Some never woke again, turning into true trees.
It was worth noting, the Ents were fearsomely powerful. Stronger than trolls, sturdier than beasts, they could crush solid stone with ease, and shatter iron with a single punch as if it were nothing.
In fact, trolls themselves were Morgoth's crude imitation of Ents, just as orcs were of Elves. The gulf between them was vast.
After catching Garrett's attention, Gandalf continued, "Though I know this isn't your main intent, perhaps you haven't even noticed it yourself, I still want to say this: good deeds often bring good results."
"The Ents will come to know of your actions through the earth. And they will rejoice."
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Interested in a Minecraft story? Check out "The Player in the Cultivation World"!