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Chapter 18 - Chapter 18: Preparing Rohan

"I will always wait for you in Rivendell," she whispered softly. "No matter what happens, my heart will remain here. And this is where you will always return."

Thalion closed his eyes for a moment, receiving the warmth of the kiss like a soldier finally finding home. He opened his eyes, nodded slowly, then climbed onto Griffindor's back.

"And I will return," he said. "Not as the same person, but as someone who is ready."

Griffindor's wings flapped gently. The wind stirred dust and leaves, accompanying a silent but hopeful farewell. With a soft leap, the winged horse slowly ascended, carrying Thalion into the light blue sky, away from the trees of Rivendell.

Arwen gazed upwards, her eyes holding light and strength. She did not cry. She simply stood, like an ancient tree that knows the wind will always come, and will always go.

And in the empty air, only the whisper of the wind remained.

Griffindor's footsteps softly pounded the stony path leading out of the Rivendell forest. His wings were folded tightly against his back, unused at the rider's will. Thalion, strangely dressed in a kimono like Captain Yamamoto, sat upright in the saddle. The wind of Bruinen Valley touched his cheek one last time before he descended the slope.

He was not in a hurry. This journey wasn't just about returning home—but also about seeing the world with new eyes, gauging the wind's direction, and noting every possibility that could shake the foundations of Rohan in the future.

Rivendell to Eregion

Thalion passed through a small gap leading to the ancient ruins of Eregion, the once-glorious land of the Elven smiths. Tall trees gradually gave way to grasslands and scattered stone ruins, silent but sacred. He dismounted from Griffindor for a moment, picked up a chunk of old iron embedded in the earth, and gazed at it.

"This land once forged rings of power… and also unforgettable mistakes," he murmured.

He lit a small fire that night, contemplating that power is never neutral—it always depends on the hand that wields it.

Eregion to Enedwaith

Leaving Eregion, he descended the South Downs, entering the wild territory known as Enedwaith. Few lived here besides hunters and old farmers, but Thalion realized that this path could become an enemy's entry point in the future. He noted the location of large stones, hidden waterways, and natural shelters.

On silent nights, he spoke to Griffindor.

"You know, old friend… war isn't just about swords and shields. It's about knowing the land we stand on first."

Enedwaith to Isen and the Gap of Rohan

The journey continued towards the Isen River, which served as a natural gateway to the Gap of Rohan—an open pass between the Misty Mountains and the White Mountains. Thalion crossed the Isen, passing the old ruins of Isengard, now deserted.

He gazed at Orthanc Tower from a distance, empty but still standing firm like an unhealed wound.

"If this place rises again, not only Rohan will be threatened," he thought.

Gap of Rohan to Edoras

Finally, the golden expanse of the Riddermark began to appear. The east wind carried the scent of dry earth and vast grasslands. Wild horses galloped in the distance. Here, his soul seemed to find its pulse again.

He descended the hills towards Edoras, which stood gracefully in the shadow of the White Mountains. The golden roof of Meduseld, the hall of kings, reflected the evening light. The guards recognized Thalion's face. They opened the way.

"The Son of Rohan returns…" whispered an old soldier with tear-filled eyes.

Thalion dismounted. He patted Griffindor gently, then stepped onto his homeland.

"Sixty years," he murmured softly. "To change history, you must start from the roots. And those roots… are here."

The gates of Edoras slowly opened, greeted by the three tolls of a bell struck by the tower guard. Citizens began to emerge from their homes, whispering as they saw Griffindor, the winged horse now striding proudly through the main street. Their eyes couldn't turn away from the green-robed figure sitting in the saddle.

Thalion, Son of Rohan, had returned home.

In the courtyard in front of Meduseld, King Thengel stood, cloaked in gold and wearing a light crown. Beside him, the Queen stood gracefully, her eyes brimming with longing.

As Thalion's feet touched the ground, the Queen immediately rushed to him first.

"My son…" she murmured, before pulling Thalion into a tight embrace, as if fearing the warmth was only a dream.

Thalion returned the hug gently. After a moment, he looked at his father. Thengel remained upright, but his eyes held a gaze of both pride and worry.

"You return bringing Griffindor… and eyes deeper than when you left," Thengel said slowly.

Thalion nodded.

"I have seen much, Father. Much that cannot be explained with mere words. But Erebor… has been saved."

Thengel nodded, but his face remained uneasy.

"And is the news of… the shadow from the East true?"

Thalion sighed. He looked eastward, as if piercing the Misty Mountains with his gaze.

"Not only true… that darkness is moving. It is still far, but slowly seeping into the earth, the sky, and minds. Erebor was merely the surface."

His mother looked at him intently.

"You mentioned in your letter that a great war is coming… a war unseen by this world for thousands of years. Is the time… that close?"

Thalion closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the screams at Ravenhill, the land melting into pillars of fire, orcs turning to ash, and sakura blossoms dancing, bringing beautiful death. But he also remembered the terrified faces of the leaders. That fear wasn't from victory—but because they knew: it was only the beginning.

"Sixty years," he finally answered. "But that time could be faster… or slower. What is certain is that we cannot wait."

Thengel gripped his son's shoulder.

"Rohan will be ready."

"Not yet," Thalion replied softly. "But it will be. I want to reorganize the guard at the Gap of Rohan, restructure the cavalry, build up food and logistics reserves. And more importantly than anything… we must make the people believe that what is unseen… is not unreal."

The Queen walked beside them, her hand gripping Thalion's cloak.

"You carry too heavy a burden for a child your age…"

"Perhaps, Mother," Thalion replied, smiling faintly. "But perhaps the world is running out of time… to wait for the older ones."

Thengel patted Thalion's back, then said firmly:

"Then let us begin. You are not only my son, Thalion. You are the guardian of Rohan's future."

Their three steps moved slowly towards Meduseld's interior, where Rohan's past was preserved… and its future began to be designed.

After the serious conversation about darkness and war preparations, the atmosphere inside Meduseld began to calm. The evening wind blew through the tall window crevices, carrying the scent of Rohan's vast grasslands. In the royal family's private chambers, Queen Morwen sat by the window, watching the sky slowly turn yellow.

Thalion sat in a simple wooden chair, still wearing his green cloak, but his sword was now unbuckled and leaned against the wall. His mother turned, and with a soft yet meaningful voice, she asked:

"Thalion… may I ask you one thing, not as a queen… but as a mother?"

Thalion looked at his mother, his smile faint.

"Of course, Mother."

"About… Arwen. How far has your relationship… progressed?"

The question made Thalion pause for a moment. Not because he didn't know what to answer, but because he knew: the words that came out would reveal a side of his heart that he had guarded from the world until now.

Finally, he spoke softly, but deeply:

"I love her, Mother. Not with a fleeting love or one filled with momentary desire. But with an admiration that grew slowly, with a loyalty that does not force. We have walked much together, talked, been silent together, seen the world from two different ends… but felt like one."

Queen Morwen smiled faintly, but she also nodded with eyes that began to grow wistful.

"You are like your father… when speaking of love."

Thalion chuckled softly. But then he lowered his gaze, and his tone became heavier:

"But… I don't think Lord Elrond has fully accepted our relationship. He is polite, of course… wise, as always. But in his eyes, I see worry. Not because of me… but because of time."

His mother turned slowly.

"Because you are human, and Arwen… is not."

"True," Thalion replied. "She has lost much. She knows what happened to her own father… and she knows, if Arwen chooses my path, she will lose her immortality. And eventually… have to watch me go first."

Queen Morwen's eyes softened. She took her son's hand, holding it gently.

"True love… always contains sacrifice, Thalion. But fated love… can never be hindered by fear. Elrond is a father. He is only trying to protect his daughter. Just like me… who also fears losing you on the battlefield."

Thalion looked at his mother for a long time.

"Do you think, Mother… I should let her go? For the sake of… giving her a chance to live longer… more peacefully?"

Queen Morwen shook her head gently.

"I will not tell you to let go of love, my son. But I only want you and Arwen to prepare your hearts. Because in time, the test of time will be harder than the test of swords and battles."

Thalion nodded slowly.

"We've talked about it. She knows… and I know. But we still choose this path."

"In that case," his mother whispered, gently stroking his hair, "I will pray for you… and wait for the day when Elrond no longer sees a mortal man, but a sincere man who guards his daughter's happiness."

Her embrace this time was long, like when she first sent Thalion out into the world.

Outside the window, the sun began to set on Rohan's horizon, and the wind carried the scent of wild flowers—as if the world too understood that a love quietly taking root… was being tested by time and fate.

Night fell. In a hidden room beneath Rohan's palace—a place known to few besides King Thengel and his wife—Thalion sat alone. The room resembled an alchemy workshop and laboratory more than a nobleman's study. A long oak table was covered with various glass tubes, rare metal powders, and parchments inscribed with strange symbols. Candles burned steadily, illuminating a map of Rohan spread in the center of the table.

Thalion's movements were calm, but his eyes glowed with calculation. He dipped the tip of an eagle feather quill into ink, then began to draw new paths on the map—backup routes, watchtowers, secret fortresses, supply lines, and hidden passages. His thoughts didn't just explore the present… but pierced decades into the future.

As he traced the ink onto the map, he murmured:

"I am an alchemist… age is no limit for me."

The voice was soft, barely audible. But in it was certainty. Not arrogance, but conviction stemming from the knowledge he had acquired in solitude over many years. He had researched rare plants in the East, learned about the energy in metals from the dwarves, and even stolen time to study healing magic from the elves. Now, he combined it all—not just to keep himself alive, but to protect the land and the love he believed in.

His hand paused briefly over a new symbol he drew on the map. A triangular line connected Edoras to two hilltops to the east and south.

"If the Orcs come again… they'll enter a hornet's nest," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips.

He unrolled a meticulously kept dragon hide scroll from a shelf. Upon it was ancient writing in the old language of Gondor: "Aegis Vita — Fortress of Life." Thalion intended to build a defense system not only based on military strength, but also on rapid communication lines, recovery points, and training grounds for alchemy and medicine.

"Rohan must be more than just a land of riders. We must become the last wall before darkness swallows everything…"

He put down his pen. Outside, the night wind gently rattled small, light metal chimes hanging by the lab door. Their sound was like a whisper—or perhaps a warning.

Thalion gazed at the dark sky through a small window in the stone wall, and with a low but resolute voice, he declared:

"I will fight time… I will fight darkness… for Rohan, for Arwen, and for this beautiful world."

In the silent room, only the scratching of the pen on thick sheepskin parchment could be heard. The dying candles flickered dimly, and Thalion's shadow danced slowly on the stone wall. The new map he was drawing had surpassed the initial sketches—now it transformed into a complex design: a vision of Rohan's future.

He wrote with a steady hand on the edge of the map:

"The Great Wall of Rohan" The first protective fortress, and a reminder to anyone who comes, that Rohan is no longer a slumbering land.

Within that great wall—which he envisioned soaring as high as ten horses standing tall, with watchtowers every thousand paces—Thalion drew a vast rectangular area. Inside it was a neat arrangement of small buildings, large tents, stone paths, and a grand plaza in the center.

"King's Landing," he murmured, writing the name in gold ink. "A place where travelers stop. Where Rohan first makes an impression."

This area would be the entry point for all merchants, diplomats, and travelers. Not just as an outer layer of defense, but also as a symbol of Rohan's new strength, openness, and prosperity. Thalion designed an open market to stand on the east side, where cool winds from the hills would carry the scent of grain and wine. On the west side, he placed the External Barracks—the first military outpost that would respond to any threat before it reached the main wall.

His strokes were quick yet precise. Main roads led directly to the great wall's gate, while small paths encircled the market to keep traffic flowing. He also added a system of small canals for water and fire—to be used for extinguishing fires and regulating heat defense during winter.

"This is not just a wall," he said, looking at the map, "This is the new face of Rohan. A symbol that we are ready… and we are aware."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the small design for outpost forts at the four outer corners of King's Landing.

"Four Horse Towers," he said softly. "Guarded by our fastest riders… they must be able to send news to Edoras in one night."

He wrote the names of Rohan's old guardians on the side of the parchment. Former soldiers, weapon makers, horse trainers. He would summon them one by one. He knew that building all of this wasn't just about strength—but about trust, pride, and legacy.

Thalion sat back. He opened a small wooden box beside him, containing small gemstones and bluish-silver metals. He took one of them and put it in his robe pocket.

"This stone from the East can strengthen metal… I will use it to reinforce the walls… with alchemical magic only I know."

The night air remained still, but in that room, the world was slowly changing. Rohan's future began to be written not by war, but by a pen, knowledge, and the determination of an alchemist who was preparing his land not just to endure, but to lead in the times to come.

Thalion bent down again, rolling up his robe sleeves to reveal delicate bluish-silver tattoos along his arms—remnants of an alchemical ritual known only in the far East. On the same map, he began to add new details.

"Inns," he whispered softly, drawing a gentle line north of the market. "Guests will not only bring commerce but also hope for rest and honor."

He drew three rectangular buildings with small gardens in their center, then added a path of white stones connecting the market to these buildings.

He wrote "The Three Inns of Rohan" in silver ink:

The Gilded Stirrup – for nobles and ambassadors.

The Wind's Rest – for merchants and ordinary travelers.

The Hearthstone Hall – for soldiers and protectors.

On the south side of King's Landing, he began to draw a large area marked with irregular lines, surrounding a small river flowing from the northwest.

"Farms and livestock must be on the windward side," he said, marking irrigation channels. "This is where we'll grow winter wheat, and pastures for horses."

He added symbols for fields: grains of rice, grape leaves, and animal icons—horses, sheep, and chickens. At the southernmost point, he drew a short tower: the produce guard tower. This is where harvests would be sorted, stored, and distributed.

"It's not enough for a nation to be able to fight," Thalion murmured, closing his ink bottle. "It must feed its people. It must invite the world to come, and give them a reason to stay."

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on his study door. A servant's voice sounded from behind it.

"Lord Thalion, King Thengel invites you to dinner with the family."

Thalion looked at the almost finished map. His eyes scanned everything: the wall, the market, the inns, the fields, the barracks, even the small place of worship he had quietly added on the east side. None of it was real yet… but in his mind, it was alive.

He slowly rolled up the map and tied it with a dark blue ribbon.

"I'm coming," he replied, standing up. "For tonight I dine… and tomorrow, Rohan begins to change."

After completing the basic concept of the outer region named King's Landing, Thalion began to think more seriously about how he would divide Rohan's core territory into two main, complementary areas: Padjajaran and Talaga Manggung.

In his imagination, Padjajaran would become the green and fertile heart of agrarian life. He envisioned a vast land rich in natural resources for farming and cultivation. Here, the citizens of Rohan would live self-sufficiently by farming and managing their garden produce. More than just fields, Padjajaran was also planned as a comfortable and orderly residential area, where farmers and their families could live close to their productive lands. Life in Padjajaran would be harmonious, tranquil, and organized—reflecting a balance between humans and nature.

On the other hand, Talaga Manggung was the vision for the future of light industry and production centers. Thalion imagined a series of interconnected artificial lakes with well-planned waterways. This waterway system would not only beautify the landscape but also serve as an efficient irrigation method for Padjajaran and as a water transport route supporting the distribution of goods and raw materials. On the banks of the lakes, various workshops and production facilities would stand—places where artisans and workers would process raw materials into finished products, ranging from agricultural tools to high-value crafts.

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