The mallorn trees of the Golden Wood were not quite the same as the shining wonders that had once grown in Valinor, yet they still stood tall and majestic. Most of the elves of Lothlórien made their homes among their branches, high above the forest floor.
Eric studied the descriptions he had collected and murmured to himself, "Perhaps these trees might serve as a substitute for Telperion and Laurelin. Both carry strong magical energy and possess cleansing properties. Their natures are similar enough to make it worth trying."
That settled it. The Golden Wood was now on his list of destinations.
He also recalled that Lady Galadriel had once extended a polite invitation to visit her realm, though he had never found the time. Perhaps it was about time he paid her that visit.
But first, there was work to do.
Eric returned to his castle and laid out an assortment of materials on the workbench: amber, wool, silk thread, powdered fluorite, and ingots of gold. He smelted gold dust into a simple golden ring, plain and unadorned, then placed it on the central pedestal of the enchanting altar. The other materials were carefully arranged across the side pedestals.
Afterward, he hurried down to the alchemy wing, where rows of stills and glass containers bubbled away. He distilled the elements he needed, bottling them neatly in rune-marked jars: energy, magic, and protection.
"This should finally cover my biggest weakness," he muttered, standing before the glowing runic matrix. "Magical defense."
His mind wandered briefly to Saruman. For years, the White Wizard had tried to imitate Sauron's craft by forging rings of power. The irony was delicious. Saruman would never imagine that a man he once dismissed as a rough, unlearned fool would now be attempting something similar, and with more practical success.
Eric smiled and whispered the name of his creation.
"The Rune Shield Ring."
The matrix flared to life.
The altar hummed, releasing a steady vibration through the stone floor. The materials on the side pedestals broke down into pure essence, flowing into the ring at the center. The distilled elements followed, streams of shimmering light winding into the gold.
With the help of fat-soaked candles, the process ran smoothly. There were no sudden explosions, no sputtering circuits of failed runes.
A faint flash of light later, the matrix went still. The once-plain ring now gleamed. Amber fragments shimmered along its band, and the gold glowed with a faint orange hue.
The form was gold, the amber served as a vessel for magic, and together they became a ring imbued with defensive power.
Eric slipped it onto his finger. Immediately, a warm current spread through his hand. Golden runes crawled across his skin, winding up his arm until they covered his entire body. They flared once, forming a shimmering golden shield, then vanished into invisibility.
It would only reveal itself again when he was struck, protecting him from harm.
"Rune Shield +5," Eric announced proudly to himself.
The ring could absorb five points of damage before breaking, after which it would recharge by drawing energy from his staff.
Eric wasted no time. He forged another ring, then a pendant, and finally a belt. Two rings, one pendant, and one belt. That was the limit for enchanted accessories, no matter how many trinkets he strapped on.
Together, they provided a total of twenty-eight points of shield strength.
Not bad. But he went a step further, upgrading each piece with special properties. The belt's shield would explode into a shockwave when shattered, knocking enemies back. The rings, once broken, would heal him slightly. The pendant, when destroyed, would instantly conjure an eight-point temporary shield to buy him breathing room.
With this arsenal, he could finally stand against the Nazgûl without clinging desperately to Gandalf's robes. Their curses, mental assaults, and deadly swordplay would still be dangerous, but no longer insurmountable.
Eric leaned back with a sigh, stretching until his spine popped.
"Good grief. Locking yourself in a tower to tinker with magical theories really does fry the brain." He chuckled. "I don't know how Saruman does it for decades. Just to squeeze out a ring with fancy powers."
Of course, Saruman was chasing after artifacts on par with the Three Elven Rings. Compared to that, Eric's enchanted jewelry was nothing more than clever trinkets. Functional, yes, but hardly divine in scope. Saruman would likely raise an eyebrow at them, perhaps even find them amusing, but dismiss them as unworthy of his pursuit.
Eric stepped out of his tower. The sun was warm, the air crisp. He walked down to the gates of Helmstead, where the guards quickly swung the doors open at the sight of their lord returning from another of his mysterious disappearances.
The townsfolk hardly blinked anymore at his sudden vanishing acts. They had long since grown used to it, and most were glad enough just to see him back.
Well, most of them.
One man, however, looked nervous. The castle cook shuffled forward, wringing his hands. He had been entrusted with a special responsibility in Eric's absence.
"My lord," he said with a bow, "I come to confess my failure."
Eric frowned. "What happened?"
"It's about Blush."
Eric's stomach sank. "What about him? Did something happen?"
"No… not exactly, my lord. I swear I never once withheld his meals. Quite the opposite! He ate to his heart's content every day, until he could not manage another bite. He was always cheerful, always affectionate. But…"
The man trailed off. Before Eric could press further, a blur of wings and clumsy legs came bounding toward him. With a squeak and a crash, Blush collided with his master's legs and began nuzzling against them furiously.
"There, there," Eric said with relief, stroking the young dragon's head. The creature looked plump, lively, and positively gleeful.
He glanced at the cook. "Seems fine to me. What's the problem?"
The cook winced. "This is my fault, my lord. I let him play with the neighbor's dog."
"Woof!"
As if on cue, a large yellow hound came trotting over, tail wagging. Blush spun around and bounded toward it, the two rolling together in a ball of wings, scales, and fur.
Eric groaned and rubbed his forehead. "So that's it. No harm done. Let him play if he wants. He doesn't exactly have other dragons around to teach him proper behavior. And he's not even half a year old yet. He needs a playmate."
The cook sagged with relief.
Soon enough, the unlikely pair of dragon and dog came loping back, sitting obediently before Eric. He laid a hand on each head, examining the hound with a critical eye.
The dog was steady, good-natured, and clearly well-trained. It had spirit but also discipline, which meant its owner knew what they were doing. Only drawback—its muzzle was graying with age.
Eric sighed, feeding the hound a strip of dried meat. Then he ruffled Blush's scaled head and muttered, half to himself, half to the dragonling, "Of all the friends you could make, you picked one who won't be around forever."
Blush chirped happily, oblivious.
Dragons, like elves, did not wither with time. They endured as long as the world itself endured.
The same could not be said for dogs.
Eric's expression softened with quiet melancholy as he watched them sit side by side, tails wagging in perfect rhythm.
The contrast was a little too poignant for his liking.