[150 powerstones Bonus Chapter]
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At dawn the next day, the mighty eagles spread their wings and carried the word across the windswept heights and winding vales of the upper Anduin River. Swift as light upon water, the tale reached every hill, grove, and glen — and with it, shock and awe descended upon the hillfolk.
None had imagined that on the very day of Kaen's return, such a momentous act would unfold: the suppression of Ankharan and eighteen other chieftains in a single stroke. It was unthinkable. Unprecedented.
Unlike those petty lords, who fattened themselves on the toils of their kin, Kaen had once been a warrior of pure heart — a slayer of beasts, a shield to the people, a light in the wild darkness of the mountains. Not a single deed of his had ever been tainted by greed or betrayal. He had hunted for them, bled for them, and defended the peace of the upper valley.
To the common folk, he was not just a name — he was the Silver Shield in their memory.
And so, when word spread that Kaen now claimed kingship over the hillfolk of the Upper Anduin, nearly a third of the people responded not with fear, but with welcome.
Yet not all felt the same. Some, bound by blood or loyalty to the fallen chieftains, chose exile. They gathered their meager belongings and left the upper valley behind.
Kaen did not hinder them. For he knew — not every soul would bend the knee. One cannot win the hearts of all.
From the upper riverlands of Anduin to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, the journey would take a full month. But it was still early autumn, and the expedition had until winter's edge to arrive. Three months of grace. Time enough.
Thus Kaen, Thorin, and their companions revised their course. They would remain for a time, waiting for the rest of the expeditionary host to arrive. In the meantime, Kaen would unify the people.
He tasked Andric with the census. After the dissenters had gone, twenty-one hill tribes still remained in the upper valley — over sixty thousand souls in total.
Yet the land itself was vast —a land broader than any single realm of the West, vast enough to swallow kingdoms, nearly eightfold the size of Kaen's own Kingdom of Eowenría in the west. The population was meager and scattered across forests, cliffs, and rivers.
Kaen's first command as King was thus proclaimed:
All hillfolk were to migrate to the rocky valley by the Carrock.
And so they came.
From every hill and hollow, from forests and riverbanks, a great throng gathered — tens of thousands in number. When all had arrived, Kaen stood upon the high rock at the valley's heart, gazing down upon both banks of the mighty river, and addressed them:
"One year ago," he began, his voice amplified by the ancient power of the elements, "I departed from this very land and crossed westward through the mountains to found the Kingdom of Eowenríel."
"There, the people want not. They feast well and live in peace. The beasts of war and shadow do not haunt their nights."
"Now I have returned — as your King. And with that title comes a burden: to lift you from hunger and fear, from cold nights and barren harvests, and bring you into a life of plenty."
"I am not like those chieftains of old, who drained the lifeblood of their tribes. I will not tax you or trample your freedom."
"Here, upon this land, together we shall raise a city of stone and timber — a city for the hillfolk. It shall be called Tusgar!"
His voice thundered across the cliffs and riverbanks, borne on the wind like prophecy. And the people roared in reply, their voices echoing as one:
"King of the Mountain!"
That was the ancient name the hillfolk gave their chosen ruler.
Under Kaen's command, a tide of labor swept across the valley. They felled trees, quarried stone, laid foundations, and raised beams. Tens of thousands toiled under sky and star, their efforts magnified by the panel's triple-speed development — a strange magic known only to Kaen and the system that bound him.
The work was swift. The dream began to take form.
Thorin Oakenshield, ever watchful, remained by Kaen's side throughout. The Dwarven prince absorbed much — not only the art of war, but the subtler strengths of leadership and statecraft. Day by day, he began to resemble a true King of both sword and law.
…..
Half a month passed.
Upon the western mountains, where mists curled and leaves began to bronze, a force of over five thousand warriors crossed the ridgelines and descended into the valley.
"Hahaha! We've returned!"
"The Valley of Anduin — my homeland! How I've missed you!"
Voices rang with joy and awe as they beheld the familiar river glimmering below. At the head of the column rode Caden, Zakri, Mundar, Lairon, Cathril, and Ameliah — all of them Kaen's sworn companions and battle-brothers.
From the summit, Sigilion, tall and grave, gazed down at the valley and said:
"So this is the land where our lord first met you — the land nourished by the greatest river in Middle-earth. Truly, it is beautiful."
"Of course," Caden declared with pride. "It was here that our lord stood with us — fought alongside us — and cleansed this valley of trolls, orcs, and wargs. His name rang louder than any chieftain's."
Lairon nodded solemnly.
"When the Lord marched forth on his great journey, many wished to follow him. That he chose us — it was our honor."
Even Thaliondir, the elven cavalry captain of Rivendell, added:
"Three thousand years ago, I rode to war in the Last Alliance, and our host passed this very way. We crossed the Anduin upon the bridge at the Old Ford, which was built in those days. This land holds great memory."
As they spoke, they followed the same path Kaen once took — from Highpass to the Old Ford, then northward toward Carrock, where the river could be forded.
The host poured into the valley like a flood, and soon their presence drew the attention of the settlers.
Andric, now armored and flanked by hundreds of hillfolk warriors, rode out to meet them.
"Halt!"
"This is the land of the Kingdom of Eowenría. You come bearing arms and banners — you have trespassed upon our realm. State your purpose and stand down!"
"…What?"
The generals at the head of the column looked at each other, bewildered.
Eowenría?
Since when did the Upper Anduin belong to that kingdom?
Since when were they, Kaen's comrades-in-arms, called invaders?
The lead commanders signaled for the army to halt. A small group rode forward to parley.
But before they could speak, Caden's voice broke into a shout:
"Andric?!"
Andric blinked in confusion.
"You… wait… you're—?"
"Caden! It's me!" he laughed, yanking off his helmet to reveal his bristling beard.
Andric's face lit up with surprise and joy.
More helmets came off.
"It's been so long, Andric!"
"Mundar! Zakri! Lairon! And Cathril — and Ameliah too!"
"And us! I'm Sigilion!"
"And I'm Reger!"
One by one they dismounted, embracing, laughing, clasping hands and shoulders as the years melted away.
Cathril and Ameliah stood aside, smiles upon their lips, watching the reunion unfold like a long-lost song.
Caden looked around and asked, puzzled:
"You said this land belongs to Eowenría now? When did the kingdom expand so far?"
Andric sighed heavily.
"Ah… that is a tale long in the telling."
He recounted all that had transpired since Kaen's return: how the chieftains had conspired against him, how they had fallen by their own treachery, and how Kaen had taken the mantle of King with fire and justice.
When they heard that the lords of the valley had sought to betray Kaen — their lord, their brother-in-arms — every warrior among them went still. Their eyes burned with fury.
Even Thaliondir, the elven captain, looked grim.
But as Andric described how Kaen had outmaneuvered them all, how he had seized command and spared those who surrendered, pride replaced anger. Their lord had not changed.
"My father, and the other chieftains, are imprisoned," Andric said. "But the King has shown mercy. I now serve him, as is right."
Mundar clapped him on the shoulder.
"No need to speak of your father. What matters is you've stood where honor lies. From here on, let us fight side by side again — as brothers."