LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

The population of Dale was quite substantial—far greater than that of the roadside fortress.

And naturally, they needed more time to adjust.

After handing off the development plans of the region to Bard, Eric slipped offline again and returned home through the Gate of Nether.

If anyone knew he'd just crossed over 1,100 kilometers in under two hours, their jaw would've hit the floor.

But to the people of the roadside fortress, this was nothing new.

From their perspective, their lord had left in the morning to handle some business elsewhere and was back before nightfall. Nothing strange about that.

The weather had started to warm.

Emerging from the portal, Eric could feel it clearly. The snow along the roadsides had mixed with melted water, forming a crunchy crust after enduring the night's cold. Another winter was drawing to a close.

Clang!

The gate of the roadside fortress creaked open.

Eric looked over and saw several wooden wagons pulling into the town. The horses were stiff-eyed and clearly exhausted.

The merchant caravan had returned, their carts loaded with foreign goods.

"Milord, the journey was a great success!"

The lead merchant jumped down from his cart the moment he spotted Eric waiting at the gate.

"We passed through all the little towns near Bree, even reached Shirefolk country. The people there were quite fond of our wares. Smooth transactions, all around!"

"After that, we went westward until we hit the Elven port."

"The Elves there were unusually welcoming. They let us in without so much as a question. Bought up half our goods on the spot!"

"They paid with silver, gems, coral, and even diamonds. It's all in that front cart over there."

As he spoke, the merchant led Eric toward the wagons. And indeed, the Elves of Lindon had been remarkably generous. There were more diamonds than he'd expected.

"Not bad. We should prioritize diamonds next time," Eric remarked.

"Understood."

"Oh, and one more thing, sir."

The merchant frowned, trying to recall something. "There was an elderly Elf with a grey-white beard. Looked like someone important. Said he was the lord of the place and asked me to pass along a message for you."

"'Círdan sends his regards and welcomes the founder of the Free Cities to visit Lindon anytime.'"

Círdan the Shipwright?

Now that was unexpected.

"I see. If I have the chance, I'll go."

Eric smiled. "But if you pass through there before I do, deliver this reply for me. Tell him I appreciate the invitation and return his greetings."

The merchants nodded earnestly, committing it to memory. Another spoke up with additional news.

"After Lindon, we headed to the Blue Mountains. The Dwarves there were quite interested in our wares—especially the tough leather. They said it's perfect for some kind of craftsmanship of theirs."

"They bought out our entire leather supply."

"Oh, and… we saw some Dwarves packing up. They're planning to migrate east."

The merchant paused, checking Eric's reaction.

"I asked around a bit. They weren't secretive about it. From what they said, they're heading over the Misty Mountains, through the Valley, and straight north."

"To reclaim their homeland—Erebor," Eric added with a nod.

"It's only recently been liberated. They'll need all the hands they can get."

Eric gave a quick rundown of Erebor's current situation and mentioned the nearby Dale, which left the merchants wide-eyed.

So their lord had another territory all the way beyond the mountains?

As the conversation continued, guards began unloading the carts—crates of goods, piles of pelts, bundles of spice, and most eye-catching of all, the shimmering heap of gems and jewels.

The moment they learned Eric wanted the diamonds, no one dared keep even a single one. Everything was bundled up and carried straight to the castle without question.

Eric, however, only kept the diamonds.

The other gemstones—while beautiful—were practically useless to him. They'd make decent decorations, maybe, but he had no real use for them.

So he simply left them to the townsfolk.

Whoever wanted them could take them. He didn't interfere in the slightest with how they were divided. Frankly, if Eric dumped all the gems stockpiled in Erebor's vaults onto the floor, the sheer pile could drown his entire castle.

This time, the merchants had brought back more than just goods.

There were refugees too—those who'd lost homes to bandits or fallen to hard times. They hadn't ridden in the wagons but followed on foot, aided by small supplies and guidance from the caravan.

Over the course of the winter, more than a hundred newcomers had settled in. Now, they'd begun working alongside the original residents, integrating into daily life.

With business settled and a few days of rest behind them, the merchants gathered once more to plan the next journey—routes, cargo, trade targets, and all.

There were some changes this time.

Two caravan guards decided to retire and return to farming. But their spots were quickly filled by two locals eager to see the world.

The merchants remained the same four.

"I've always dreamed of traveling like this," one said as they sat together. "No worrying about sales, no counting coins or sweating costs. And we're safe the whole way."

"We get to explore new places, learn their customs, talk to people without running out of things to say—our homeland alone could fill a dozen stories."

"I'm already looking forward to the next trip!"

"Wait for the snow to melt first," another chuckled.

"And besides… I think the lord is about to make an announcement. I don't want to miss it."

"Wait, really?"

"I'm going right now!"

In the center of the roadside fort, the wide plaza was packed.

The fountain at the center poured water from its top in a gentle cascade—but oddly, no matter how long it ran, the pool below never filled. No one could explain how it worked, but by now, most had stopped questioning it.

The townsfolk crowded into the open space, eyes locked on Eric, ears perked, waiting.

"My people!"

Eric had barely said two words before the crowd erupted in cheers.

They didn't even need to hear the rest. Just seeing him was enough to lift their spirits.

Eric raised his hand, calming the crowd, and continued.

"Do you all know what next month is?"

The villagers glanced at each other in confusion.

It was February now. So, March? Was something supposed to happen then?

Eric spoke calmly but clearly.

"Two years ago, in the spring of 2940, this fort—our home—was founded."

A wave of realization swept through the crowd.

"Founding Day!" someone shouted.

"Now that's a day worth celebrating!"

Excitement bubbled in the air as more people caught on.

Eric raised his voice.

"That's right. Founding Day!"

"So, I've decided—on the first of March, we'll hold a grand celebration. I hereby declare a seven-day holiday for all!"

"Seven full days of feasting!"

BOOM!

The cheer that followed was like TNT dropped into a pond. The entire plaza exploded with noise—shouting, laughing, clapping, singing. The sound echoed far beyond the fort walls.

Eric grinned, hopping down from the fountain's edge and making his way to the wine cellar.

Time to haul out the good stuff—the strong spirits that had been brewing all winter.

The next few days were bound to be lively. No work. No deadlines. Just food, drink, and revelry. The only dangers were overeating or passing out in a snowbank.

As the residents bustled about, decorating the plaza and preparing for the feast, Eric returned to the castle.

He took out a stash of gunpowder and began crafting fireworks. Something colorful to light up the sky.

But as he worked, a memory stirred.

Gandalf.

That old man had been a master of fireworks. His magical displays could put anything Eric made to shame.

Too bad the wizard was probably still somewhere beyond the Misty Mountains, deep in his investigations.

And it wasn't just him. Thranduil of Mirkwood, Thorin and the Company in Erebor, Bard, the Eagles, Beorn, even the Brown Wizard—none of them would make it.

After all, this "Founding Day" had been a last-minute idea. The name itself had come from one of the townsfolk.

There hadn't even been time to send out invitations.

Which meant, most likely, only Bilbo would be able to attend.

Or… so Eric thought.

Just then, a surprise visitor arrived at the gate of the roadside fortress.

Someone entirely unexpected.