The Meduseld Hall that afternoon exuded an eerie majesty. Sunlight pierced through the high, stained-glass windows, casting golden reflections on the aged, darkened wooden floor. Massive wooden pillars supporting the roof soared like giant bones, while the walls were adorned with old tapestries depicting the history of Rohan's Kings.
The nobles sat on long oak benches. Their robes were made of leather, wool, and expensive fabrics, but their gazes were sharp and cautious. They were not foolish men easily swayed by speeches and symbols.
Upon the central throne sat King Thengel, Thalion's father—a stern-faced old man with a golden beard like snow fallen in the last winter. His eyes fixed on his son with an unreadable gaze: a mix of hope, doubt, and testing.
Then the great hall doors opened.
Thalion entered, wearing a dark robe embroidered with silver Elanor—the flower of light from Eldar legends. In his hand, a large scroll contained all his plans and visions from the Gate of Truth.
He stopped in the center of the hall, standing alone, and opened his mouth with a firm voice:
"Father, noble Lords. I come not bearing dreams, but omens. What we build now will determine whether Rohan stands or falls in the next sixty years."
A low murmur rippled through the assembly of nobles. Some whispered to each other, some looked at Thalion with skepticism, but no one interrupted.
Thalion continued.
"You all know of the war in Erebor some time ago. But what most of you do not know is: that war was not merely about Orcish vengeance. It was the opening act of a larger plan. The remaining forces of darkness—scattered after Sauron's fall—were not destroyed. They are regrouping. Beyond the maps we know, on the borders of the East and South. Under banners never seen before, but unified by ancient hatred."
"I have meditated; I have seen through the gate of knowledge. Sixty years from now, Middle-earth will experience a War far greater than the War of the Ring. And if we are not ready—we will perish. Not just Rohan. Gondor. Dale. The Shire. Even hidden Lórien and Imladris will not be spared."
Silence. Not even the footsteps of the guard could be heard.
"Therefore, I come bearing a plan. I have mapped out a new defense system. I envision a renovated Helm's Deep, not just as a defensive fortress, but as a strategic hub. I am rebuilding Padjajaran and Talaga Manggung, not just as centers of agriculture and production, but as the spearhead of food security and logistics. And I have designed Bandung—our new capital—beautiful like Rivendell, but strong like the iron fortress of Khazad-dûm."
He unrolled the large scroll, revealing schemes and maps. Waterways flowing from four rivers, artificial lakes, strategic canals, lookout posts, and even secret exit routes piercing Mount Adorn.
One of the elder nobles stood, his gaze skeptical. "And how do you know all this will happen, Prince Thalion? We have built this kingdom from blood and steel. Not from premonitions and dreams."
Thalion looked at him, undaunted.
"Because war does not begin with the first sword swing. But from whispers, from complacency, from readiness that never comes. I fought in Erebor, and I also met Lord Elrond in Rivendell. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf the Grey, Saruman the White have all fought with a half-risen Sauron."
The King—Thengel—finally spoke. His voice was soft yet sharp, like cracking ice.
"If what you say is true, then Rohan must transform from a land of horse-riders… into a kingdom that is more than merely guardians of the plains. Are you prepared to bear the burden of this plan?"
Thalion bowed his head briefly. "I am not just prepared, Father. I have chosen this path."
And in that silence, one by one, the nobles began to stand. Not all believed, but they saw one thing: in the center of the hall stood a young man who spoke not for honor, but to save the future of their homeland.
That night, Rohan's sky remained quiet.
But within the Meduseld Hall, a new destiny had been set. A decision had been quietly made: that Rohan would no longer merely be a witness to history. It would write the next chapter with its own hand.
The sky began to dim as the torchlight in Meduseld Hall glowed brighter. Before King Thengel and the nobles seated in a circle on ancient, gold-carved high thrones, Thalion stood tall. Behind him lay a large scroll of fabric containing the maps, plans, and sketches he had drawn himself during long, sleepless nights.
"Rohan now," he began, "is a kingdom of horse-riders. But the Rohan to come… must become a kingdom guarding civilization."
The atmosphere was silent. He began to unfurl a large map.
"I divide Rohan into three parts. Three circles of protection. Three faces for one soul."
He pointed to the outermost circle, painted in colors of fertile earth, vast plains, and wide roads.
"The first part: King's Landing. This is Rohan's outermost face. This is where guests and newcomers will first set foot. This area will be filled with the largest agricultural lands and livestock farms, military barracks, a public market, inns, and trading posts from all directions. A vibrant, open area, yet protected by the great defensive wall we will build: The Great Wall of Rohan. Not just as a boundary, but also as a symbol that we open ourselves to the world… but not without vigilance."
Some nobles exchanged glances. The name "King's Landing" sounded unfamiliar to them, but its authoritative impression was clear.
Then Thalion pointed to the second circle.
"The second part is Padjajaran and Talaga Manggung—the heart of Rohan's people. This is where the citizens will live, work, cultivate the land, and raise their children. Talaga Manggung will be filled with artificial lakes and artisan workshops. Padjajaran will become the center of canals, gardens, inner markets, and places of worship. We will build dams at strategic points, which will not only provide clean water and irrigation for all areas but also serve as flood control and a water defense system against enemies coming from land."
His voice grew steadier.
"I am not removing the military presence from here. On the contrary, at this point, we will build central barracks—reserve troops ready to move quickly in any direction. They are hidden behind canals and gardens. They live among the people. They are the people."
Finally, he touched the innermost part of the map—a green area with clear waterways, mountains surrounding its rear, and towering natural walls.
"And this is the core of it all: Bandung. The place previously called Edoras. I don't just want to build a capital. I want to create a sanctuary, like Rivendell, blessed by the Elves. Bandung will be the center of government, libraries, halls of knowledge, and places for contemplation. Water will flow on every side. Hanging gardens will rise from cliff to cliff."
Then his voice hardened, cold yet resolute.
"However, this is not a fairy-tale city. Bandung will have defenses as strong as an Iron Fortress. The stone mountain behind it will be a natural shield. Underground, secret passages will be built for evacuation and war maneuvers. One waterway will be connected directly to the Adorn River—an escape route, a supply route, and if necessary… a counterattack route."
Some nobles took deep breaths. The vision Thalion presented was not only magnificent but highly structured. He was not building a dream—he was crafting a future.
Thalion took a step back, then looked at his father.
"Father, I know this is not easy. But if we do not build from now, sixty years from now, we will lose more than just our land. We will lose our name. Rohan will become a forgotten tale."
King Thengel looked at the map, then at his son. For a moment he was silent, then leaned back into his throne with a heavy sigh.
"My son… if your words are true, then today, in Meduseld Hall, Rohan's history has indeed changed."
And the nobles, though not fully understanding, knew one thing for certain:
They were witnessing the birth of a new era—the era of Thalion.
After the grand explanation of Rohan's three new divisions, Thalion took a breath. He wasn't finished yet.
"There is still one place," he said softly, yet it echoed in the silent hall. "A place that was once our last bastion of hope. But also a place that almost became a mass grave."
Some nobles began to realize the direction of this discussion.
"Helm's Deep," Thalion continued, his voice now sharp and emphasized. "The fortress we have always believed to be our strongest defense—it turns out to have one fatal flaw."
He looked at everyone present, one by one.
"If the front line collapses… there is no retreat. No escape route. No living space. Our people hiding behind the Inner Wall… will be trapped and perish."
Silence. Someone cleared their throat softly. Discomfort crept in, as no one could deny that statement.
Thalion unrolled a new sketch. Unlike the old fortress drawing, this one depicted a completely transformed Helm's Deep—larger, grander, and vibrant.
"I want to renovate Helm's Deep. Not just strengthen its walls. But transform it into a symbol of our new strength. Like Minas Tirith in Gondor—but not white and cold. Helm's Deep will be cloaked in gold and copper. The colors of Rohan's majesty. The color of the sun on the plains. The color of the blood paid for this land."
He pointed to the back of the drawing. "The valley behind will be excavated. We will pierce the mountain, creating a large escape tunnel that leads directly to the Adorn River. That tunnel will be wide enough for people and horse-drawn carts, and hidden enough not to be easily found by the enemy."
Then he shifted the map, showing the details of his new design.
"The outer fortress will be expanded. We will add watchtowers of hard stone reinforced with iron and bronze, places for archers and scouts. The Inner Wall will be strengthened with three layers of stone—a technique I learned from Khazad-dûm architecture. And the underground chambers will be transformed into living spaces: places for clean water, food storage, and even a hospital and emergency meeting areas."
"And not just for defense," Thalion continued with a visionary tone, "but for inspiration. Helm's Deep is not just a hiding place. It will become a symbol of hope. A small city standing behind the valley—the last place where the torch of civilization will not go out."
One of the elder nobles spoke, "But… beauty? Why beautify a war fortress?"
Thalion smiled faintly.
"Because beauty binds the heart. A fortress built only with fear will crumble with that fear. But a fortress built with hope and love… will endure even after its last stone is destroyed."
King Thengel gazed at the sketch for a long time. Then he spoke:
"And are you certain, my son, that we can build all this? In peace… and prepare for war?"
Thalion answered with his head held high:
"If we start now, and build not just with hands… but also with heart and mind, then not only can we. We will build it. And Rohan will be ready to face the next sixty years—not as a land of wanderers, but as a civilization."
The Meduseld Hall fell silent again, but this time… not from doubt.
Rather, it was because they were imagining: golden walls gleaming amidst the mountains. The sound of water from the Adorn River in underground passages. A fortress that was once quiet and dark… now vibrant and defying the world.
Rohan was changing. And that change began before their very eyes.
After the astounding presentation about Helm's Deep, Thalion stood tall again in the center of the hall. The air was thick with the grand ideas he had just presented. But he wasn't finished.
"Your Majesty, my honored lords… I know what I am about to say will sound impossible for us who were born and raised on these green plains. But we cannot forever be a people who merely wait for our horses to return from the fields. We must grow."
He unfurled another sheet. This time it wasn't a drawing of a fortress or canals—but a city. Grand. Layered. Full of houses, gardens, squares, and towers of light.
"Today, Rohan's population numbers two to three hundred thousand. And we already feel crowded, weary, and limited in resources. But in the next 60-year plan, I dream… and wish to make it a reality… that Rohan will be home to two million souls."
A soft sigh rippled through the hall; some eyes widened.
"Two million people," Thalion repeated. "That means growth, courage… and immense responsibility. But I don't want us to be merely a collection of people in a cramped city. I want us to be a civilization. And for that, we must build like a civilization."
He pointed to the sketch of his new city: three layers of territory—King's Landing on the outside, Padjajaran-Talaga Manggung in the middle, and Bandung as its center.
"Every part of the city is designed for life. There will be healthy homes, built with natural ventilation systems, weather-resistant materials, and connected to clean water channels."
"We will build clean public toilets, closed sewage systems so as not to pollute water sources. And each district will have rainwater collection and artificial lakes fed by the four great rivers around us, for agriculture, bathing, and maintaining soil fertility."
"We will build schools, from elementary levels to academies for smiths, architects, healers, even artists. Because strength comes not only from the sword, but from knowledge."
"There will be hospitals—not just resting places, but health centers that deal with injuries, epidemics, births, and life."
"And workshops, throughout the city—for artisans, carvers, armorers, instrument makers, and researchers of ancient technology that is still suitable for our world. Because a productive people are a strong people."
"And finally, places of worship and gardens. Because a healthy body needs inner peace. Our people need places to think, pray, plant flowers, and play with their children."
One of the nobles asked, still with a doubting tone, "But Thalion… where will we find enough space for all that?"
Thalion smiled, and pointed to the large map of Rohan. "The entire territory of Rohan is less than half utilized. Our fertile lands stretch wide. Many valleys and plains are even uninhabited. But with canals, new roads, and a planned settlement system, we will build a city that does not pile upwards… but spreads organically outwards, like a naturally growing forest."
"And when the world is once again engulfed in war—we will have the strength not only to defend, but to lead, to heal, and to provide refuge for people from all corners."
He concluded his presentation with a calm, but profound voice:
"This is not about building a city. This is about building a hope that can be inherited. So that the children of Rohan will not grow up in fear… but in pride. That they come from a land built with courage and compassion, not just by kings and knights… but by all hands that believe in the future."
Meduseld Hall fell silent again.
But this time, it wasn't from shock—rather, it was because a small flame within the hearts of the nobles began to ignite.
And from his seat on the throne, King Thengel looked at his son for a long time. Then he said softly:
"If this is a dream… then it is a dream too beautiful not to fight for."
After that meaningful silence, Thalion stepped forward again. His gaze was sharp but full of sincerity.
"Now, we cannot just dream. We must begin to move."
He turned, looking at each of the nobles seated in a circle. Some were still silent, but their eyes now glowed. Burning with hope.
"Our people are numerous, but not all are farmers. Not all are riders. Not all sharpen swords. Many among them are stonemasons, carvers, woodcutters, weavers, blacksmiths, transporters of goods, even musicians who no longer play."
He raised his hands high, palms open.
"We will mobilize them all. We will create work, give them honor. Those who have not known their purpose—they will become the backbone of a new civilization."
He pointed to one of the elder nobles—Lord Eadric of the North.
"You will lead the census of all our people. Gather those who are physically strong and do not possess agricultural land. We will invite them to build."
Then he pointed to Lady Brima, known for her trade networks outside Rohan.
"You will open barter routes. Send envoys to other human cities—like Dale, Esgaroth, even to Bree and Pelargir. Offer Rohan's products: grain, honey, cheese, leather, herbs, and our stout horses. Offer gold if necessary, and medicines from our healers. We need wood from outside, hard stone, and the help of architects."
"But don't stop there."
He looked at the nobles with an undeniable gaze.
"We will send envoys to the Dwarf-folk. Ask for the help of smiths and tunnel-makers. We will pay with food, raw materials, and Rohan's eternal recognition."
"Then… the most difficult, yet most noble: the Elf-folk."
The hall fell silent. Some nobles exchanged glances. Rohan's relationship with the Elves had not been close, though not hostile.
"We need them not for battle. But to help us shape a city in harmony with nature, like Rivendell. We will ask for their guidance, even if only one or two are willing to come. If necessary, I myself will journey to Lothlórien or to the Halls of Thranduil."
He placed his palm over his chest.
"Because the new Rohan… is not built by one people alone. But by all who love life, and wish to see hope sprout again."
Lord Brandhelm of the western valley exclaimed, half-jokingly but earnestly:
"You want to build all of Middle-earth in Rohan, Thalion?"
Thalion smiled. "No. I merely want Rohan to be a place… where all peoples can see that peace can be created. And can be preserved—if we are brave enough to build it together."
A small cheer was heard from a corner of the room. Some nobles nodded. Others discussed quietly. For the first time, Rohan's leaders spoke of the future… not with anxiety, but with intent.
Meduseld Hall bore witness to the birth of a new civilization.
Before the nobles and chief generals, Thalion stood holding a large scroll made of deer hide. As he unrolled it, a map of Rohan was revealed, now filled with symbols, paths, boundaries, and small notes in fine handwriting.