"Friend, you should've helped me!"
Aedric saw his bloodied childhood companion standing before him, gazing expressionlessly, and his face changed as he cried out: "I did help you, I swear!"
"But you hesitated for a moment—just that brief moment decided my life and death."
"I was scared too!" Aedric roared. "I was only thirteen! There were five of them, all with weapons, and I still charged in to help you! What more do you want from me?"
"You should've rushed to help me immediately."
"Damn it!"
Aedric swore and opened his eyes. Too tired, and that cursed dream again.
"Hiss—" Pain shot through his body, making him suck in a sharp breath. He didn't want to move at all, barely managing to turn his neck and look around.
The dim sky cast brilliant light down, stars shining with joyous radiance. The flowers left by Telperion before its death gave off silver light, letting Eriador embrace illumination even after the sun's departure.
A simple campfire ringed with stones lay beside him, and beyond stretched the deep forest hidden in night's embrace. A road grown with withered grass and uneven ground stretched between campfire and forest, extending into murky darkness.
Hundreds of elves were busy making camp throughout the area. Carl's and Isa's figures moved among them.
Soon they noticed movement by the campfire, then vanished in an instant.
"Not a dream, and I haven't gone through a second transmigration."
Aedric bore the discomfort and struggled to sit up, instinctively touching his chest and abdomen.
"Hiss—" He cried out in pain. "Yeah, definitely not a dream!"
Bandages were wrapped round and round in layers about his chest and abdomen, carrying the fragrant scent of healing herbs that brought strange comfort.
[Second Adventure Log: Forest Commission completed.]
[...Next, you and Luna successfully pursued the orc company.]
[Before battle commenced, you rejected Luna's plan and, relying on combat experience accumulated from playing Empire, StarCraft, Warcraft, and Mount & Blade, formulated a new strategy.]
[The plan succeeded!]
[You successfully rescued the two children and fought valiantly in subsequent battles, holding out until rescue arrived.]
[The children suffered no harm.]
[You eliminated seven Uruk-hai and three Wargs.]
[Rating: 2 stars.]
[Please choose one reward from the following.]
[1. Thin Númenórean bloodline.]
[At the First Age's end, to reward humans who bravely opposed darkness in the War of Wrath, the Valar granted them longer lifespans.]
[Naturally, this is but a thin bloodline that can slightly increase your lifespan, allowing you to remain clear-minded and healthy at eighty years of age.]
[PS: It cannot enhance physical attributes—it cannot; please do not misunderstand. The reason Númenóreans possess stronger bodies than ordinary humans is because they befriended elves and learned certain techniques, not due to bloodline benefits. Thank you.]
[2. Elementary Mastery of Quenya.]
[In Aman, Quenya is nearly the common tongue, while in Middle-earth, only the exiled Noldor and the noblest Númenórean royal descendants master its usage. Arnor and the Noldor possess many precious texts written in this language.]
[PS: Unredeemed rewards carry over to the next log completion. Redeemed ones will be replaced with new rewards.]
What should he choose?
The Númenórean bloodline was excellent—longer lifespan and all. Quenya seemed worthwhile too. If he ever found texts with important knowledge, being unable to read them would be frustrating.
Like the map in the Quest of Erebor—without understanding runes, you couldn't get anywhere. He couldn't keep bothering Elrond in Rivendell with translation requests. The lord was busy, after all, not some NPC there for constant service.
Maybe he didn't need to choose right away. When his body started declining, he could pick the Númenórean bloodline. If Quenya became necessary, that was available too.
Actually, no. He'd choose the bloodline directly. That way his physical peak should last longer.
After deciding, Aedric made his choice. Warmth exploded throughout his body, a pleasant heated feeling.
"You're awake?"
A tall figure slowly emerged from the night. In the firelight, his face was handsome and ethereal, with silver hair and eyes that sparkled like stars. Thick gray whiskers covered his face, swaying gently.
Drawing near, he spoke: "Your luck was extraordinary. Two silver coins mixed with iron saved your life—thick enough that when the spear struck your chest, they blocked deeper penetration."
"Very fortunate. Your injuries aren't severe and should heal quickly."
"You are?" Seeing ears identical to Luna's and the thick whiskers covering mouth and temples, Aedric had suspicions but didn't dare confirm them. Elves rarely grew beards, at least in Middle-earth.
"I'm Círdan." His voice grew gentler. "Master Aedric, you might not have heard this name, but I know you well. Carl and Isa have told me everything in detail. As their elder and guardian, I offer heartfelt gratitude."
He bowed deeply.
"No, no, no." Aedric waved repeatedly. "It's nothing worth such ceremony."
He knew this person well—a great lord! One of the elven lords remaining in Middle-earth!
"You protected three elven lives with your own. If such noble behavior counts for nothing, what deserves praise and thanks?"
Círdan pulled over a log stump and sat, his expression growing serious. "Aedric, at Lindon's harbor stands a splendid empty dwelling."
"Three stories tall, spacious and bright, furnished with exquisite furniture and plenty of provisions. At dawn, you hear the gulls' clear calls. When the sun rises from the sea, bright light through the windows warms the entire house."
"The garden blooms with colorful flowers most seasons. The neighbors are good folk—warm-hearted and cheerful, with hardly a flaw except being seldom seen."
"Trust me, living there would be most pleasant."
"Ah?" Aedric blinked, somewhat confused why he spoke of this with such gravity.
"Master Aedric, I'd like to give you this dwelling as thanks. Whether for long residence or brief stay, the Grey Havens welcomes you."
"What?" Aedric's brows shot up, eyes wide with greater surprise than when he'd awakened to see orcs.
The Grey Havens was Lindon's most important port city, holding status like a capital. Lindon was the elves' other major settlement in Eriador, home to Noldor and Telerin branches—the Nandor and Sindar elves. It was also the last kingdom ruled by the High King of the Noldor.
Whether spiritually or culturally, it was extremely important to the elves! The present situation was like someone telling you they owned a house beside the White House—exceptionally fine, convenient location, three stories with gardens, prestigious address, and good neighbors. Now they wanted to give it to you.
Would you accept? It was difficult to decide!
"Naturally, this depends on your will," Círdan said without urgency, smiling. "Though you've slept a day and night, your body's still weary. More rest helps healing."
He patted Aedric's shoulder like a kindly elder. "Time's abundant—consider it well."
Círdan's smile held great warmth, his words seeming to carry enchantment that made you drowsy. Even having just awakened, Aedric yawned greatly, his eyelids preparing for battle. Before closing his eyes completely, he managed: "What about Luna? Is she well? And Carl and Isa?"
"She's well past mortal danger. Carl and Isa are fine too—they're the ones who told me you'd awakened."
Before consciousness fully succumbed to slumber, Aedric's heart finally settled. His plan had worked. Before reinforcements arrived, he'd kept Luna, Carl, and Isa alive. That was enough. What more could he want?
As one of the most severely injured in their company, Aedric remained on a stretcher, occasionally tended by fair elven maidens or grandmothers changing his dressings. By appearance alone, you couldn't tell an elf's age!
Isa and Carl took turns bringing meals and chatting, describing the Grey Havens' sea, ships, sunsets, gulls, and peaceful life with friendly inhabitants.
While traveling, twin elves carried his stretcher. After all, having captured prey, the orcs had plunged into dense forest where elves couldn't pursue on horseback through complex terrain and thick vegetation. Most traveled on foot, so naturally they had to walk home too.
Along the way, Aedric chatted with the twins. His Common Speech was excellent, his Sindarin creditable.
He was amazed to discover these two were Elrond's sons—the half-elven lord of Rivendell, White Council member, wielder of Vilya, and one of Middle-earth's great lords. They were Elladan and Elrohir.
Both had come to the Grey Havens bearing gifts and were staying there briefly, fortunately arriving during this kidnapping incident. The gift was the elven longsword Aedric had used to kill several orcs and Wargs, named "Mithreleth."
It was crafted by Noldorin smiths using techniques traceable to Aman's divine powers, such as Aulë, Smith of the Valar. "Mithreleth" was Luna's coming-of-age gift. Before Aedric's unconsciousness, this gift had been embedded in a Warg's neck.
Carl and Isa were also Elrond's Middle-earth relatives, quite closely related. For this reason, Elladan and Elrohir befriended Aedric and personally carried the wounded man.
Aedric felt surprise but little wonder—Elrond had countless relatives. This lord's bloodline encompassed Vanyar royalty, Sindar royalty, Noldor royalty, and humanity's three founding houses: Hador, Beor, and Haleth. Even the Maia Melian was his great-great-grandmother.
With relatives numerous, famous, and obscure, they could form a reinforced company easily. Simply countless.
For instance, Númenor's first king—predecessor to Gondor and Arnor—was his younger brother. Should you encounter a cloaked, pipe-smoking figure called "Strider" by locals at the Prancing Pony, it'd likely be his descendant.
"Rather too coincidental," Aedric mused privately, saying little while continuing idle chat with the twin elves.
As sons of Rivendell's lord, Elladan and Elrohir had vast knowledge, appearing stalwart and fair. Yet they were nearly three thousand years old. Time left few marks on elven faces.
Born in Third Age 130, now it was Third Age 2939.
Their conversation lacked a fixed theme, ranging from human history to ancient wars, and from divine powers to local customs. Both brothers knew many details intimately, speaking eloquently.
Their father had truly lived from the First Age onward, visiting many places and experiencing much, recording all in books stored at Rivendell during leisure time.
Aedric's love for Middle-earth made him quite familiar with this land's history. He could interject at key moments, keeping conversations flowing smoothly, occasionally producing high-level Elvish vocabulary that amazed both brothers.
Such knowledge wasn't randomly acquired.
Walking and talking, their relationship grew surprisingly close. Language was the most effective means of bridging distances between people.
They traveled steadily for several days. Thanks to elven medical expertise, Aedric's various wounds healed remarkably well. When they made camp that day, he could finally walk with difficulty.
Regaining freedom of movement, Aedric immediately rushed to the riverside.
Anyone who'd experienced wilderness travel knew—living outdoors, particularly in wild places, personal hygiene couldn't be too particular. Yet Aedric's condition was truly dire.
His cut garments bore not only bloodstains but also dried filth still reeking faintly. Naturally, sweat and herbal scents abounded too. These mingled elements were difficult for even him to endure.
Though Elladan and Elrohir showed no displeasure while traveling, Aedric couldn't bear it any longer.
Avoiding chest and abdominal wounds, he bathed thoroughly in the cold river water and cleaned his clothes simply.
Upon returning to shore, Elladan stood nearby, smiling. He removed his hooded cloak and offered it cheerfully: "Aedric, this is for you. I think you've got great need of it now."
It was a cloak from Lothlórien, appearing deep brown in the sunset. Naturally, this wasn't its only hue. In the forest it was deep green, in shadow gray, and under starlight silver-gray—its color changed with light in different environments.
If time advanced decades hence, such cloaks would be standard equipment for Fellowship members. Elladan having this was natural enough—Lothlórien's Lady was his grandmother. How could she stint her grandson?
Aedric nodded gratefully and accepted it. He had no reason to refuse this gift.
His garments, through battle and flight, had been reduced to tatters by branches, undergrowth, Wargs, and orcs. Moreover, having transmigrated, he possessed nothing but what he wore!
Drafty conditions aside, he couldn't wander naked before assembled elves, could he?
A cloak covering his entire form was like finding shelter in winter to Aedric. Besides concealing his exposed body, it preserved what little dignity and shame remained to him.
Elrohir, standing beside them, showed slight disappointment. His movements had been slower, his right hand frozen on the green leaf-shaped clasp.
As kinsmen to Carl, Isa, and Luna, both brothers had planned to gift Aedric something expressing their gratitude. In their view, life was more precious than most things, especially family members captured by orcs.
Both brothers deeply abhorred such acts and would never willingly see them repeated while they lived!
After several seconds' consideration, Elrohir's eyes brightened as he approached with a smile: "Aedric, Carl tells me you understand some swordplay. Is this a family training method?"
"Not really—just messing around with friends. Never thought it'd be useful."
Aedric scratched his damp hair. He hardly considered gathering with like-minded friends at a recreational facility to study internet sword tutorials as a family inheritance. It was quite common, after all.
"Perfect then." Elrohir clapped his hands. "I've got a training method left by my great-grandfather. Extended practice will certainly increase your physical attributes and combat ability."
Aedric raised his brows in surprise. He'd always believed every person's combat prowess in Middle-earth was innate—naturally strong remained strong, naturally weak remained weak. He hadn't imagined training methods existed.
Elrohir gripped his sword hilt: "Father once told me that if I met someone noble of heart and willing to fight evil bravely, I could teach this method to him."
"Does this method have a name?"
"Indeed—it's called Celorn, which means Flowing Water. Will you learn it?"
"Absolutely!" What was there to hesitate about?