"Thank you, Bion. We're off now!" Rynar thanked Bion, who had personally come to see them off.
"Thank you, Lord Bion. I wish you health and safety," Balin said, placing a hand over his chest in respect.
"May you succeed in reclaiming your homeland. Though I dislike dwarves, those damn orcs and goblins are a thousand times worse," Bion said with a hearty smile.
"Farewell," Rynar waved.
"Ho!" With a light tap to the horse's belly, the remarkably responsive Shire warhorse immediately broke into a full gallop.
"Children, keep up!" Balin waved his arm to rally the dwarven warriors who had just disembarked.
"Oh! Dúnedain, I hate these rocking ships!"
"Thank the gods! I swear by my beard, if we don't dock soon, I'll go mad."
"Damn it! What was I thinking, subjecting myself to another cursed boat ride?" This came from a dwarf who had clearly just arrived from the western world.
"Hey! Let's keep moving! If we hurry and keep up the pace, we can reach our destination in time for lunch. Soft, freshly baked bread, rich cheese, jerky, and each of us will have a mug of beer!" Balin immediately brought out his "secret weapon"—nothing works better on dwarves than alcohol.
"Dúnedain! I feel so much better!"
"Damn it! My legs aren't weak anymore! I can run another ten miles without even breathing hard!"
"Yes! I can run now!"
"Make way, make way! Don't block my path!"
"Hey, buddy, if you're feeling unwell, maybe you should give your beer to me?"
...
Rynar stared, dumbfounded, as the dwarves—who had previously seemed like lazy, beaten dogs—underwent what could only be described as a "medical miracle" under Balin's beer offensive! The dwarves, once hunched and aching on the riverbank, suddenly erupted with more energy than even the Zaltarion soldiers. If the Zaltarion soldiers fought for their king and homeland, these dwarves were fighting for alcohol and good food!
"My gods, mom! To think I could witness such a miracle in my lifetime! This effect is stronger than any healing spell or divine magic!" Rynar exclaimed in shock.
"Oh my goodness, dragon god above... These dwarves really are..." Omsk muttered, shaking his head, unsure how to describe it.
"Maybe all they need is a little booze, and they'll even dare to chop down gods for you?" Caslow shrugged, making a low joke.
"It seems I underestimated the dwarves' obsession with alcohol," Rynar said, shaking his head, still in awe.
It had to be said, even on a calm river, the boat trip was a torment for the water-averse dwarves. They hated the rocking sensation that made them feel unsafe, often leaving most of them seasick. The dwarves' behavior on the boat earlier... well, let's not even talk about it. Rynar was glad the dwarven kingdom never relied on the sea; otherwise, who knew where they'd find a navy to protect their trade routes.
...
"Your Highness, try this!" Balin handed Rynar a roasted, golden-brown, juicy wild rabbit.
Rynar took it, and a savory aroma immediately filled his senses. Only then did he realize the rabbit was seasoned with various precious spices.
"I have to say, I've always thought hobbits were the only ones who could cook! I had no idea the dwarves were such great chefs when it came to roasting!" Rynar said in admiration, taking a bite of the roasted rabbit. The crispy golden skin contrasted perfectly with the tender meat inside. Rynar finally understood what it meant to have a perfectly roasted dish—crispy on the outside, juicy and tender on the inside! The special dwarven spices and salt made his appetite soar, and before he knew it, the entire rabbit was gone.
"How's that? Not bad, right?" Balin smiled, turning the rabbit in his hands before proudly adding, "Your Highness, you've underestimated us dwarves. When we have a feast, it's more extravagant than any human noble gathering! After all, dwarves are never stingy with their own. You think our skills are poor? Not only hobbits can cook; every dwarf is an expert at grilling. Who do you think we spend our days with—fireplaces!"
"That's true, I know all too well about those vampires among human nobles!" Rynar nodded. He had never seen human nobles in Middle-earth, but he could guess they were like the ones in the Middle Ages—rarely sharing with their people. Most were like the mayor of Lake-town, leeching off the common folk!
"Exactly! Greed is the original sin! The end is always destruction!" Balin closed his eyes, pained. Both the fall of Khazad-dûm and Erebor had been caused by greed. Dwarves' insatiable desire for treasure in the depths of the earth had invited covetous eyes, which ultimately sowed the seeds of their ruin.
"We must be nearing the Misty Mountains," Rynar said, shifting the topic.
"Yes, we passed through here last autumn," Balin said, his face showing a hint of nostalgia.
"Who would have thought! The dwarves have reclaimed Erebor, and the name of the king echoes through Middle-earth! Now it's your turn, Balin! Don't disappoint us!" Rynar said, his tone serious as he stared at Balin.
"You need the restoration of the old city to show the dwarves' glory, and we need the wealth there to fill our people's bellies, rebuild the city walls, and build villages... (and there's also the matter of the dragon-riding general!)" Rynar's gaze was deep and far-reaching. The dwarves could likely endure a failed expedition, but Rynar could not bear the consequences. Without funds, the city of Rushing River couldn't develop. Trading caravans? That would take forever! Rynar feared that by the time of the War of the Ring, he wouldn't be able to field even ten thousand men. If that happened, he'd have no face left among the kings! After all, what human kingdom couldn't easily raise an army of ten thousand?
"Of course, the dwarves will never disappoint our allies!" Balin said firmly.
"Then I wish you early success, Lord of Moria, King Balin!" Rynar smiled.
"Uh... isn't it a bit early to talk about that?" Balin wiped his cold sweat, thinking how strange Rynar's way of thinking was—already wishing him to be king before they had even taken Moria!
"Early? Not at all. Think about how you'll hold your coronation. After all, you'll be the first dwarf in centuries to step into Moria," Rynar said, shaking his head. Even without Rynar's help, Balin would have been crowned the Conqueror of Moria, let alone with Rynar leading the charge. The only variable was how many casualties they'd face.
"Caslow, get your men ready! We'll soon enter the Misty Mountains... I brought them out, but I can't guarantee I can bring every one of them back. So, even for their own sake, I need them to keep their wits about them! The road here is not an easy one, and this time, we don't have the knights' order to back us up!" Rynar said with a frown, calling Caslow over to give him orders.
"I understand, Your Highness!" Caslow nodded sharply before immediately passing on the command to the soldiers.
"Don't worry, Your Highness. I'll be your strongest wall. Anyone who wants to harm you will have to walk over my dead body first!" Omsk raised his mighty lance, and a deep, rumbling voice came from under his heavy helmet. The Omsk who had been idly slacking off during the journey now stood fully armored at Rynar's side.
"Thanks, but I'm a knight as well!" Rynar smiled leisurely, firmly gripping his own lance.
"For our future... onward!"