Perhaps it was the environment. Compared to Rivendell, Lothlórien felt colder, quieter, and far more solemn.
Rivendell, after all, had wide skies and distant mountains to gaze upon. Here, one looked up only to see layers of golden leaves and pale silver trunks, touched by the soft amber glow of lanterns that only appeared at night.
One was an open calm. The other, a closed serenity.
Each had its charm.
Inside the hall, the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien were hosting Eric personally.
Celeborn sat across from him at a small table, while Galadriel, radiant and distant as moonlight, sat beside her husband.
As the feast began, the air filled with the delicate melody of harps and flutes. Elven servants brought forward plates of beautifully crafted dishes, placing them with quiet precision.
Most were light, subtle vegetarian courses or exquisite pastries, though a few meat dishes had been placed conveniently close to Eric's side.
Eric wasn't one to fuss about food. His standards were simple: if it was edible, it was fine. In desperate times, even carrion stew or worm bread would do.
Still, he wasn't about to complain about a fine meal.
Even though most dishes were light and delicate, every single one had been prepared with care and artistry.
After a few bites and a small cookie, he was full.
It wasn't that his appetite was small. It was because that cookie happened to be Lembas. One bite of it restored enough strength to climb a mountain, and the rest of the piece could probably keep him alive for days.
And, admittedly, it was delicious—sweet, crisp, and lightly creamy.
Finishing the last crumb, Eric asked, "I really like these. Mind if I take a few with me?"
It was a very natural question. After years of traveling and being offered hospitality everywhere, he had learned to accept kindness without hesitation—and to ask for seconds when the food was good.
"Of course," said Celeborn warmly. "We are always glad to share with friends."
He gestured for a servant to fetch a pack.
"Thank you," said Eric with a grin.
Celeborn replied, "For the hero who stood against a Balrog, no generosity is too great."
Eric froze with his cup halfway to his lips, a little embarrassed. Celeborn's tone, however, turned curious.
"May I ask," he said, "about the ring on your hand? It seems to hold remarkable power."
"Oh, that?" Eric slipped it off and handed it across. "I made it myself. It carries the power of protection—simple enough, but it does its job."
The Lord and Lady exchanged a glance before Celeborn took the ring, examining it carefully under the silver light.
"Protection…" he murmured, then passed it to Galadriel.
"There are no traces of corruption," she observed softly after a moment. "Its magic is pure."
Compared to her own Ring of Water, the power was faint, merely a physical ward without deeper enchantment. But she smiled faintly.
"As a craftsman's work, this is admirable. Far beyond what mortals usually achieve."
Celeborn nodded, returning the ring. "Remarkable indeed."
They both relaxed slightly.
It was good news that the man capable of slaying dragons and Balrogs had not started forging Rings of Power. That would have been a concern.
After all, a human lord with such strength could easily become a new dark legend. History might even begin with the line: It was the age of the Human Lord who rose against darkness.
Thankfully, that seemed unlikely.
"So," Celeborn continued, "the wilds speak of you as the Dragon-Slayer, the Founder of Freehold, the Defender of the North…" He listed the titles as though reading from a bard's song. "What brings you on this journey? Surely you didn't come all this way just to fight a Balrog?"
Eric chuckled. "No, that was… not part of the plan. I just thought Moria was a quicker route. And maybe there'd be a few interesting things down there. The dwarves and I are on good terms, so they wouldn't mind me borrowing a few trinkets."
He shrugged. "The Balrog part wasn't planned. The orcs were too noisy, and I guess they woke him up."
He sighed dramatically. "If I'd actually planned to fight it, Moria would now be known as the Deepwater Pit."
Then he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small silver axe.
"I also found this."
Galadriel leaned closer, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "That weapon bears the mark of Durin's line. It is a dwarven heirloom."
"Ah, that explains it." Eric tucked it away again. "I'll make sure it finds its way home."
Celeborn nodded, though his face tightened slightly as he took a long sip of wine.
Eric noticed. He blinked, then awkwardly smiled.
Right. Celeborn didn't exactly have fond memories of dwarves—his kin had been slain by them long ago, and that wound had never healed.
If Thranduil were here, they'd probably get along splendidly over a shared dislike of dwarves. Add in a certain wizard with a fondness for pipeweed, and within an hour they'd all be drunk and picking fights in the mountains.
"Anyway," Eric said quickly, deciding to change the topic, "please accept these, as a token of my gratitude for your aid."
He placed two golden apples on the table.
The glow they cast drew the elves' attention instantly.
"May they stand as a symbol of our friendship."
Galadriel received them gently, her expression softening in delight. "So beautiful… and so rare."
Celeborn inclined his head. "Your gift honors us. I will not forget this kindness."
As they spoke, Eric's mind drifted briefly to the trees he had seen along the way—their shimmering bark and luminous leaves. His lens had shown that the Maolong Trees contained magic akin to the Silver Trees of old, perhaps even stronger.
It was not a discovery to take lightly.
Celeborn met Galadriel's eyes. She gave a faint nod.
"I will choose the finest seedling for you myself," she said.
With that, the meeting drew to a graceful close.
Later, as Eric walked under the starlit canopy, he found himself missing a certain gray-bearded old wizard. Gandalf would have turned this quiet dinner into a three-hour conversation full of pipe smoke and riddles about socks.
This place could really use a wizard to liven things up.
A familiar elf met him outside—the same captain he'd fought beside earlier.
"Your room is ready, my lord," the elf said politely.
"Thanks," Eric replied, then paused. "Wait—what's your name again?"
The elf seemed surprised. "Haldir, at your service."
"I saw you during the Balrog fight," said Eric. "You rallied your men quickly. Not many can stare down that kind of fear."
"Your praise is generous," said Haldir with a humble smile. "I am merely a warden of the northern borders. I rarely leave this forest."
"I see. Could you tell me a bit about the area? I'd like to explore."
"Of course. Southward lies the gate. East and west are the high platforms with fine views. And to the north, a garden—quiet and rarely visited, especially beautiful by starlight."
"Perfect. Thanks."
"An honor to assist you," Haldir said, bowing before taking his leave.
Eric wandered through Lothlórien like a curious tourist. He climbed trees for the view, chatted with passing elves, and eventually decided to try fishing by the river.
By the time someone noticed him, he had caught a fish.
"Do we even have those creatures in this river?" one elf whispered in confusion.
"I've never seen one before," said another, squinting. "Wait… did he even put bait on the hook?"
No one had an answer.
And so, another strange rumor about the mysterious human spread through the forest.
Later that night, Eric returned not to his quarters but to the northern garden. The woods were silent, so still that even time itself seemed to pause. Only the faint rustling of leaves and the silver glow of the stars gave any sign of life.
In the clearing, his eyes caught something—an ornate silver basin filled with water, resting on a carved stone pedestal.
He stepped closer. His reflection stared back from the water's surface.
"Would you like to look?"
The voice was soft, melodic. He turned and saw Galadriel descending the steps, her form bathed in gentle light.
"Lady Galadriel," he greeted.
She carried a small box filled with soil. In its center lay a silver seed.
"May it grow strong in your land," she said, handing it to him.
"Thank you."
So this was the seed of the Maolong Tree.
Galadriel then moved to the basin. "This is the Mirror of Galadriel. It can show you the past, the present, and what may come."
"I'd like to try," said Eric.
She uncorked a slender silver flask and poured water into the basin. "I cannot say what the mirror will reveal," she warned. "Nor can I promise that what you see will truly come to pass. The future is a shifting mist. If you behold something unbearable, close your eyes—and it will fade."
Eric nodded, stepping forward.
The water rippled. His reflection blurred. The image changed.
At first, there was only white.
"Is that my future?" he murmured. "A blank, empty void?"
"Perhaps," said Galadriel softly. "It may simply mean uncertainty…"
She fell silent as Eric spoke again, his tone quiet but firm.
"No. It isn't blank."
The image was shifting.
The perspective drew back, revealing a figure in the mirror—his own face.
Eric stared at himself. The reflection smiled faintly, as if in greeting.
A chill ran down his spine.
For in that mirrored version, his eyes were pure white, glowing faintly with unearthly light.
"Is that me?" he whispered. "Or… him?"
(Note: "Him" is not another character—just a small hint for the future.)