Three days later, a caravan of travelers from Rivendell arrived before the black stone walls of Minas-Elion Fortress.
They were two hundred and thirty strong—fifty men, the rest Elves of the Noldor, whose silver hair glimmered faintly even in the dim northern light.
At their head walked a tall, graceful Elf with hair the color of autumn wheat, and beside him, a broad-shouldered man clad in a long cloak of deep blue.
As they dismounted, the Elf stepped forward, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed with practiced elegance.
"Good day, noble Lord Ryan Eowenríel," he said, his voice melodic and refined.
"I am Belangar, sent by Lord Elrond to aid you in the governance of your realm. I bring with me these Noldorin artisans, who have agreed to serve you through the coming winter."
Ryan smiled and returned the bow.
"You and your kin are most welcome here. Convey my gratitude to Lord Elrond for his generosity."
The man beside Belangar now stepped forward, his presence powerful yet dignified. His hair was black as midnight, his eyes steady and deep.
"I am Reginor," he said. "A Dúnadan, descended from the royal guards of Elendil himself.
I have heard whispers that a new king rises in the North—and I bring with me fifty men, heirs of old heroes, willing to serve your cause."
He paused, his gaze unwavering.
"We will give this winter to your service, my lord. When spring comes, we shall decide whether you are worthy of our oaths.
Until then, we will fulfill our duties with loyalty and discipline."
Ryan inclined his head approvingly.
"That is fair. And I welcome it."
Then, turning to the assembled company—those men of ancient lineage whose forefathers had marched beside Isildur and Gil-galad—Ryan's voice carried clear and strong through the cold air.
"By coming here, you have proven yourselves men of resolve. You share my dream—to build a kingdom worthy of the North.
But know this: just as you will judge me, I too will judge you.
Loyalty and trust must walk both ways.
Glory is earned by one's own hands, not inherited from another's shadow."
He said it plainly, his tone calm yet unyielding. There was no hint of reverence for their noble blood, nor flattery for their lineage.
For Ryan knew too well—ancestry is not virtue.
These men might be the sons of heroes, but if pride ruled their hearts, they would bring more poison than strength.
He would rather walk with the humble than march beside the arrogant.
It was one of his simplest, hardest principles: better few and true than many and hollow.
….
When the caravan entered the fortress, they found the courtyard already prepared.
Long rows of tables circled a roaring bonfire. Platters of steaming food—meat stew, roasted venison, coarse bread—filled the air with warmth and the scent of hearth and home.
Ryan invited all to sit. Then he summoned his own commanders:
Idhrion, Erken,Elger, Alaina, Ailin, Isabel, and Torvin Dulod—each greeted the newcomers with steady gazes.
Only Arion was absent, having gone west to seek the scattered Dúnedain clans.
Ryan raised his cup and said:
"These are my captains. Tomorrow, each of you will be assigned to their command—some will remain here in Minas-Elion, others will depart to Dessen or the Hidden Vale."
"But before we begin, I must make one thing clear: whether scholar or soldier, craftsman or commoner—you are equal in my eyes."
"If you cannot put aside pride, if you cannot work as one with those beside you, then I have no place for you—no matter your talent."
"That law applies to everyone. Even me."
The human scholars exchanged glances.
When they had left Rivendell, they had pictured this meeting very differently.
They had expected a young lord eager to please, awed by their heritage, perhaps desperate for their approval.
Instead, they found a ruler of steel—a man who welcomed them not as saviors, but as equals.
For the first time, they realized: Ryan Eowenríel was not seeking glory in their eyes. He was building his own.
Even the Noldor, who seldom troubled themselves with mortal politics, felt a quiet respect for the young man who spoke to them as one would to comrades, not vassals.
The feast passed in good cheer and quiet contemplation.
….
That night, as the stars kindled over the frozen northern plains, Ryan gathered his trusted followers and the newcomers in the council chamber.
The firelight reflected off polished armor and parchment scrolls spread across the table.
At Ryan's side stood Belangar and Reginor, accompanied by six of the most notable human scholars:
> Dianeth, a beautiful architect, her eyes sharp as a compass blade.
> Halmarad, a stern scholar of law and history.
> Malgoneth, a man of many talents with ink-stained fingers.
> Yalman, a kindly old academic, mentor to many of the others.
> His two disciples, Morven and Aldan, both young, keen, and eager.
Ryan spoke first, his tone crisp and direct.
"Tomorrow, you will receive your official appointments. But before that, I must know your strengths, so that each of you may serve where you are best suited."
….
Reginor stood first, bowing slightly.
"I am a warrior of the Dúnedain," he said. "Trained in every weapon and battle form known to Men.
Ryan raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, motioning for the next.
"I am Dianeth," said the architect with poise. "In Rivendell, I studied architecture and defensive enchantments. I can design fortresses that can endure both steel and sorcery."
"I am Halmarad," said the scholar, his expression solemn. "I have devoted my life to the study of law. I can draft a complete judicial code—civil, military, and administrative."
"Malgoneth," said the next, smiling faintly. "My studies are… broad. Not deep, perhaps, but broad. I teach. A third of the scholars who came with us were my students."
"Yalman," the elderly man said, his voice calm and kind. "I specialize in governance, diplomacy, and taxation. Two-thirds of these scholars were once my pupils."
"I am Morven," said the young man beside him, "student of politics, skilled in matters of diplomacy and finance."
"And I," said Aldan, "am the same—though my passion lies more in public welfare and administration."
….
Ryan's quill scratched across parchment as they spoke, his pen moving swiftly. When the last finished, he set it down, thought a moment, and then spoke in a voice that filled the chamber.
"Reginor," he began, "as a warrior, I appoint you Commander of the Royal Guard.
You will form this unit from three hundred chosen soldiers—your sword will guard not only my life but the heart of this kingdom."
"Dianeth—you will lead the newly formed Royal Office of Architecture. You will oversee all architects and craftsmen, and design our cities and defenses."
"Halmarad—you shall found and lead the Royal Office of Justice. Build for us a code of laws—civil, criminal, military, and administrative."
"Malgoneth—you will head the Royal Academy of Education. Train the minds that will build our future—healers, scribes, teachers, and advisors."
"Yalman—you will serve as Chancellor of State, and govern the new Royal Office of Administration, to organize appointments, promotions, and regional governance."
"Morven—you are appointed Governor of Dessen, charged with establishing its administrative, legal, and tax systems."
"Aldan—you are Governor of the Vale, to do the same there."
"Both your towns will soon swell with refugees. Keep them safe, and keep them in order."
The room was silent—awed.
Ryan continued.
"Ailin," he said, turning to his healer-general, "you will no longer command the field medics.
Instead, I establish the College of Physicians under your charge—to train healers for every town."
"Isabel," he said next, "you will no longer oversee only commerce. From today, you are the Treasurer of the realm, in charge of all the realm's wealth and trade."
….
When he finished, Ryan looked around the table.
"Thus, we now have six great ministries."
He began to enumerate them, voice firm, each word like a stone laid in the foundation of a newborn realm:
Royal Office of Coin and Trade — overseeing lands, taxation, census, pay, and all revenues.
1. Royal Office of Justice — keeper of the laws: civil, military, and administrative.
2. Royal Office of Administration — governing appointments, promotions, and duties of officials.
3. Royal Academy of Education — nurturing scholars, healers, and strategists for the kingdom.
4. Royal Office of Architecture — directing all architecture, engineering, and crafts.
5. Royal Office of War — uniting the armed forces under one banner, commanding all soldiers of the realm.
"From this day," Ryan declared, "the Royal Office of War is formed, with myself as Head and Idhrion as Deputy.
The structure of the army remains for now—but soon, it will expand.
Because our kingdom will expand."
….
This entire system—precise, efficient, and elegant—was unlike anything the scholars had seen.
In truth, it drew upon Ryan's own memories of another world.
He simplified it for now—six ministries only, directly answerable to him.
Checks and balances would come later.
For now, efficiency was survival.
As his vision took shape, the room filled with a quiet, rising awe.
The scholars from Rivendell exchanged stunned glances.
They had come expecting to guide a young warlord who knew only battle and conquest.
Instead, they had found a ruler with the mind of a philosopher and the heart of a reformer.
By the time Ryan finished, every man and woman in that room had risen to their feet.
"We shall not fail your trust, my lord!" they said as one, voices echoing like an oath through the hall.
…..
Belangar, who had watched the whole scene unfold, now stepped forward with a calm smile.
"Your Highness," he said lightly, "and what of me? What role shall I play in your rising kingdom?"
Ryan turned to him.
"I already know what I will ask of you," he said.
"You are the Lord Elrond's envoy—and a man of long experience. I wish you to serve as my advisor, to guide me with your wisdom in matters of governance and diplomacy."
The Elf bowed, the faintest smile touching his lips.
"Gladly, my lord," he said. "You have my counsel—and my faith."
…..
That night, long after the meeting ended, Ryan stood alone on the walls of Minas-Elion.
Snow began to fall, soft and silent. Below him, lanterns glowed in the worker camps, and the sound of hammers echoed faintly across the plain.
His people were building. His ministries were born.
And for the first time, Ryan Eowenríel felt not like a wanderer—but like a king.