LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

Dorwinion?

Eric wracked his memory.

If he remembered correctly, Dorwinion was nestled on the fertile plains between the northern edge of Mordor and the southern border of Lake-town, right along the edge of the Easterling lands.

In Middle-earth, the cycle of kingdoms rising, falling, and rebuilding was as common as a hobbit's second breakfast. Yet Dorwinion had somehow sidestepped that fate. It had never fallen into ruin, never suffered conquest or collapse. It remained unshaken, peaceful, and rich.

As a nation built on trade, Dorwinion had mastered the art of diplomacy. Whether it was Gondor or the Wainriders expanding their influence in the past, no one had ever seen Dorwinion as a threat worth subduing. Their stance was clear: no wars, no alliances, just wine.

And somehow, it worked.

"I've heard of them," Eric said with a nod as he led the caravan along. "There's a rumor they've enjoyed peace for centuries… and that their wine is some of the finest in all the lands."

The merchant leader smiled broadly and bowed slightly. "It's an honor that you've heard of us. If it pleases you, I'd be delighted to gift you a barrel of our best vintage as a personal offering."

Eric raised a brow and glanced at the man.

"Kind gesture, but we've only just met. What's the occasion?"

The merchant took a deep breath, then blurted out quickly, "If I'm not mistaken, you're the famed wanderer of the wilds, the dragon-slayer, the Builder of Walls… Sir Eric Starfell, aren't you?"

He paused, gulping air like a dwarf who'd just tried sprinting uphill.

Apparently, addressing Eric properly required both reverence and lung capacity.

Eric chuckled softly. "Didn't expect to be recognized so easily."

The merchant looked slightly embarrassed but pressed on.

"We passed through Lake-town not long ago. There were fewer people, yet more wealth. That alone caught our attention. After asking around, we heard tales—of a black-armored legend, the one who slew a dragon and raised a city wall. They call you the 'Black Knight of the Wilds.'"

"So you'd already figured me out back there."

"We weren't entirely sure," the merchant admitted. "I didn't want to offend."

"No offense taken," Eric said with a wave. "Since you're here, come take a proper look around. I'm curious about your wares. And… maybe your homeland too."

He wasn't ruling out a visit, someday.

Their conversation carried them all the way to the edge of the settlement, where the towering wall came into view. The guards on top, seeing Eric's gesture, immediately opened the gates.

The merchant guards stared up in awe. Some royal capitals had walls smaller than this.

Inside, the townsfolk paused in their work, eyes curious as they noticed the new arrivals. Likewise, the merchants looked around with interest, noting the lively energy, warm clothes, and healthy glow of the residents.

"Are those traders?" someone asked, stepping forward.

The answer became obvious fast. But as excitement began to ripple through the crowd, it was quickly followed by an uncomfortable realization.

No one had any money.

Sure, the town had flourished with food and comfort, but coin? Not a single copper in most pockets. Until now, there hadn't been any need for currency. Life was self-sufficient, and no one had thought twice about bartering or saving coins.

On the other hand, the Dorwinion merchants were already dreaming of profit. A land this prosperous, with well-fed and well-dressed people, surely meant heavy pouches full of silver.

Reality was about to slap them square in the purse.

After waiting a while and seeing not a single buyer approach, the merchant leader scratched his head in confusion.

"Is something wrong with our goods?"

"No," Eric said, trying not to laugh. "They just don't have any money."

"…No money?" The merchant looked genuinely baffled.

"You saw Lake-town thriving, right? That was me giving them a hand. But here, I'm still living in the middle of it. The economy's a bit… un-minted."

"That… doesn't make sense."

"We don't use coin here. Haven't needed to."

Eric tilted his head slightly. "But we do trade. If you're willing to barter, we've got plenty."

"…What sort of goods?"

"Well," Eric said, counting on his fingers, "we have high-quality leather, wool, silk threads, fresh cuts of meat—venison, pork, mutton—plus just-picked crops. Wheat, corn, potatoes, carrots, beets, garlic, onions…"

He paused. "And some massive, juicy apples. You won't find a bruise on them."

The merchant licked his lips. "If they're really as fine as you say, we're open to trade."

Eric turned and shouted to the people, "You heard that! First real caravan in ages! Drop what you're doing!"

"Ohhh!" came the cheer, and off they ran—some to their homes, others to spread the news across the fields and workshops.

Not long after, the Dorwinion merchants experienced the full, cheerful chaos of Eric's settlement.

Wine, after all, was beloved by all in these parts—especially during a frosty winter. Sitting by a fire, sipping from a wooden cup, the warmth in your chest spreading like sunlight… what more could one ask for?

"This is insane," one of the merchants muttered, watching their cart empty. "It's the dead of winter. How do they have this much fresh produce?"

As it turned out, two full wagons of Dorwinion's finest wine were gone in a blink. In return, their carts were now overflowing with quality goods—materials, food, and craftsmanship that could fetch fortunes elsewhere.

They had made a solid profit. But, for now, their coin purses felt oddly light.

Later, while the merchant leader rested on a bench, Eric strolled over and leaned in casually.

"Looks like the trading's wrapped up."

"Yes, my lord. I must say, your people are… energetic. Prosperous too. Just not… monetarily."

"That's true," Eric nodded. "They don't have money."

He clapped the man on the shoulder. "But I do."

The merchant blinked. "Pardon?"

"Leave the rest of your stock here. I'll buy all of it."

The merchant's jaw dropped so wide, it could've caught snowflakes.

In the end, not a single barrel of wine remained. Eric had cleared them out.

Truth be told, with the wealth he'd accumulated, Eric could probably buy out all of Dorwinion's stockpile. Twice.

"Safe travels," Eric said as the caravan, now laden with fresh food and fine trade goods, rolled out of the gates toward the western lands.

Residents of Bree, the Shire, Linton, or even the distant Blue Mountains would likely never get to taste Dorwinion wine again.

But they'd get to see the specialties of the Roadside Fortress.

Maybe even regularly.

As the joy of the day faded into a gentle dusk, Eric returned alone to his castle. Inside, he cracked open the special barrel the merchant had gifted him. Supposedly the finest vintage in the entire shipment.

He took a slow sip.

It hit hard.

A touch of sweetness at first, followed by a sharp tang and the lingering flavor of oak and fruit. Eric wasn't much of a wine critic, but by his measure, this one beat everything he'd ever tried.

If it brings joy, it's a good drink.

"Not bad at all."

He didn't indulge further. Just one cup, then he set it aside and opened the crafting ledger.

The arrival of the Dorwinion merchants had brought with it more than just goods and stories.

It had unlocked a new recipe.

Barrel.