Looking at the two Rangers standing before him, Igris pondered deeply.
'I sincerely hope there are a few good architects among the people coming from the Empire. After all, the Empire in the Mount and Blade universe was heavily inspired by the Roman Empire, and Rome possessed an architectural brilliance far ahead of its time. I can only hope that these imperial citizens are highly skilled in stonemasonry…'
Letting out a heavy sigh, he looked back at the duo.
"Is there anything else?"
Halt and Gilan shook their heads in denial. Giving a slight nod, Igris turned his gaze toward Estel and asked with lingering curiosity.
"What do you know about that boy?"
Even though Igris had decided not to dwell on the child, that nagging feeling of having forgotten something crucial kept gnawing at him, so he asked if they had any information. Gilan glanced at the boy for a moment and spoke.
"Ah! Estel? I don't know much, but he claims to be the adopted son of Lord Elrond."
Right at that exact moment, the forgotten piece of information hit Igris like a sledgehammer, leaving him completely stunned.
'Adopted son? Elrond's? Ah… Aragorn…'
Igris gazed thoughtfully at the future king of men. Frankly, he didn't quite know how to react. He respected Aragorn, sure, but he couldn't exactly be called a die-hard fan. To be honest, he liked Gimli or Legolas much more; both were highly entertaining characters. He even preferred Thorin and the cast of the Hobbit over Aragorn. After pondering for a brief moment, he made his decision.
'It would be best for me to interact with this brat as little as possible... It's better if he isn't overly influenced by me.'
Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he continued his internal monologue.
'He is only ten years old right now, the exact age when a human is most susceptible to their environment. It would be much better to leave his upbringing entirely in Elrond's capable hands.'
Then, another piece of lore clicked into place in his mind.
'I see... The boy is around 10 years old... That explains why Elladan and Elrohir have arrived. They are going to train the future king of Gondor.'
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he continued to calculate.
'It doesn't really concern me; he is not my king. If he wishes to forge an alliance, he is more than welcome, but if he expects me to swear fealty..."
Igris's eyes narrowed sharply, glinting with a dangerous light.
'Then it will be time for war!'
Quickly returning to his relaxed demeanor, he brushed the thought away.
'But he is just a child right now, so it's none of my business.'
Igris did not want to establish a close relationship with Aragorn. This was partly to stay under Elrond's radar, partly out of fear of instilling the wrong ideals into the boy, but mostly—and this was the biggest reason—because he was simply too lazy to deal with it. Gilan and Halt stared with odd expressions at Igris, whose face had been shifting through a myriad of emotions, before turning to look at each other. Gilan cleared his throat and spoke up.
"Ahem... Igris, are you alright?"
Igris snapped out of his trance with a slight jolt and looked at them.
"Yes..."
Halt raised his eyebrows and asked.
"What is the boy's worth?"
Igris answered with absolute calmness.
"He is a future Duncan or Cassandra."
Halt and Gilan were slightly taken aback, though it didn't come as a massive surprise to them. Igris looked at them curiously.
"You don't seem particularly surprised?"
Gilan simply shrugged.
"I mean... The boy is vastly different from normal children. The questions he asks and the way he speaks already proved that he wasn't just an ordinary lad."
Hearing this, Igris nodded in approval.
"As expected of you two."
Then, something else came to his mind.
"Sometime after midnight or at the break of dawn, two more people will be joining our group. Would you care to join me in welcoming them?"
The Rangers exchanged a glance before shrugging in unison. Halt spoke.
"We will see what we'll do when the time comes."
Then, a subtle smile touched his lips as he added pointedly.
"Besides, you have a lot of work to do right now."
Igris blinked rapidly in pure confusion.
"What do you mean?"
Halt replied with a thick veil of mystery.
"You will see."
For a moment, Igris couldn't comprehend what was going on. He cast an inquiring look at Gilan, but Gilan looked back with the same curiosity and simply shrugged.
At that exact moment, a loud smack echoed through the hall.
THWACK!
When they turned to look at the center of the room, the arm-wrestling match had concluded, and Bamsı had emerged victorious. Ordo chuckled between deep breaths, rubbing his aching wrist as he congratulated his opponent.
"That was a mighty struggle, brother Bamsı."
Bamsı smiled, lightly shaking his own sore wrist a few times, and nodded calmly.
"Aye, brother Ordo, you truly pushed me to my limits."
Then, grinning broadly and twirling his thick mustache, he added.
"I think you ought to wrestle bears and lions bare-handed. It does wonders for your training."
Hearing this, Ordo immediately fell into a brief process of deep contemplation. The Vaegirs, watching this scene, were upset because they had lost money again. However, upon hearing the 'training method' Bamsı proposed to Ordo, the color completely drained from their faces, turning them deathly pale. A few seconds later, Ordo nodded firmly, his eyes burning with fiery determination, and spoke.
"Alright! I will try it!"
As Bamsı roared with laughter at this, Fin and the other Vaegirs violently objected to their comrade's insane decision.
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND, YOU IDIOT?!" they shouted in unison.
Ordo flinched and looked over his shoulder. Seeing his friends staring at him as if he belonged in a madhouse, he asked with genuine confusion.
"What? Bamsı wrestles beasts like bears, tigers, and lions. Why shouldn't I be able to do it?"
Fin and his companions exploded with rage simultaneously.
"MAN, THAT GUY IS NOT NORMAL!"
Standing nearby with his arms crossed over his chest, Doğan gave a solemn nod of absolute agreement.
"True."
While they argued among themselves, the rest of the crowd was once again swept up in a wave of jubilation and sorrow; the winners joyfully counted their coin, while the losers mourned their drained purses. Amidst this bustling crowd, Bilbo and Kili were happily stuffing pouches full of won silver into their pockets. Bofur approached Kili and Bilbo from behind, throwing his arms over their shoulders. Popping his head right between them, he flashed a massive grin and laughed.
"Hahaha! Here are my two favorite Rangers! Thank goodness you lads convinced me to bet on Bamsı!"
Bilbo and Kili offered light smiles and nodded. Right at that very second, a thunderous rumble from a stomach erupted behind them, loud enough to pierce through the noisy crowd. The trio spun around to find the source of the noise and saw Bombur, the plumpest dwarf of the company, clutching his massive belly and sighing with an agonized expression on his face.
"When is Igris coming back to cook? I am so incredibly hungry."
Hearing these words, the stomachs of both Kili and Bofur growled violently in fierce agreement. Bofur also adopted a distressed look.
"Aye, he is the only one who can turn these raw vegetables into actual, decent meals. When is he getting back from his mission?"
Bilbo remained silent for a brief moment before speaking up hesitantly.
"Uhm… he is already here…"
Bofur and Bombur jolted as if struck by lightning and shouted simultaneously.
"WHERE!?"
Their sudden, desperate screams instantly drew everyone's attention. Bilbo was startled by the outburst, but before he could answer, Fili walked over and intervened.
"What's going on? Why are you shouting?"
Bombur immediately grabbed hold of Fili like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.
"FILI! I AM DYING OF STARVATION! WHERE IS IGRIS!?"
His shoulders aching from Bombur's iron-clad, desperate grip, Fili replied in utter bewilderment, jerking his head toward the equally bewildered Igris across the room.
"Right over there."
Bombur whipped his head around, his eyes shining with a predatory gleam as they locked onto Igris. He stared, snorting heavily through his nose like an enraged bull ready to charge. This sudden and drastic change in demeanor left the bystanders—and especially Igris—completely baffled. Beside Igris, Halt chuckled and murmured in a low, knowing voice.
"And so it begins…"
Igris stared at Halt with blank, uncomprehending eyes.
"What begins?"
Even as Halt answered, Bombur exploded into motion, sprinting directly toward Igris and parting the crowd like the Red Sea.
"A dwarven hunger crisis."
Bombur plowed through the throng of people like a furious juggernaut. The dwarves standing in his path either scrambled desperately out of the way or were sent tumbling to the floor by Bombur's massive bulk. Mid-sprint, Bombur suddenly dropped to his knees, sliding across the polished floor until he came to a dramatic halt right at Igris's feet. He looked up at the dark knight with utterly pleading, tearful eyes.
"IGRIS! FOR THE LOVE OF DURIN, PLEASE DO SOMETHING! I AM CRUMBLING FROM HUNGER!"
Faced with this absurdly sudden development, Igris was left entirely flabbergasted. He blinked rapidly, staring down at the groveling Bombur.
The surrounding dwarves also stared at Bombur in sheer astonishment. One of the Witcher dwarves leaned over and asked Ori.
"Didn't you say the races respected each other? Why is Bombur kneeling and begging before Lord Igris?"
Ori scratched his nose, his cheeks burning with deep embarrassment as he explained.
"This is… a completely different matter. Bombur is the biggest glutton of the company, and because we have been in the Elven realm for so long, he has been surviving on raw vegetables. That situation has finally caused him to snap."
Another Witcher dwarf standing nearby furrowed his brow and asked.
"Alright, but what does that have to do with Lord Igris?"
Ori replied in a weird, hushed tone.
"…Igris can make actual, delicious meals out of those vegetables…"
At the same time, Igris continued to blink at the utterly absurd scene unfolding before him. For a moment, he was so speechless he couldn't even form a thought. He finally asked in a deeply perplexed tone.
"Bombur… my brother… what in the world are you doing?"
Without breaking his pitiful, kneeling posture, Bombur spoke with utmost seriousness.
"I am asking you to cook! Please, cook something for us! No one in the group has eaten a proper meal waiting for you to return!"
Igris just stared at Bombur blankly for a second, then glanced sideways at Halt. Halt simply shrugged in response, a gesture that clearly conveyed:
'Not my circus.'
Igris sighed deeply and looked back down at Bombur.
"Bombur… are you truly kneeling for food? That is an act completely unbefitting a Dwarf of Durin."
Bombur dismissed the notion entirely, waving his thick hand.
"That is one thing, this is another."
Igris arched an eyebrow and asked pointedly.
"Do you think Thorin feels the same way?"
Hearing that name, Bombur shuddered violently; the sheer terror caused the very fat on his body to jiggle. Moving almost like a rusty automaton, he slowly cranked his head around to look at Thorin. However, upon seeing that Thorin was completely lost in his own distracted thoughts, Bombur let out a massive sigh of relief. He rapidly scrambled to his feet and hastily straightened his posture. While the onlookers remained stunned in silence, Dwalin covered his face with his heavy hand and grumbled in sheer exasperation.
"And to think, this is the very man who actually gave me a hard time in sparring this morning."
Matheld, meanwhile, watched Igris with keen curiosity, analyzing him from head to toe. Bofur, after much struggling, finally managed to break free from the dense crowd and quickly rushed to stand in front of Igris.
"Igris, Bombur is right. No one in the company has eaten! We are absolutely sick and tired of eating raw vegetables! We are practically on the verge of throwing up! Please, cook something edible for us!"
Igris asked in an incredibly dry, deadpan voice.
"Do you mistake me for the company's designated chef or something? I am the commander of the human forces."
Bofur shook his hat-clad head and countered sharply.
"Oh really? Then who was it that drew a sword and held it to our throats to forcefully take over the cooking duties from me and Bombur?"
Bombur immediately chimed in, pointing a thick, accusing finger directly at Igris.
"You did!"
Bofur nodded emphatically and delivered the final blow.
"So yes, by definition, you are also the company's chef."
The dark knight stood there, utterly dumbfounded, unable to formulate a single word of defense. Such an incident had indeed taken place. It had happened during their very first camp after setting out on their journey. Back then, driven by his extreme sensitivity to culinary hygiene and a deep-seated paranoia about finding dwarf hairs in his stew, Igris had literally usurped the cooking duties by force. But now, that very action had been forged into a weapon and turned squarely against him.
With a defeated sigh, he looked over at the two Rangers.
"Have you two not eaten either?"
Halt silently shook his head, and when Gilan mirrored the gesture of agreement, Igris let out a profound, soul-weary sigh. He cast a sweeping glance around the hall. Whether it was the Oakenshield company, the Vaegirs, or the Khuzaits, every single person present was looking at him with expectant eyes. His gaze briefly snagged on Ciri, who was also watching him intently, and remembering that she must be ravenous as well, he dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his tired eyes.
"Fine…"
Bombur and Bofur erupted in pure, unadulterated joy.
"LONG LIVE IGRIS!" they cheered in unison.
Igris shook his head from side to side in resignation, turning on his heel to head for the kitchens. As he walked away, he barked out an order.
"BILBO, COME WITH ME!"
Honestly, he had briefly considered calling the Khuzait women to assist him, but the mere thought of being stuck in a kitchen surrounded by a group of women unsettled him. Furthermore, he had highly serious doubts regarding the culinary expertise of the rest of the company. Therefore, he chose the modest, dependable Mr. Baggins, who actually possessed fine skills in the art of cooking.
'Why should I be the only one suffering through this? I need a sous-chef.'
Startled by Igris's sudden shout, Bilbo quickly scurried after him. However, as Igris was marching toward the heavy oak doors, he was forced to a sudden halt when his path was abruptly blocked by Matheld…