"Your Majesty... you..." Aragorn looked at Roland, wanting to speak but stopping himself. After all, he could not find any fault with Roland's plan! Ever since the Kingdom of Arnor had fallen, the three kingdoms it split into had fallen as well. This place had long since become wasteland. The various lords had either fled or died. Neither the South Downs nor the North Downs had any sign of human habitation, and the old capital of the Kingdom of Arnor, perched atop the highest peak of the North Downs, had become a dead city...
"What? You don't want the wanderers of the Northern Territory to have a home? No one was born to drift through foreign lands without a place to settle... No, that isn't right! You're not wandering in a foreign land either. Arnor belongs to you!" Roland said calmly, then hurriedly corrected himself as something occurred to him.
"?" Aragorn froze. Roland's words instantly struck the deepest part of his heart. The wanderers of the Northern Territory had lost their home long ago. After the Kingdom of Arnor's destruction, they had scattered across the north. Some crossed the Misty Mountains and headed east, while others held fast in the northern reaches of their former kingdom, resisting the invading Orc armies. Yet the desolation within the kingdom was something none of them could change. The former heartland of the kingdom had become an uninhabited wilderness, where countless Wasteland Orcs bred madly like flies...
"What? Not interested?" Roland waved a hand before the dazed Aragorn.
"My apologies, Your Majesty. I was distracted..." Aragorn quickly came back to his senses and spoke to Roland in a low, apologetic voice.
"I know your concerns. The wanderers of the Northern Territory are few in number, and every one of them is a precious