The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

The Dwarf guards were not the only ones to react. A wave of nervous energy rippled through the entire queue. The Dwarves waiting to enter the town, who had been merely curious moments before, now shuffled away, putting a conspicuous distance between themselves and the tall, armored stranger. In a crowd of stout folk, Tarnes now stood utterly alone.

The commotion did not go unnoticed. From the city gate, a powerfully built Dwarf, taller than the others, his bald head covered in intricate tattoos, strode towards them, his battle-axe held at the ready. Halfway there, his eyes locked onto Tarnes's armor, and his purposeful walk broke into a dead run.

Tarnes, still surrounded by wary guards, decided to press the issue. "Does the name 'Thorin' have some special meaning here?" he asked, sensing that their reaction was one of respect, not fear or anger. This Dwarf he had rescued was clearly a person of some import.

The red-bearded captain ignored the question. His gaze was fixed on Tarnes's helmet. "What business do you have with Thorin?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

"He told me I could ask him for a favor," Tarnes replied simply. He glanced at the guards clutching their weapons and felt a familiar headache coming on. In the Lands Between, this would have been simple. An obstacle in your path was an enemy to be cut down. But these Dwarves were not the mindless, maddened husks of his homeland. They could be reasoned with.

If only Rogier were here, he thought. He would know what to say.

Tarnes tried again. "When we parted, Thorin gave me an axe. He said if I showed it, I could find him. I can sense his importance to you, so please believe me, I have come only to ask a small favor."

The Dwarf captain stood like a stone for a long moment, then gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. "Dismount your horse, Human Wizard. It is difficult to look up at you."

"No problem," Tarnes replied. He stroked Torrent's back, then brought the Spirit Steed Whistle to his lips. With a shimmer of blue light, Torrent dissolved into ethereal particles, and Tarnes landed softly on the ground.

A wave of murmurs and exclamations rippled through the watching Dwarves.

"A Human Wizard?"

"Did you see that? The horse just… vanished!"

Tarnes noticed their wariness seemed to lessen now that they believed him a wizard. The captain's tone softened as well. "You are a wizard?"

Tarnes nodded and reached into the space between worlds, producing the battle-axe Thorin had given him. The sight of this casual miracle further convinced the crowd.

"I'm not seeing things, am I?"

"He pulled it from thin air! Amazing!"

Tarnes half-crouched, turning the axe so its handle faced the captain. The Dwarf needed only a single glance at the runes etched into the steel to recognize it. He did not take it, but instead gently pushed it back. "This is his axe," he said. "I believe you have no ill intentions, Human Wizard."

At that moment, the tattooed Dwarf finally reached them, breathing heavily. "Gloin!" he shouted. "He is Mr. Tarnes! The one who saved me!"

The captain, Gloin, looked at Tarnes with a start of realization. "Why did you not say you saved Thorin?" he asked, his tone now apologetic.

"I did not do it for recognition," Tarnes replied with a slight nod. "And I suspected you would not have believed me. Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Gloin."

"You saved Thorin, which makes you a friend to all of us!" Gloin insisted, his earlier gruffness gone. "You should not be treated this way. I owe you a barrel of ale, Mr. Tarnes."

The tattooed Dwarf stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Dwalin, at your service, Mr. Tarnes. We parted in too great a haste last time."

Tarnes recognized him as the other uninjured warrior from the Orc attack. "Good to see you, Dwalin. Though I would love to catch up, I have an urgent matter that requires Thorin's help."

Dwalin didn't even ask what it was. "Then I will take you to him at once," he said, leading Tarnes toward the town gate.

"Remember, I owe you a barrel of ale!" Gloin shouted after them.

Tarnes waved in acknowledgment as Dwalin chuckled beside him. "When the time comes, Gloin and I will treat you to a proper drink."

The warmth of their welcome eased the tension in Tarnes's shoulders. As Dwalin led him through the town, he took in the sights. Sunlight streamed through crevices in the mountainside, illuminating houses cleverly built from rock and earth. The stone streets were worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Domed houses, their roofs covered in moss and wildflowers, lined the avenues, with smoke curling from their chimneys. Exquisite metal signs hung before every shop, their intricate totems glinting in the light. The bustling market was a symphony of shouting vendors, haggling customers, and the rhythmic clang of hammers from the forges. It was a town brimming with life.

He had expected to find Thorin in a grand hall, but Dwalin led him to a medium-sized blacksmith's shop. There, dressed in coarse linen, his powerful forearms exposed, was Thorin, hammering a block of glowing iron. If not for his distinctive short beard and clean-shaven face, Tarnes would have mistaken him for any other smith.

"Dwalin, what is it?" Thorin asked, looking up. His eyes widened when he saw Tarnes. "Mr. Tarnes! I am glad to see you are safe."

Dwalin laughed, taking the hammer from Thorin's hand. "Our friend has run into some trouble, Thorin."

Thorin wiped his hands on a rag. "What kind of trouble? Is your shield broken? That fine, straight sword snapped?"

Tarnes shook his head. "Neither. I need a large quantity of grain. Or crop seeds."

Dwalin let out a booming laugh. "You come to Dwarves for cheap grain? Lord Tarnes, if you are hungry, you are always welcome here! Food is plentiful, and wine is abundant!"

Thorin's gaze sharpened. He gave Dwalin a subtle kick, silencing his friend's laughter, and asked in his deep, magnetic voice, "How many mouths do you need to feed? And for what purpose do you need grain and seeds?"

Dwalin fell silent, realizing Tarnes had not asked for a meal but for provisions.

Tarnes answered directly. "I need to rebuild my homeland. Do you remember, Thorin? I went to Minhiriath because I was told I could rebuild my home in that desolate land. I have taken the first step—I have found some of my people. But the land is barren. I need grain to see us through this difficult stage. I will not take it for free. I can exchange it for things from my homeland, like the Warmstone that can heal wounds and restore stamina."

He finished and waited for Thorin's reply.

At the words "rebuild my homeland," Thorin's clear eyes clouded over. His thoughts seemed to drift far away, to the east of the Misty Mountains, to a massive Lonely Mountain in the north.

Erebor.

"Thorin," Dwalin said softly.

Thorin blinked, returning to the present. His gaze was full of complex emotions. He let out a long breath. "Fifty Dwarf rations, including meat and fruit. Wheat, corn, tomatoes, and cucumbers for seeds. In my personal name, I will also give you two dairy cows, seven sheep, and a dozen chickens. Is that enough… to rebuild your homeland?"

Tarnes, busy calculating what he could offer in exchange, did not catch the heavy emphasis on those last words. "Completely sufficient. What do you need? Forging stones? They can help you craft sharper weapons."

Just as he was trying to remember how many he had, Thorin spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "They're free."

Tarnes was stunned. "No, Thorin. What you offer is already far more than I expected. I cannot accept it for nothing."

Dwalin came to Thorin's side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You do not need to pay, Mr. Tarnes. The lives of our three kinsmen you saved are worth more than all of this. And your reason… as your friends, how could we refuse someone who seeks to rebuild their homeland?"

A faint, sad smile touched Thorin's lips. "Only by losing one's home can one understand how precious the chance to rebuild it is. If I were in your place, Tarnes, I would ask for far more."

Tarnes finally caught the hidden pain in his words. He looked from Thorin to Dwalin, whose own expression was now shadowed. "Are the Blue Mountains… not your homeland?" he asked quietly.

(End of Chapter)

***

(End of Chapter)

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