The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

A hundred Orcs and Wargs?

The thought alone was an annoyance. Tarnes had always considered Orcs to be little more than cockroaches; you could crush them underfoot, but a few days later, you would inevitably find more scurrying around in the exact same spot. Kill one horde, and another would crawl out of the woodwork to take its place.

With this grim reality in mind, Tarnes turned to the dwarves, his expression apologetic. "If Fili is right, our convoy must have been spotted by Orc scouts when we entered the ruins. I am sorry to have led you all into this danger." He then straightened, his tone firming with resolve. "But I give you my word. Not a single one of our dwarven friends will fall while a warrior of the Golden Tree still stands."

To his surprise, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin simply exchanged a look before bursting into hearty laughter.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Tarnes?" Dwalin boomed, his voice echoing with amusement. "We dwarves are not cowards who hide behind our friends! Thorin sent us as your escort, and we will see that duty done."

Fili and Kili nodded in vigorous agreement.

"The blood of my kin stains the hands of that Orc filth," Fili declared, crossing his arms with a fearless glint in his eyes. "I intend to teach those cowardly scum a lesson with my axe and avenge my family."

"And my bow!" Kili added fiercely.

"However," Dwalin continued, his expression growing serious once more, "I must inform our kin who came with the carriages. They may not be warriors by trade, but they are certainly not soft when it comes to killing Orcs."

Tarnes nodded. "A wise decision. Nepheli, please escort them to the convoy. And on that note, where is Rogier? I haven't seen him."

"It's his turn for watch duty at the outpost," Nepheli explained. "You'll see him on your way."

After a few more words, Tarnes bid the dwarves farewell and headed for the outpost. As he drew near, Rogier's cheerful voice drifted down from a watchtower.

"I saw the carriages arrive! A long journey, Tarnes. You must be exhausted."

"I'd love to tell you about the road and the hospitality of the dwarves, but we don't have time," Tarnes called up, his voice quick and urgent. "The Orcs could attack at any moment. I'll explain later. For now, have the soldiers double the watch. Two groups, rotating on the towers."

Rogier's relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by a stern focus. "I will keep a constant watch on the horizon."

"I'm counting on you. Oh, and I found an apprentice for you. You'll meet him soon enough."

Tarnes offered a final nod and continued swiftly toward the Golden Tree, leaving a wide-eyed Rogier staring after him.

An apprentice? What in the world does he mean by that?

Rogier opened his mouth to ask, but seeing the genuine urgency in Tarnes's stride, he held his tongue. He would find out soon enough.

Tarnes hurried because of what Nepheli had told him: in his absence, two more Orc raiding parties had been slain, their souls absorbed by the Golden Tree. He was certain it had enough power to perform another summoning.

He reached the great tree, which pulsed with a soft, golden luminescence. "Ten days," Tarnes murmured, gently stroking its trunk. It was two sizes larger than when he had left. "You've grown strong."

The Golden Tree seemed to rejoice at his praise, its branches rustling like a child basking in a father's approval. Tarnes felt the wave of warmth emanate from the wood, and a faint smile touched his lips, easing the irritation the impending Orc attack had caused. As his hand rested on the trunk, the familiar, interlocking sigil of the Elden Ring materialized in the bark.

The moment he touched it, his mind sank into the connection, and the landscapes of the Lands Between flooded his consciousness. Just as he'd suspected, the reserves of Golden Grace had increased significantly. It seemed the tree not only absorbed the souls of the fallen but also accumulated Grace through its own growth.

Tarnes centered himself. Fili had warned him that this would likely be a major offensive, with enemy numbers far exceeding a hundred. The number itself wasn't daunting; Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear had already proven its devastating effectiveness against mobs, and Nepheli's storm-calling arts were equally potent. The problem was their own numbers. Even with the dwarves, they had fewer than thirty fighters. They were relegated to a passive defense, unable to press any advantage.

Worse, only he, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin were capable of mounted combat.

But…

Tarnes pictured the small ponies the dwarves rode and then imagined them facing a charging Warg. He grimaced and mentally struck them from the list of cavalry. Those poor ponies weren't trained warhorses. They would panic and bolt at the first roar or scent of a Warg, and they were ill-suited for navigating the ruins and forests of this land. Fili had told him that for war, dwarves rode fierce, robust mountain rams—their true mounts.

They could certainly hold the line, but pursuing and annihilating the enemy force would be impossible. The Orcs would scatter and return, like cockroaches, to plague them another day. Tarnes now fully understood the deep-seated annoyance in Fili's voice whenever he spoke of them. He swore to himself that once he had the numbers, he would scour every last Orc from Minhiriath.

For now, he had to focus on crushing the main force. If only Nepheli's Stormhawks were here, he thought with a pang of regret. They could pursue the fleeing Orcs with ease.

His mind drifted through the familiar images of the Lands Between, his thoughts lingering on the dimmed icon of the Stormhawk. For a moment, he could almost hear their cries and see the cold glint of the hook-blades on their talons. But summoning a Stormhawk required summoning all of Stormveil Castle along with it—an impossible task.

He didn't give up. Another creature appeared in his mind: the Flying Dragon Agheel. The summoning condition, however, was just as steep: it required summoning the entirety of Agheel Lake and the village to its south. He had enough Grace for the village, but the vast, shallow lake was beyond his reach.

A familiar frustration pricked at him. He could bring anything from the Lands Between to this world, provided he had enough Grace. But the cost was immense. He took a deep breath, pushing the impatience away. Rebuilding his homeland was a slow, arduous task. Haste would only lead to ruin.

He shifted his focus from Agheel's icon and scanned the list of summonable locations and individuals. As his eyes passed over one name—a person of great importance to him—his gaze caught on a large building that was suddenly illuminated, now within his power to summon.

He focused, and the image of a fortress bloomed in his mind.

It was a military bastion from the Lands Between, built against the sea, easy to defend, and difficult to assault. Behind it, the vast ocean churned, waves crashing like roaring beasts against the dark rock, throwing up sprays of white foam. Above, seagulls circled and cried, their sharp calls echoing between the blue sky and white clouds. He saw the fortress as it once was: Royal Army soldiers in iron armor clashing with small, fiercely agile demi-humans. Crossbow bolts rained down from the towers as the ragged demi-humans fought with stubborn desperation.

And within the fortress's main courtyard, he saw the massive, sprawled corpse of a Demi-Human Queen. Her blood stained the earth, feeding the roses that grew around her, turning their petals a shade of unnatural, vibrant red.

In the shadows of a high stone platform stood a lone knight in the Royal Army's armor, his red cloak fluttering like a blood-soaked flower in the wind. Slowly, he sheathed his bloodstained greatsword.

Fort Haight. That was its name.

Summoning it would not only grant him the strength of an entire fortress garrison but would also end the constant threat of Orc harassment. They could never breach its walls without siege equipment, and if they were foolish enough to bring engines of war, their slow advance would give him the perfect opportunity to ride out and annihilate them.

More importantly, summoning Fort Haight would also allow him to summon an old friend, a subordinate of Nepheli's.

Kenneth Haight. A noble of the Golden Lineage who had once been stationed at the fort. A good-natured, if somewhat old-fashioned, man of his word. The brass dagger Tarnes had gifted to Bilbo was the very same one Kenneth had given him as a reward for retaking the fort, back when Tarnes was still a stranger in the Lands Between. At the time, Tarnes had felt shortchanged—a mere dagger for slaying a treacherous knight captain and reclaiming a fortress. Later, Melina had explained its significance: it was a symbolic item carried by the royal family, a mark of honor that identified its bearer as a friend to the Golden Lineage.

Giving that dagger to Bilbo had been a gesture of the same profound respect. He had only known the Hobbit for a day, but the little fellow's optimism and sincerity had left a deep impression.

Kenneth Haight was someone Tarnes absolutely needed. He lacked Nepheli's martial prowess and Rogier's magical talent, but he possessed something neither of them had: political acumen. He was one of the few who had ever truly earned the loyalty of the demi-humans, a testament to his unique abilities. In Middle-earth, where problems couldn't always be solved with a sword, Tarnes knew he needed a man like Kenneth by his side.

As if sensing his decision, the Golden Tree began to sway, its branches rustling in silent conversation. A tide of golden light surged from its trunk, washing over the outpost. The light spread, weaving a massive, luminous net across the ground, and the earth began to tremble. Yet the tremors were not violent; they felt like a soft hum, a whisper from the tree itself. The soldiers of the Royal Army were not alarmed. Instead, they turned to face the Golden Tree and began to pray.

With a final, gentle shudder, a massive military fortress rose from the earth. Its walls stood eight meters high, enclosing a space a hundred meters in diameter, complete with ballistae mounted on its towers. It replaced the old outpost, which Tarnes had willed to reappear a hundred meters away. Between the new fortress and the old outpost, a small, blessed relay station also materialized—and with it, another person crucial to his plans.

In the center of Fort Haight's courtyard, two groups stood starkly apart: a cluster of about ten demi-humans and the Royal Army soldiers who had once betrayed their master. At their head stood the knight captain, his soul bound to the path of blood. Crimson light glowed from beneath his helmet as his gaze swept his new surroundings, his expression a mask of confusion and menace.

Then, his head snapped up. He felt a familiar, corrupting power—the unmistakable scent of the Lord of Blood, an authority that radiated from the man with black, choppy hair standing before him.

With a clang of steel plate, the knight captain fell to one knee, offering his greatsword to Tarnes in submission. The soldiers behind him followed suit, all dropping to a knee in perfect unison—all except for one large, muscular soldier whose vision was obscured by a massive pumpkin-shaped helmet.

Just then, Kenneth Haight's theatrical voice sounded in Tarnes's ear. "W-where is this? Great Elden Lord, why is that blood-crazed knight captain here as well?"

"Indeed, my dear apprentice," a lazy, mature female voice added before Tarnes could reply. "Why has the Golden Tree grown so small? And why is the sun so bright? You have summoned me to a truly magical place."

Tarnes turned, a smile spreading across his face as he opened his arms in welcome to his two newly arrived friends: an elegantly dressed, golden-haired nobleman and a beautiful, black-haired woman draped in a flowing blue sorcerer's robe.

"Welcome to Middle-earth," he said. "I am in dire need of your help, my brilliant friend, Kenneth Haight… and you, Teacher Sellen."

(End of Chapter)

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