The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

As the first rays of dawn mingled with the golden luminescence of the great tree, the last of the fighting died down. Tarnes had long since lost count of the Orcs slain by his blade. He stood amidst the quiet aftermath, watching as the bodies of the fallen Orcs and Wargs dissolved into shimmering particles of light, drawn inexorably toward the Golden Tree.

The dwarves watched, their expressions a mixture of awe and wonder.

"It's beautiful," Kili whispered, his eyes wide.

"Aye," Fili agreed, his voice hushed. "And to think Mr. Tarnes called this a mere sapling. I can scarcely imagine how magnificent it will be when it fully matures."

Dwalin drove his blood-slick axe into the earth and looked up at the swaying branches. "Perhaps by then, we'll see its light all the way from the Blue Mountains," he said with a gruff smile.

"No, thank you," Kili quipped. "I'd rather not have it bright as day when I'm trying to sleep."

Fili gestured to a nearby corpse as it faded into motes of light. "Are their bodies being absorbed by the tree?"

Tarnes approached, overhearing their discussion. "Not their bodies," he explained with a faint smile. "Their souls. They become nourishment for the Golden Tree. It is the only worthy contribution these creatures will ever make."

The dwarves nodded in solemn agreement. It was a fitting end for such hateful creatures—to fuel the growth of something beautiful rather than continue their path of slaughter.

"Thank you for your aid," Tarnes said, his tone sincere as he turned to them. "Are any of you injured?"

Fili shook his head. "We did little enough. Your soldiers are the truly formidable ones. The Orcs broke and fled before their charge. By the time we left the fortress, we only met the stragglers."

Dwalin pointed his thumb towards two hulking figures sitting placidly under the Golden Tree's glow. "Mr. Tarnes, are those Trolls?"

Tarnes's gaze softened as he looked at the Pumpkin Head Soldiers. "No. They are merely poor, mad souls. When my homeland fell, the horror of it shattered the minds of many good soldiers. Those helmets were crafted to calm their panicked hearts and keep them from harming themselves or others." He sighed, a shadow of old sorrow in his eyes. "I had hoped that coming to this new land might grant them some peace, but even without the helmets, their minds cannot heal. For now, this is all they have."

A wave of sympathy washed over the dwarves.

Kili, trying to break the heavy silence, offered, "When they're quiet like this, they're… almost cute, in a way." Fili gave him a subtle but firm nudge with his boot.

Dwalin, however, simply offered the two silent figures a respectful dwarven bow. "They are stout warriors."

"I believe that when the Golden Tree is fully grown, it will have the power to mend them," Tarnes said, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. "But for now, you should return to the fort. You've fought all night. A victory feast awaits, and then a proper rest."

At the mention of a feast, three dwarven stomachs rumbled in perfect unison, and they all broke into laughter.

"Then we shall gratefully accept," Fili replied.

As the dwarves headed back, Rogier emerged from the outpost, looking elegant but weary.

"And where were you during the battle?" Tarnes teased, pulling his friend into a brief, warm hug.

Rogier adjusted his pointed hat. "A few Orcs, terrified by the Pumpkin Heads, bolted from the outpost and ran straight into my hiding place. In pursuing them, I unfortunately ran into more of their fleeing kin. They saw I was alone and unarmored, so…" He shrugged, a look of tired amusement on his face. "The good news is, the tree has feasted well. You should be able to summon more from the Lands Between. I wonder which familiar face we'll see next."

"If you like, I could bring Darian over right now," Tarnes quipped.

An awkward expression flickered across Rogier's face. "Ah, perhaps I need a bit more time. With the weight of eight lifetimes of memories between us, I'm not yet prepared to face him."

"We are no longer in the Lands Between, Rogier. Your old conflicts with D have no meaning here," Tarnes said gently.

Rogier sighed. "I know, I know. It's just… it's one thing to remember it, another to stand before him. At least no more tragedies will divide us. We both owe the other an apology."

"While I hate to interrupt this tender reunion," a dry, female voice cut in, "I do believe it is time for breakfast. It was far too noisy to read last night."

Sellen emerged from the cellar, her Witch's Glintstone Crown hiding her expression. Rogier's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his rapier before he caught himself, the legends of the "Witch of Caria" still fresh in his mind.

Sellen let out a soft, knowing laugh.

"The feast is ready at Fort Haight, Teacher," Tarnes said. "Kenneth will be waiting."

Sellen nodded, but her steps faltered as she caught sight of the last Orc bodies fading into light. Her academic curiosity piqued, she drifted over to observe, instantly lost in her own world.

Tarnes shook his head with a smile and led Rogier away.

At the fortress, Nepheli was already waiting, the blood-crazed Knight Captain standing silently behind her. The knight was exhausted, his armor battered and stained, but his eyes were alight with a feverish pride. When he saw Tarnes, he dragged his weary body forward and dropped to one knee.

"My lord," he said, his voice a raw, trembling whisper. "I report a total of fifty-four Orcs slain."

Even Tarnes was taken aback. He himself had killed just over thirty before the rout began. This single knight, driven by bloodlust, had outdone him. He looked at the man—at the tattered cloak, the broken arrows still stuck in his mail, the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion—and nodded in profound respect.

"Well done. You have earned a reward."

Tarnes produced a talisman from his pouch, a blood-red medallion depicting a scene of frenzied celebration. It was the Lord of Blood's Exultation. The Knight Captain's breath hitched. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, his trembling hands reaching out to accept the offering as if it were the most sacred relic in the world.

"Thank you… my lord," he rasped, clutching it to his chest.

"This is proof of your valor," Tarnes said, his voice firm. "But it is not enough to earn the Pureblood Knight's Medal. Go. Treat your wounds before they fester."

As the knight limped away, Nepheli stepped forward. "Over seventy percent of the enemy force was eliminated. We have seven minor injuries and three serious ones. The gravely wounded are stable, thanks to their armor."

"How were they injured?" Tarnes asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Nepheli's expression was unreadable. "In part, it was your fault."

"Me?"

"You underestimate your standing with these soldiers," she said bluntly. "To them, your words are a divine command. You ordered them to kill as many Orcs as possible, and so they pushed themselves past their limits, fighting until their bodies gave out from sheer exhaustion. They fought for you."

Rogier nodded gravely. "She is right. As the master of the Golden Tree and the Elden Lord, you are their walking faith. It is a miracle they maintained any rationality at all."

Tarnes sighed, the weight of their words settling heavily on his shoulders. "It seems I must learn to be more mindful of my station. I am no longer just a nameless Tarnished."

At that moment, Kenneth Haight approached. "Your Majesty, I also have a report."

Tarnes suppressed the urge to correct the title and simply nodded. "Speak."

"Your Majesty," Kenneth began, "while the fortress held, the battle consumed a vast number of arrows, largely due to the… enthusiastic but unskilled archery of our demi-human allies. Our reserves are low. We also need to repair and replace damaged weapons and, of course, bestow rewards upon all the brave soldiers."

The list of logistical needs made Tarnes's head spin. He missed the simplicity of his journey with Melina, when he had only himself to worry about. But he listened patiently.

"I understand," Tarnes said. "I can handle the rewards and provide a temporary solution for the weapons. But how did Fort Haight handle supplies before?"

"Before the Shattering, we were supplied by Stormveil Castle and, primarily, by the Castle of Morne. It is close and possessed its own forges."

Morne.

The name hit Tarnes like a physical blow. He saw not a castle, but a girl lying in a pool of her own blood, and her father, Edgar, weeping over her body. The image twisted, her face becoming that of the blind witch Hyetta, her eyes burning with an orange light.

"Frenzied Flame," he snarled, his fists clenching at his sides. He remembered the cycle where its servants had deceived him, promising salvation but delivering only chaos. He remembered Melina's eyes as she faced him in the heart of that madness—filled with betrayal, sorrow, and a hatred as deep as the sea.

"Your Majesty?" Kenneth's cautious voice pulled him back.

Tarnes took a deep, steadying breath. "It is nothing. All of you, go and enjoy the feast. I need a moment alone."

Nepheli, who understood the source of his anger, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I will be your wings," she said, her voice a low promise. "We will face that twisted flame together."

She led the others away, leaving Tarnes in the shadow of the Golden Tree. The path of a warrior was simple. The path of a king was a crushing weight. Food, arrows, weapons, morale… He had to provide it all.

Castle Morne. The decision solidified in his mind. It had forges. It had civilian quarters. And most importantly, it had a Golem—a tireless, magical guardian.

With it, his soldiers would never be caught off guard again.

(End of Chapter)

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