The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

Deep within the kitchens of Mohgwyn, a Dwarf who had been diligently eavesdropping heard the telltale phrase "long, pointed ears." His eyes widened. Elves. They had come knocking. Without a second thought, he abandoned his post, the simple frying pan still clutched in his hand, and sprinted towards the city to find Fili and Kili.

"I can't let my friends get roughed up by a pack of pointy-ears!" he muttered, his short legs pumping furiously.

Meanwhile, a tense quiet had fallen over Haight Fort.

On the battlements, more than a dozen of Godrick's soldiers stood in a rigid line, their eyes fixed on the scene below. A cluster of Demi-Humans chattered nervously on the outer platform, their ballistas aimed away from the visitors but ready nonetheless.

At the main gate, the Knight Captain, his armor still stained with the signs of his bloody trial, stood as still as a statue, flanked by two of his soldiers. Less than ten meters away, a handsome Elf sat astride a powerful warhorse, his posture noble and serene. Behind him, dozens more Elven riders waited in perfect formation, their silver armor gleaming under red-brown cloaks. They sat upon their dark steeds, silent and motionless, awaiting the arrival of the fort's true master. Beyond them stood ten heavy carriages, their wheels sinking deep into the mud, a clear sign they were laden with goods.

When Tarnes and Kenneth Haight finally arrived, the leading Elf dismounted with fluid grace. A warm, disarming smile touched his lips.

"Greetings, friend of Gandalf," he said, his voice calm and melodic. "I am Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. Mithrandir spoke of you when he was a guest in my home not long ago. He told me of a kind-hearted man rebuilding a home in this scarred land of Minhiriath and hoped I might lend a helping hand. I have come to visit, though I admit it is rather abrupt. I hope you will welcome my presence."

Tarnes studied the Elf before him. Elrond's face showed no sign of age—neither young nor old—yet it seemed etched with the memories of a thousand joys and sorrows. He had dark hair, keen grey eyes, and wore a simple silver circlet upon his brow. A warrior's spirit lay beneath the lordly exterior; Tarnes could feel it.

A lord who is also a peerless warrior, he thought with a quiet sigh, then stepped forward. "I am Tarnes. You are welcome here."

Since the Elves had come bearing supplies, Tarnes had no reason to turn them away. Kenneth Haight moved discreetly behind him, turning to wave at the soldiers on the walls, signaling for them to stand down.

"A friend of Gandalf is a friend of mine," Tarnes said, extending his hand to Elrond. "Thank you for coming all this way."

Elrond met his gaze and made a strange, formal gesture with his own hand before pausing. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then clasped Tarnes's outstretched hand.

Is he not used to shaking hands? Tarnes wondered, giving the Elf's hand a light, firm shake before letting go.

Elrond was the first to offer an apologetic smile. "It has been a long time since I have had dealings with Men. I nearly forgot your handshake etiquette."

So that was it. The small moment of confusion cleared, and Tarnes gestured for Elrond and his people to follow him toward Moen City.

As they walked, Elrond's bright eyes scanned the golden grasslands and the softly glowing leaves of the great tree that dominated the landscape. "This tree is indeed as Gandalf described," he praised, his gaze lifted in admiration. "It possesses a magic full of life and vitality. It is difficult not to feel gladdened by its presence." Elrond could feel the blessings that rained down from its branches, a gentle warmth that soothed the spirit.

Tarnes smiled. "Everyone who sees it says the same. But it is still young. When it truly becomes a towering tree, I will invite you to visit again."

Their friendly conversation was shattered by a rough, bellowing cry.

"Protect Lord Tarnes!"

A horde of Dwarves, armed with everything from swords and halberds to pots and pans, burst from the forest lining the road. Kili's voice was the loudest as he surged to the front.

"Hoo-ah-ah-ah!" he roared.

He was swiftly overtaken by Dwalin, who thundered past him with a massive battle-axe gripped in both hands. The Elven knights reacted instantly, spurring their horses to form a protective circle around Elrond and Tarnes.

Elrond's expression was one of profound confusion as he watched the Dwarves charge, especially when he noticed one of them brandishing a greasy frying pan. He could see that many of them were not warriors at all, but farmers and cooks.

"Lord Tarnes," he began, turning to the man beside him, "these Dwarves are…?"

Tarnes felt a headache coming on. His vision swam for a moment, and he fought the impulse to simply ignore the entire spectacle. But he couldn't. He saw Kili's Prayer Ring already beginning to glow, while Fili had drawn his throwing knives, ready to let them fly.

He raised his voice, shouting over the din. "Fili! Kili! Stand down! Lord Elrond is not here for a fight!"

Kili skidded to a halt, his momentum carrying him a few extra steps. "Huh?" he asked, looking utterly bewildered.

Fili lowered his knives, his expression shifting from fierce determination to confusion as he took in the scene—the ring of armed Elven cavalry and the ten wagons loaded with supplies.

At Tarnes's command, the other Dwarves stopped as well. Then, as one, they all turned to glare at the Dwarf from the kitchens, who still held his frying pan aloft. He blinked, glanced left and right, and offered a sheepish grin. "I thought I heard Elven cavalry outside the fort. Figured there was a fight coming."

Now it was Fili, Kili, and Dwalin's turn to feel their vision darken. Kili and Dwalin, having rushed the fastest, had also been the first to see the supply wagons. Still, their deep-seated distrust of Elves was not so easily dismissed. They knew they were in the wrong, but they stood their ground, refusing to apologize.

Elrond now understood. It was all a misunderstanding. He gave a quiet command in Elvish, and his knights sheathed their weapons and relaxed their formation. He then walked with Tarnes to stand before Kili and the others.

"Prejudice is a mountain that stands unseen," Elrond said, his tone measured and calm. "It blinds you to the difference between friend and foe, and it will lead you only to peril."

Kili snorted. "We have no desire to be friends with a bunch of ungrateful Elves."

Dwalin didn't even bother to lower his axe, shifting its weight in his hands in a clear, provocative gesture. Fili was more restrained, pulling his brother back behind him after he spoke. He ignored Elrond completely, turning instead to Tarnes.

"I am sorry, my Lord," he said. "We heard a group of pointy-ears had arrived outside your fort, and we feared the worst."

Tarnes saw the deep-seated animosity between the two groups and moved quickly to de-escalate. "Thank you and your kin for your concern, Fili. For now, please go to Haight Fort and rest."

Fili shot Elrond one last look before nodding. "Hmph," Kili grunted at the Elf Lord as he followed his brother. "Hmph!" Dwalin added, hefting his axe one last time before turning away.

One by one, the Dwarves marched past the Elves, each one offering a cold stare or a deliberate grunt of dissatisfaction.

Only when they were gone did Tarnes turn back to Elrond, his expression pained. "I am truly sorry, Lord Elrond. I never expected such an awkward encounter. Once we reach the castle in Moen City, I will formally apologize to you and your people."

Elrond smiled, his grace unshaken. "It was a harmless misunderstanding. There is no need for the Lord of the Golden Tree to apologize. I understand the stubbornness of Dwarves; it is like the unyielding ice of winter. The fact that they heed your words so readily speaks to your standing among them. This only confirms what Gandalf told me: you are a good man, and worthy of friendship."

Tarnes had been prepared to offer a heartfelt apology, but found himself being praised instead. He felt a flush of embarrassment, but also a deep admiration for Elrond's composure. "You are a respectable lord, Elrond. But Gandalf's praise for me is a bit excessive. Let us continue. This is no place for a chat."

"I do not think so," Elrond replied, his smile unwavering as he followed. "A man who would casually gift a divine weapon to a friend is not someone Gandalf would praise excessively."

Soon, the Elves were guided into the castle of Moen City. Nepheli Loux and Rogier were already waiting at the main gate, ready to assist the Elves with their warhorses and wagons. As they worked, Tarnes introduced them to Elrond.

"The warrior who can conjure storms, Nepheli Loux," Elrond greeted her warmly, "and the sorcerer who so perfectly weds swordsmanship with Glintstone sorcery, Rogier. Gandalf spoke of your bravery. I am pleased to meet warriors such as you."

"I am honored that Gandalf would speak of me so," Rogier replied, removing his pointed hat and performing an elegant bow with a hand over his heart.

Nepheli Loux simply nodded. "May the wind bless your journey home."

The four of them entered the spacious City Lord's Hall. Three wide, clean long tables filled the space, large enough to seat fifty people, though they were currently bare.

"I have already sent Kenneth Haight to arrange for food," Tarnes said apologetically. "Lord Elrond, please wait a moment with your kin. And... this is my first time hosting Elves. Do you have any dietary restrictions?"

He gestured for Elrond to take the seat of honor. The other Elves took their seats with synchronized, orderly grace.

Elrond smiled. "Think nothing of it. We arrived unannounced; it is I who should apologize for giving you no time to prepare. As for food, what Men eat will be more than sufficient."

Tarnes nodded, then leaned forward slightly. "Lord Elrond, you have traveled hundreds of leagues from Rivendell. I imagine it was not merely to deliver supplies."

A knowing look entered Elrond's eyes. "You are perceptive, Lord Tarnes. You are right. Besides delivering these goods, I have another purpose—a purpose that Gandalf and I decided upon together."

Gandalf again? Tarnes thought, his interest piqued. "I would be glad to hear it."

Elrond turned to his adjutant. "Lindir, present the map."

An elegant male Elf nodded, rose from his seat, and unfolded a new paper map on the table before Tarnes. The ink was still fresh, the locations marked with elegant, flowing script.

Why a map? Tarnes wondered. I have maps of Middle-earth. He kept his curiosity in check, waiting for Elrond to continue.

Elrond rose and came to Tarnes's side, pointing to a location in the upper right corner of Minhiriath. The name "Tharbad" was written there.

"Is there something special about this place?" Tarnes asked.

"Tharbad," Elrond explained, "was once a great river port, capable of sheltering sea-going vessels. Its bridge was a vital link on the North-South Road, connecting the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor. But now, the northern kingdom of Arnor is no more, and Gondor in the south is in decline. Compounded by the Great Plague that once swept these lands, Tharbad has fallen into ruin. All that remains are eroded earthworks, the ghosts of a town, and the dangerous shoals created by its collapsed bridge."

Tarnes nodded slowly. "A regrettable decline. But what does this have to do with your and Gandalf's objective?"

"I want to ask you to rebuild Tharbad," Elrond said, his voice now imbued with a new gravity.

Tarnes's eyes widened in surprise, but he held his tongue, gesturing for Elrond to explain his reasoning.

Elrond nodded, appreciating the man's calm demeanor. "This world was once shrouded in darkness, Lord Tarnes. Even now, that darkness has not dissipated. It lurks in places we cannot see, lying in wait, ready to strike when we are most vulnerable."

"Tharbad's location is strategic. If you and your people could rebuild that port city, it would re-establish a vital artery. The Elves of Rivendell and the Men of Gondor would once again have a swift road to support one another. Furthermore, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains could travel to the Mines of Moria with greater ease, to reclaim their other homeland."

"Of course," Elrond added, "rebuilding Tharbad is no small undertaking. It is alright if you do not agree. But if you do, I, as Lord of Rivendell, swear that I will support your efforts with all my strength."

Tarnes fell into a deep silence. He understood the unspoken premise of Elrond's words: a great war was coming. Even if it wasn't, rebuilding Tharbad into a major transportation hub would bring him immense benefits. He was lost in thought, weighing the immense task against the potential reward.

Elrond read the conflict on his face. "War has never truly left this land," he said, his voice a mix of sorrow and resolve. "What Gandalf and I are doing is merely making what preparations we can during this hard-won peace."

Just then, a quiet knock sounded at the door. Kenneth Haight stood in the entryway. At his signal, Godrick's soldiers filed in, carrying long trays laden with fragrant food: golden fried eggs, bright red jam, fresh green salads, and flasks of refreshing wine.

Taking advantage of the interruption, Tarnes finally spoke. "This is a great matter, Lord Elrond. I will need time to consider it. Gandalf's initial recommendation was for me to secure the Limgrave Greatbridge, to establish contact with Gondor. I have only just begun to rebuild my own home here. I truly need time."

Elrond nodded in understanding. "I know your situation, and I do not wish for you to misunderstand. Gandalf and I are only making a suggestion, not a demand. Even if you choose not to rebuild Tharbad, I will not be disappointed. I am gladdened enough to see the lands of Minhiriath revitalized because of you."

(End of Chapter)

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