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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 362
🕑 Added 2025-11-23 02:08:22 +0000 UTCSaruman was, for the time being, safe.
In an earlier discussion, Elrond and Gandalf had come to the same conclusion.
The Nazgûl had chosen to capture and imprison him rather than kill him, which clearly meant they still had some use for him. Until their purpose was fulfilled, at least, they were unlikely to truly threaten Saruman's life.
Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't suffer in other ways.
After all, expecting the Nazgûl to invite him over for a pleasant conversation was rather unrealistic.
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After making all the arrangements to guard against Dol Guldur in the regions of the North and South Undeeps, Rhovanion, and the Vales of Anduin, Garrett, seeing that the forces preparing to attack Dol Guldur had not yet gathered, traveled further north to inspect the reclaimed dwarven colony at Dáin's Halls in the Grey Mountains.
According to Glóin, there had been some unusual activity there as well.
At present, the safest and fastest way to cross the Misty Mountains was without question the Sky Road, and soon enough the Fellowship of the Ring would surely come this way.
If possible, it would be best to eliminate any potential threats before they arrived.
ROAR!
As luck would have it, no sooner had Garrett arrived than a deep cry echoed faintly from behind the towering, snow-covered peaks. Its resonance was powerful and far-reaching.
There was definitely something sinister lurking in the Northern Waste.
Thinking this over, he immediately donned his Blazing Winged Chestplate. With a crack of fireworks, fiery wings unfurled from his back, and he shot straight up into the air.
Before long, he reached the mountaintop.
The blizzard was too fierce to see what lay below, so he descended further, gliding down toward the foot of the mountain.
BOOM!
A massive shadow slammed into him. His flame glider sputtered out, and before he could react, Garrett found himself embedded in the mountainside.
Some enormous creature had rammed into him, and against such sheer bulk, the small resistance bonus from his armor's knockback enchantment was utterly useless.
"What the..."
He clawed his way out of the stone, brushing off the rubble. His runic shield was flickering, a small section already gone. He blinked in mild confusion.
When he raised his head and saw what had attacked him, his expression shifted to one of understanding.
Just as I suspected.
There was something lurking in the northern wilds beyond the mountains.
A dragon, a cold drake without wings, came crashing through the ice and snow the moment he fell, slamming into him with the force of a runaway boulder.
Weymir could hit like that too, but he always held back. At worst, he'd knock Garrett off his feet or make him stumble, but never enough to draw blood or trigger his shield.
These strange, feral dragons, however, were not like Weymir. They rammed to kill, better yet if they could crush him and feast right away.
He had to admit, that blow hurt. Even with the resistance buff protecting him, it had still been a heavy hit.
"All right then, let's see what you've got."
He drew his Dragonflame Steel Greatsword and charged forward through the storm. With a mighty swing, he brought the blade down squarely on the drake's head, sending sparks flying and stars spinning in its eyes.
The snowfield dragon staggered back, crashing through the ice behind it in an avalanche of shattered frost. At this point, with his current gear, a mere flightless dragon could no longer pose much of a threat to Garrett.
Even without the blessing of the Ring of Stars, his equipment alone was enough.
There was no need to mention combat sense or skill. He could quite literally stand still and trade blows with the dragon head-on, and still wear it down to death.
That was how confident he was.
After a few swings, the dragon finally seemed to regain its senses. It realized that the human before it was not normal, especially in terms of strength, where it found itself at a disadvantage.
The Dragonflame Steel Greatsword's dual knockback effect prevented it from advancing even a single step. Every clash felt like being struck by one of Fangorn's Ents with a massive blow.
And those blows were nothing to scoff at. They could shatter stone and pierce steel. Any creature short of a dragon would be smashed flat.
After a few more exchanges, the drake was completely terrified. Its body was covered in blood and wounds, and even its bones were no longer intact.
That was only because it had used its hardest scales to take every blow. If Garrett had aimed for a weak spot, say, thrusting his blade through its open jaws, it would have been over in an instant.
"Running already? I'm not done yet."
Turning around, the dragon heard the human's chilling voice.
I'm doomed.
Truly doomed.
For the first time in its life, the dragon felt regret and shame.
Since ancient times, dragons had mocked Men, but today, the tables were turned.
But it was already too late.
From the moment the drake appeared in Garrett's sight, its fate was sealed. There was no escaping, especially after it had been the one to attack first.
Soon enough, it was nothing but a pile of materials. Not even its bones remained.
After collecting what he needed from the carcass, Garrett continued deeper into the Northern Waste. Unexpectedly, he didn't get far before encountering new obstacles.
The snow here was uneven, marked by fresh tracks of something that had recently passed, too recent to have been buried by the storm.
Awooo!
A wolf's howl echoed from somewhere unseen. Shadows flickered faintly across the snow, black shapes moving eerily beneath a sky glowing with an uncanny, sickly green light that drew Garrett onward into the depths.
On this ancient, near-forgotten tundra, untouched for tens of thousands of years, he advanced alone, radiating waves of heat that melted the ice crystals beneath his boots.
The road was endlessly long and desolate. The unchanging, boundless white stretched so far that even Garrett's mind began to stir restlessly.
The temperature here was unnaturally low. Garrett had no doubt that if he removed his Dragonflame Steel armor now, he'd start losing health immediately from the cold.
Under such extreme chill, even the heat from his armor had grown faint. It could no longer melt the snow or ice around him.
Step by step, flying and walking as he went, Garrett eventually realized he had completely left Middle-earth proper and was moving toward its very edges.
Along the way, aside from the endless snow, there were more and more monsters, like the black shadows he'd seen earlier, remnants of Wargs that had once run across the plains. Now they were little more than burned, skeletal husks, unable to move.
There were also orc corpses scattered about.
Wherever he passed, the snowfield became clean.
As the ancient, vicious creatures that had lingered since the Elder Days were gradually wiped out, the evil presence over this wasteland began to fade. The grey mists and blinding blizzards receded from the sky.
Maybe it's time to go back.
For a moment, Garrett thought so.
But then, a feeling, a revelation, perhaps, rose in his heart. It urged him onward, deeper still. Something was waiting for him there. It was no command, merely a faint sense, an awareness without words or force.
It didn't compel him, nor did it tell him what to do, yet he knew it was real, not an illusion.
Whether to heed it or ignore it, that was entirely his choice.
In the end, he decided to follow it.
Because the feeling was familiar, the same as when he had first opened the Nether portal. It came from the highest, most exalted being.
Even if it wasn't an order, it deserved respect.
Screech!
After walking for a while longer, a harsh shriek pierced the air above him. In any city, that sound alone would have caused panic.
To his ears, it was merely shrill and unpleasant.
The creature that had spotted him from above seemed startled and uneasy, immediately turning to flee.
He took flight in pursuit.
Because the creature's escape direction matched the one his premonition pointed toward.
