Malphegor
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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 308
🕑 Added 2025-10-23 02:45:15 +0000 UTCTime always brings sorrow to those who fail to notice its passing.
Yet there are some who seem never to care about the affairs of the outside world, like Saruman.
Garrett sat in his castle, flipping through the reports.
According to the information provided by the Rangers, over the past few decades Saruman had been far from idle. He had wandered all over Middle-earth, sometimes visiting the City of Waters, sometimes heading to the Misty Mountains. Last month he was in the Gladden Fields, and the next he'd be off to the ruins of Eregion. No one knew what he was truly doing.
At first glance, it seemed he was quite active, but on closer thought, not really. There were gaps of several years between each of these incidents.
More recently, starting about ten years ago, Saruman had finally settled down. He'd confined himself to the tower of Orthanc, hardly taking a single step outside.
At the same time, the Rangers of the Shire noticed that Saruman was purchasing huge amounts of supplies: food, pipe-weed, and the like. Some even estimated that with what he had stockpiled, he could feed an army of considerable size.
And he was still stockpiling, not just from the Shire, but also from Helm's Deep and even the City of Waters, with large quantities each time.
Saruman, it seemed, truly had people to feed.
After all, Isengard wasn't just one tall tower. It housed many servants and guards. Managing such a large territory would indeed require many hands.
Garrett sat at his desk, deep in thought.
For now, the man still seemed to be behaving himself. He'd returned to his old ways, holed up in his tower, busy with research, and not making any major moves.
After observing Saruman's activities, Garrett turned his gaze elsewhere.
Gondor, Mordor, Umbar, Harad... those regions, though under the greatest pressure and most frequent conflict, appeared relatively stable for the time being.
As usual, there were small frictions but no large-scale incidents. Constant harassment and probing, but no major wars.
As for the distant East, its movements were far harder to discern.
Looking down at the repeatedly condensed briefings in his hand, Garrett rubbed his temples and began to understand, to some extent, how Sauron must have felt.
Setting everything else aside, that Dark Lord truly was a genius, and a complete workaholic. Judging by the sheer volume of tasks he had to handle, he was probably running himself ragged day and night.
And it wasn't just administrative work. He had to play political games, form alliances, conquer and suppress enemies, all while overseeing internal development, issuing orders personally, and doing countless other things.
From matters as great as national power and governance to as small as breeding monstrous beasts and developing new species, military, economy, research, diplomacy... almost everything was under his personal control. Others, like the Witch-king or the lesser Nazgûl, could only assist him, carrying out his orders.
The purer one's purpose, the greater one's drive, and without doubt, Sauron was a being of pure purpose. His sole aim in building Mordor and subjugating the dark peoples around it was to spread darkness across the entire world, dragging all things beautiful into ruin.
He had no other ambitions. And given Sauron's unique nature, it was as if he were a player in a game. He faced no obstacles beyond resources and technology. His efficiency was unmatched, and his subordinates were utterly loyal.
Facing such an enemy was truly a headache.
Not just for Gondor and Rohan, even Garrett himself felt a vague unease.
Sauron was not the sort to remain quiet, and his long silence over these years was, in itself, unsettling.
Too quiet, in fact.
Mordor remained shrouded in thick shadow, and its current state of development was a complete mystery.
Equally silent was the Balrog of Khazad-dûm, which seemed to have vanished. But in comparison, that great creature was actually a comfort. It truly showed no sign of movement at all.
Over the years, not only Garrett but several Ranger expedition teams had ventured into Khazad-dûm, yet none had ever seen a trace of that creature.
It was as if it had simply vanished into thin air.
The Balrog was probably, and perhaps truly, just lying dormant somewhere. For a being like that, sleeping for hundreds or even thousands of years was perfectly normal. Unless someone happened to disturb the rocks right above its head, it couldn't even be bothered to move.
Thinking this, Garrett poured himself a cup of tea.
That year, his domain was peaceful and the lands around it were quiet.
When spring came again, Garrett stood at the military training ground, reviewing one formation of soldiers after another.
Among them, the squad of Rangers standing at the front, each wearing a dull gray medal, drew the most attention.
Clearly, these were the best of the best.
After so many years of development, those who had earned the Outstanding Ranger Graduate Medal were now numerous enough to form an entire company of several hundred.
It was easy to imagine that even if this company faced an enemy ten times its size, they could cut through them like a blade through grass.
And if they added in a few Legion Champions, that same company might even consider turning around and annihilating the enemy completely.
The standards for being called an outstanding ranger weren't uniform. Beyond their solid combat training, some were better at tactics, some excelled in extreme environments, and some specialized in intelligence gathering.
But Legion Champions were different. Their qualification had only one requirement: they had to be the strongest fighter among their class of Rangers.
Each of these champions, as long as their stamina hadn't run out, could match a normal opponent blow for blow. Some could even hold a slight advantage.
When the award ceremony concluded once more, Garrett looked upon the Wayfort Legion and nodded approvingly.
Now, this army, never mind their enemies, even Garrett himself would probably have his hands full if he had to face them.
What a formidable force.
"All right, dismissed."
Garrett waved his hand, signaling the end of the ceremony.
Huff...
Beside the castle, under the enormous mallorn tree, Wormi shifted its position, coiling lazily on the grass.
As Garrett walked past, the dragon lowered its huge head and gently rubbed against him, a gesture that nearly sent Garrett stumbling backward.
He had to look up to meet its gaze.
The creature had grown as large as a small hill by now. Even the ladder leading up to the mallorn tree's canopy could no longer bear his weight.
Fortunately, those wings weren't just for show. Wormi had learned to fly long ago.
Still, it preferred lying on the ground most of the time. Compared to its enormous body now, even that massive mallorn tree seemed rather small. It could still coil around it, but it made Wormi far too conspicuous.
In fact, the sight of a dragon wrapped around the mallorn tree had, a few years earlier, become a new landmark of Wayfort. Someone had found the image so striking that they painted it from memory and stitched it onto a banner.
Later, when Garrett saw the banner, he apparently liked the design too, and so he simply hung it beneath the mallorn tree where Wormi lived.
Wormi said it didn't mind.
However, while it had no objections to the banner, there was another matter that it had been thinking about for a long time.
That year, Wormi asked Garrett if it had already grown up.
Garrett nodded.
So the dragon said, could he change its name? The childish nickname Wormi that they had agreed was only for when it was young, could it have a proper dragon's name now?
Yet when faced with this request, Garrett remained silent. He said nothing.
Wormi too fell silent.
Looking at Garrett, who seemed frozen like a broken machine, unable to speak for a long time, the dragon seemed to realize something.
From that day onward, it no longer lay on the grassy field near the castle. Instead, it coiled up beside the Tower of Knowledge, asking people every day to find books for it. Sometimes, when it couldn't make out the writing, it'd have someone read aloud to it.
"If you won't think of one for me," it said, "then I'll think of one myself."
The child had been forced to grow independent.
And so, thanks to someone's mental block, another new rumor began to circulate beneath the Tower of Knowledge:
The Book-Loving Dragon.
