Malphegor
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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 277
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 01:45:06 +0000 UTCOn this stretch of brown earth, Garrett planted an oak tree and urged it to grow.
The Brown Lands were so named because nothing could live upon them. All vitality here had been severed at the root, not even the most resilient weeds of Middle-earth could survive.
For thousands of years, not a single tree nor any other plant had grown there.
When the eastern reaches of Greenwood were cut down, at least some tree stumps and weeds remained; here, there was truly nothing.
But now things were different.
He broke the ancient curse that no life could exist upon the Brown Lands. For the first time in millennia, a trace of green appeared upon this barren soil.
A green tinged with yellow, looking almost sickly.
Brown earth, gray-yellow sky, and an oak whose leaves were faintly yellow, seeming unhealthy.
But... sickly?
No, to put it in game terms, it was simply that "the leaves in this biome look like this."
If he planted a tree right at the border between the Brown Lands and living soil, its leaves might even be half yellow and half green.
Perfectly normal.
After this landmark tree sprouted, he set about building a small house beside it, a place to live and rest for now.
Clang!
Just as he finished putting up a wall, an arrow shot toward Ecthelion's chest, but Denethor, quick-eyed and swift-handed, slashed it down with a sword.
A king and a steward might grow complacent from long years in the hall, but Denethor was different. He was still young, his body at its peak, his senses sharp and reflexes keen.
"Curse it."
From behind a small mound on the desolate Brown Lands, an orc hastily ducked back.
But it was too late.
The Brown Lands were vast and open, Sauron himself had made certain of that, burning the land so that no enemy could ever find cover.
And the direction of the shot had already given the orc's position away.
"Enemies!"
Ecthelion and Thengel instantly grew alert, drawing their weapons.
Their gazes locked onto the mound not far away.
"Straight at them, kill them and it's a great victory!"
A shout rang out, and from behind the mound poured a wave of wargs and orcs.
"Seventeen wargs, fifteen orcs."
With just a glance, Denethor had counted them all.
A standard raiding party.
He tightened his grip on his iron sword, a sense of unease surging in his heart.
Had he five ranger comrades at his side, he would not have feared to fight.
But now, behind him stood only his aging father and Thengel, King of Rohan.
They...
Swish.
The two of them stepped forward in unison, their earlier calm replaced by an aura of sharp, unstoppable vigor, as if the whole world belonged to them.
Denethor's heart trembled.
"Don't look at us like that. We may be a bit older, but our strength hasn't diminished."
"Watch carefully."
Whoosh.
An orc loosed another arrow, but Thengel slipped aside and dodged it with ease.
As the orc drew to shoot again, his eyes suddenly widened in shock.
Because from behind the wall near the three men, a figure suddenly leaped out.
That was... Curse it! Why is he here?!
"I don't come looking for you, yet you come seeking me? Such courage."
A voice rang out behind them.
"Follow me!"
Garrett drew his sword and rushed ahead, even before the other three.
"Charge!"
Thengel roared, right behind him.
The father and son followed as well.
A legend, a king, a ruling steward, and a scion of the steward's line said to possess the bearing of nobility.
The four of them charged into the orc pack, their momentum like that of a full company.
Boom!
Garrett's sword crashed against a warg's skull. Though it was but a sword, it struck with the force of a war hammer, shattering the beast's head and flinging it high into the air.
The stench of burning fur was foul.
The wargs faltered, their charge hesitating.
Meanwhile, the orcs in the back finally saw the attackers' faces clearly.
Perhaps they had only heard rumors of this man, these new-blood orcs had never met him. But the aura radiating from him made their hearts quail the instant they saw him.
The Bane of Orcs.
Whoosh.
As Garrett stormed into the raiding party, wargs and orcs alike were hurled into the air, aflame, crashing back down.
The other three followed close behind, swiftly cutting down the orcs on the other flank.
Thengel and Ecthelion were no weaklings either. Both had once been generals, leading armies and fighting on the front lines.
As for Denethor, he was now the commander of Minas Tirith's defenses.
The skirmish ended quickly.
When the last orc fell, Ecthelion suddenly dropped to one knee, clutching his side and gasping for breath.
Thin streams of blood seeped through his clothing.
"Father!"
Denethor hurried over.
"Haha, just old age catching up with me."
Ecthelion laughed.
He was already past seventy years. Fierce as he had fought just now, much of that strength came from pride, his son was watching, and no matter how exhausted he grew, he could not allow himself to falter.
But in the end, one careless moment had left him wounded.
The two of them had left in such a rush, without preparation, wearing only light mail.
Garrett walked over and handed Ecthelion a healing potion.
"Wonderful..."
Touching the wound that had healed completely, Ecthelion said, "I feel healthier than before."
"It was a rare and worthy bit of exercise."
The sun set in the west.
The four sat around a campfire, eating roast meat and drinking from a barrel of cool ale Garrett had somehow produced.
It was a refreshing feast.
---
In the month that followed, the four traveled along the old Rhovanion Road, visiting the outposts and Wayfort, then moving on to Lake-town and the city of Dale proper, where they stayed two days and witnessed the prosperity of Erebor.
Whatever the reactions of the three, Bard and Thorin were certainly startled.
Startled, yes, but they still showed enthusiasm and proper courtesy.
From there, they naturally went on to the Old Forest Road. Traveling westward, they visited Carrock, marveled at the giant square-shaped bees, and at night sat atop the Carrock with Beorn in his bear form, quietly gazing at the moon and pondering life.
Next came Rivendell.
The towering golden tree, the endless spire reaching into the clouds, and the dazzling great library within, the splendor of that realm left a deep impression.
At that time, the legion champion Yavin happened to be present. Denethor boldly challenged him, and to everyone's surprise, the young son of the Steward held out for quite a while before finally being defeated.
"Not bad, lad. You're on par with the finest Rangers I once had in my company. A pity you're not one of Wayfort's rangers, or I'd put you forward as an exceptional one."
Though praised, Denethor could not feel joy.
Only he knew how vast the gap was between himself and this old ranger. If it had been this legion champion facing that thirty-strong orc raiding party, with a bit of care he might have handled it alone.
He still had much to learn.
He steadied his heart. During his days at Rivendell, he learned much from the rangers.
The journey's end was Wayfort.
There, the four boarded Garrett's personally-built experimental flagship, perhaps the largest ship of its age.
Thengel, raised on the plains and with little experience of ships even after living in Gondor, was simply stunned. The other two, however, felt something different.
Once, Gondor too had possessed such mighty fleets, even greater if one traced further back. But...
No use recalling past glories, what mattered was the present.
The prosperity of Wayfort hardened Ecthelion's resolve to implement certain policies.
Pelargir and Cair Andros both needed greater investment and development.
By month's end, it was time to return.
The four passed grandly by the gates of Isengard.
When the servants carried the news, Saruman's eyes nearly bulged from his tower in Orthanc. Staring southward toward the pass, he almost thought some dark deed of his had been exposed and that this band of great figures had formed an alliance to strike him down.
But in the end it was a false alarm, nothing came of it.
The journey, neither too long nor too short, was over.
At last, Thengel returned to Meduseld, continued as King of Rohan, and tended to his duties. Ecthelion and his son rode back to Cair Andros, then took horses to the White City, looking every bit like men returning from surveying the land.
Calm and uneventful.
---
In the year 2958, Garrett visited both Rohan and Gondor, meeting with their rulers to discuss matters of borders and roads.
When he arrived in Gondor, the Steward Ecthelion and his son Denethor accompanied him to Cair Andros and together they surveyed the surrounding terrain.
But this account is doubtful, for Rohan seems to have records of a Gondorian Steward's visit, while Gondor itself has none.
That same year, Thengel and Garrett surveyed the condition of the road, traveling all the way north to the Wold, where they lingered for some time.
But this account too is uncertain, for Dale and Erebor appear to have records of visits from both the King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor, yet neither kingdom acknowledges them.
Only the men themselves, and a handful of close confidants, ever knew the truth of that year's journey.
