Chapter 33

Beneath the blossoms of Hithlum's winter glory, life in Meereen seemed to settle into a peaceful and tranquil melody. He enjoyed life with the Edain, experiencing a climate and atmosphere distinct from Nargothrond. The blessing of his soul flowed silently through the land, bringing vibrant life. But the beautiful human craftsman named Anattar, like a meticulously crafted puzzle, quietly woven into Meereen's tranquil existence.

Annatar's erudition and wisdom held a natural appeal for Meereen, a soul equally curious about the world. He could discuss not only the growing cycles of crops and the orbits of the stars, but also profound and accessible topics concerning the nature of existence, the source of power, and even the trajectory of fate. His insights were often original and thought-provoking, leaving Meereen feeling a sudden enlightenment, as if a door had been opened to a deeper realm of knowledge.

"Meereen, have you ever thought about this," he asked casually while gracefully polishing a piece of crystal in Anatara's warm workshop, which always exuded the scent of metal and minerals, "why is your power so unique? It seems to be independent of the established melody of this world?" His voice was low and pleasant, with a convincing sincerity.

Milin's heart stirred slightly. This was a question he occasionally pondered. He answered cautiously, "I believe this is a gift from the gods, their mercy to this wounded land."

"Gift... mercy..." Annatar repeated with a thoughtful smile on his lips. "Perhaps, but the power of the Valar also has its own laws, just like the stars have their own orbits. And your power, Meereen, I feel it is freer and more unrestrained. Your power seems to not belong here... like the spindle of fate, unable to completely entangle you?" His eyes seemed to be focused on the crystal, but the corner of his eyes keenly captured every subtle change on Meereen's face.

Such conversations were frequent, and Anattar, like a masterful lyre player, always struck a chord with Meereen's intellectual curiosity. They discussed poetry, music, natural philosophy, and even lost legends. Meereen found conversation with Anattar delightful; she seemed to understand his thoughts and even anticipate his questions. Their relationship seemed to grow increasingly close, and Meereen came to truly regard Anattar as a rare and knowledgeable human friend.

Yet, deep within Meereen, the keen intuition blessed by the Valar, and the deep scar left by the betrayal of the Easterlings of Shageri, remained a taut string. He always remembered Finrod's warnings and never gave up on protecting the intelligence of the allied forces. When Anattar occasionally steered the conversation towards the movements of the Elven armies, the defensive layout of Hithlum, or even his curiosity about the personal habits of Fingolfin or Finrod, Meereen always managed to change the subject subtly, or evade it with the excuse, "I am only a common man, and do not understand such things."

What made Meereen feel even more strange was that whenever he enthusiastically wanted to introduce Finrod or some equally knowledgeable elves under Fingolfin to Anattar, Anattar would always refuse for various reasons.

"It is naturally my dream to communicate with the elven sages," Anata would show a humble and slightly regretful smile, "but please forgive my humility. I am just a craftsman with some skills. I really dare not show off in front of the honorable elf. Besides, I have recently taken on several jobs that need to be completed urgently..." His reasons sounded reasonable and his attitude was impeccable, but the strange feeling in Meereen's heart became stronger and stronger. Anata seemed to deliberately avoid all opportunities that might bring him into close contact with powerful elves.

He told Finrod about his doubts.

"He always refuses to contact the Elves?" Finrod's golden brows furrowed, his expression becoming serious. "Meereen, you mentioned the knowledge he possesses... the knowledge of the ancient movements of the stars, and even the details of certain lost Eldar crafts, is far beyond the reach of a common human craftsman. Even the most learned Elders of the Edain know only so much. Are you sure he hasn't been asking around in Dor-lómin? Especially about military deployments, supply reserves, or the Alliance?"

Milin thought carefully and shook his head affirmatively. "No, at least when I was with him, he never took the initiative to ask about these things. He only talked about knowledge itself, very purely. He helped the villagers repair farm tools and make jewelry, and never left his workshop too far to 'wander' and ask questions. Everyone liked him very much and thought he was a quiet, kind and capable person."

Finrod pondered for a moment. "Not actively inquiring is a clever disguise. He only needs to quietly blend in, observe, and listen to daily conversations to piece together a lot of information. Furthermore, he deliberately avoids us elves, which is itself suspicious. How could a truly knowledgeable person, eager to communicate, refuse the opportunity to speak with other races?" Finrod's eyes gleamed with wisdom. "Meereen, remain vigilant. The lessons of the Easterlings teach us that the minions of darkness can appear in any form, and their disguises are becoming increasingly sophisticated. This Anata... I smell something unusual."

Finrod's words were like a wake-up call, a wake-up call for Meereen. He began to observe Anatta more subtly, quietly, during their time together. He watched Anatta's eyes. Deep within that seemingly gentle gaze, a subtle, cold calculation, like an assessment of the value of an object, occasionally flashed. He observed Anatta's demeanor toward ordinary humans. Though outwardly polite, when a clumsy farmer accidentally knocked over a tool on Anatta's workbench, Meereen caught a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of disdain and impatience, as if he were looking at an intrusive insect. This instinctive, hidden disdain for his fellow man stood in stark contrast to his studious display of equality and appreciation for Meereen.

Anata naturally noticed Meereen's subtle changes. Meereen's gaze became more focused, more inquiring, no longer as unconditionally trusting as it had been at first. Anata sneered inwardly, but his performance became increasingly masterful. Like a devoted actor, he portrayed the role of "friendly and knowledgeable craftsman" to the fullest, even more frequently throwing out esoteric points of knowledge to attract Meereen's attention and divert his attention.

A silent game of cat and mouse unfolds between the two: one meticulously observing, searching for flaws in his disguise, while the other flawlessly performing, weaving a more perfect illusion.

What finally upset this delicate balance was a careless revelation from Anattar. That day, they were discussing the difficult existence of Men in Beleriand.

"Humans are always like this," Anata's voice had a tone that was almost a sigh, and he was playing with a piece of black ore that was gleaming with faint light in his hand. "Fragile, short-sighted, like mayflies that are born and die in a day. Their short lives are filled with meaningless fights, foolish fears and blind desires. Even if they are given power and knowledge, they will only use it to destroy themselves, or bow down before a stronger will, like that Wu Fang." His tone was full of condescending pity and undisguised contempt, as if he was talking about a group of hopeless inferior creatures.

These words were like an icicle, instantly piercing the last ray of hope in Meereen's heart. He suddenly looked up, staring intently into Anata's eyes, still brimming with a gentle smile. These were not the words of a craftsman who truly loved humanity and had become one with it. They were naked, a gaze from a higher dimension. The betrayal of the Easterling Wufang became the clearest reference at this moment!

"You..." Milin's voice trembled slightly with anger and confirmation, "You are not Anata, who are you?!"

The gentle smile on Anata's face froze instantly, like a crack in a perfect mask. The feigned warmth in his eyes quickly faded, replaced by a coldness of having its disguise exposed and a hint of anger at being offended by a lesser being.

Meereen no longer hesitated. He took a step back, turned around and rushed out of the house. He had to inform Fingolfin immediately.

"Stop him." Anata's cold voice sounded, with an unquestionable command tone. But there was no one else in his workshop.

Meereen rushed out of the workshop and ran as fast as he could to the palace of Hithlum. With his heart pounding, he told the guards what had happened and his own judgment in the simplest terms, and demanded to see the High King Fingolfin immediately.

Upon hearing the news, Fingolfin didn't hesitate. The lesson of the Easterlings' betrayal was still fresh in his mind, and Meereen's intuition and description immediately made him realize the seriousness of the situation. He gave a decisive order: "Rally the guards and surround the craftsman's workshop. Be quick. Remember, this target is extremely dangerous. Do not underestimate the enemy."

Elite elven warriors and Eden guards quickly and silently surrounded Anata's workshop. Archers occupied the commanding heights, and their sharp arrowheads flashed coldly in the sunlight, aiming at the tightly closed wooden door.

Fingolfin personally led the team, standing at the forefront of the encirclement. His majestic voice penetrated the wooden door: "Those inside, come out! In the name of Fingolfin, I command you to surrender and be questioned."

The wooden door creaked open. Anata, or rather, Soran, wearing the skin of "Anata," slowly emerged. His expression was devoid of the humility of a human craftsman, replaced by a chilling calmness and indifference. He surveyed the tightly guarded surroundings as if observing a group of ants, his lips curling up in a subtle, mocking arc. He was so arrogant he didn't even bother to flee.

"Surrender?" He chuckled. His voice was no longer as gentle as Anata's, but carried a strange magnetism that seemed to resonate with the soul. "Just you?"

Meereen stood beside Fingolfin and demanded angrily, "Anattar, or whoever you are, what is your purpose in lurking here? To spy for Angband?"

Sauron's gaze fell on Meereen, a complex expression—greed for the prized quarry, anger at having their plans interrupted, and endless curiosity about Meereen's unique qualities, which seemed to drift apart from the music. "Intelligence?" he snorted contemptuously. "That's just going with the flow. Meereen, it's you I'm truly interested in." His gaze seemed to penetrate Meereen's skin, peering into the secrets deep within his soul.

"Catch him!" Fingolfin stopped talking nonsense and gave the order decisively.

Several of the most elite elven warriors rushed forward like lightning, and just when they were about to touch Sauron, something strange happened.

A massive, suffocating dark pressure suddenly erupted, turning the air around the workshop thick and cold, as if devouring all light! Under everyone's horrified gaze, "Anata"'s figure twisted and swelled violently. Its human skin ripped and peeled away like fragile paper, revealing its nauseating, horrifying nature: an immense, bat-like monster covered in black, shiny, metallic fur. Its outstretched wings obscured the sky, its crimson eyes like flaming blood moons, emitting a stench of sulfur and decay. It was one of Sauron's many terrifying incarnations.

"Roar!" The monster let out a deafening roar, and the powerful sound waves blew the elven warrior in the front away. Its huge claws suddenly stretched out and grabbed Meereen in the crowd as fast as lightning.

"Meereen!" Fingolfin was shocked and angry. He drew his sword to save her, but he was too far away.

Meereen felt an overwhelming force, his body instantly lifted off the ground. Cold, barbed claws clamped down on his waist and abdomen, sending a sharp pain through him. He was seized by the giant bat monster and soared into the air. Dor-lómin below shrank in an instant, and the cries of surprise and the clatter of arrows piercing the air grew distant.

A cold, gusty wind filled his mouth and nose, and Meereen felt suffocated and filled with great fear, but even more anger. He could not fall into the hands of his enemies again, whether in Fëanorion or Angband.

"Let me go, you monster!" Milin roared and struggled in the wind, but the monster's claws were like iron hoops.

In despair, a thought flashed through his mind like lightning. He remembered the special nature of his blood, the power that could purify filth that had burned Morgoth at the gate of Angband.

Without hesitation, Meereen pulled out the elven dagger Finrod had given him, which he had hidden in his boot. He gritted his teeth, used all his strength, and slashed it fiercely at his palm. The sharp blade instantly cut through the flesh, and blood gushed out immediately.

The severe pain made Milin's eyes go black, but he suppressed the dizziness and used all his strength to slap the bloody palm on the dark and shiny fur of the huge bat monster that was holding his waist.

“Ugh—!”

A shrill, unearthly wail ripped through the air, like a scalding iron pressing against the most fragile nerves, or like pure holy light scorching the foulest darkness. The giant bat incarnation of Sauron, as if struck by the strongest electric current, convulsed violently. The claws gripping Meereen instantly lost all strength and abruptly released.

"No--!" The bat monster roared angrily and painfully, and its huge body rolled off balance in the air.

Meereen, like a kite with its string cut, plummeted from the sky. The wind howled, the earth rapidly expanded before their eyes, and the shadow of death instantly enveloped them.

"Bang!" With a dull thud, Milin fell heavily onto a relatively soft patch of earth. Severe pain instantly swept through his body. He clearly heard the sound of his bones breaking, stars flashed before his eyes, and blood gushed out of his mouth and nose.

Meereen's immortality took effect at this moment. Broken bones within his body crackled with subtle sounds as they began to reset and heal at a speed visible to the naked eye. Flesh and blood frantically squirmed and healed in the wounds deep enough to see the bone. The intense pain receded like a tide, replaced by a weakness that came with exhaustion and a trance of having survived a catastrophe.

When Fingolfin, along with the Elf warriors and Edain guards, anxiously arrived at the crash site, they saw Meereen, covered in dirt and blood, his clothes in tatters. He was struggling to sit up, his face as pale as paper, but the horrific wounds on his body had miraculously healed, leaving only shallow red marks and a disheveled appearance.

"Meereen!" Fingolfin rushed forward and carefully checked his condition, his eyes full of shock and fear.

"I... I'm fine," Meereen gasped, his voice hoarse, and he pointed to the sky, "The monster... flew away..." The huge bat figure rolled painfully in the clouds for a few times, fled in the direction of Angband in the north, and disappeared into the sky.

Fingolfin looked at the scars on Meereen's body that were disappearing quickly, then looked towards the north where the monster had disappeared. His face was extremely solemn. He helped Meereen up and said, "We can't stay here for long. Let's go back first!"

Back in safety, Fingolfin immediately ordered a thorough search of Anattar's workshop, but found nothing except some extremely sophisticated forging tools, unmatched by human effort, and several strange ores imbued with dark power. The imposter had left no documentation directly proving his identity or purpose.

But the fate of Meereen and the terrifying incarnation spoke volumes. Fingolfin, enraged, issued a strict decree: Dor-lómin and throughout Hithlum were to tighten their vetting procedures for all outsiders, especially recently arrived refugees. All newcomers must undergo rigorous screening by both Elves and Men, and those of unknown origin would be denied admission.

Meanwhile, Fingolfin was gripped by deep worry. This spy, so skillfully disguised and so formidable, had lurked in Hithlum for so long. How much intelligence had he gathered? Had the coalition's northern defenses, troop distribution, and supply reserves been compromised? He urgently summoned his generals and advisors and began to restructure the entire defense system and troop deployments of Hithlum and even the northern front. Massive troop movements and deployments were carried out in secret and intense fashion.

Though Meereen's body quickly recovered thanks to the Valar's blessing, the mental shock and the dark chill of close contact with Sauron's avatar lingered for a long time. He sat in the once again heavily guarded cabin of Dor-lómin, gazing out the window at the unfamiliar faces he no longer fully trusted, his heart heavy. The shadow of war, undispelled by the blooming winter flowers of Hithlum, crept closer, stealthier and more deadly.