Chapter 49

Curufin's question was like an icicle, instantly freezing the air on the observatory. His deep gray eyes, burning with a cold fire, locked with Meereen, as if piercing through his skin and gazing into every trace of pretense deep within his soul. Under the starlight, Meereen could clearly sense the thousand-year-old suspicion and sharpness that had emanated from the depths of Fëanorion's blood, pressing down upon him like a tangible wall of cold.

"A Human, who has enjoyed pleasure in Valinor for a thousand years, has returned to this devastated Middle-earth on his own initiative, and has found himself at the very gates of us, his former 'enemies'?" Curufin's voice was as harsh as the grinding of metal, and every word was laced with poison. "Sauron's greatest skill is to deceive under the guise of his past! How can you prove that you are not another 'Anata' sent by him, a venomous snake trying to burrow into our midst? The details of your entrapment—those conversations that took place in the deepest reaches of Angband, which only Sauron himself could know—are your greatest flaw."

Maglor's brow furrowed, his silver-gray eyes flickering between Curufin and Meereen. He instantly understood his brother's misunderstanding. He stepped forward, placing himself before Meereen. His voice was unmistakable and clear: "Curufin, calm down. He is not a vision of Sauron." He turned to Meereen, his eyes filled with a hint of apology and urgency. "Meereen, tell him. Tell him how the Silmaril was hidden from him, Celegorm, and Caranthir in Sagarion."

Meereen took a deep breath, suppressing the slight anger within him. He met Curufin's hostile eyes. While Curufin's suspicion was hurtful, under Sauron's shadow, his vigilance was not entirely unfounded. He spoke steadily, yet with remarkable clarity, as he recounted the forgotten events of the past.

Every detail was incredibly precise, as if it were just yesterday. The hostility on Curufin's face melted away like snow in the blazing sun, replaced by a look of disbelief and a hint of embarrassment. He instinctively reached up to touch the dagger at his waist. Maglor nodded affirmatively, silently confirming every word Meereen had said.

Curufin was silent for a long moment, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. He looked away, gazing at the cold stone beneath his feet. His voice deepened, a subtle awkwardness lingering in his voice. "I'm sorry, but with the example of Anata, I..." He didn't say anything else, but the sharp hostility had already dissipated.

Meereen waved his hand, his tone weary with understanding. "Don't apologize. In times like these, it's better to be suspicious than to be credulous. We've all suffered at the hands of Sauron's disguises." He changed the subject, his tone concerned. "How is Eregion doing now? Is Celebrimbor alright? Glorfindel was there a while ago to deliver weapons. He said Celebrimbor was in good spirits, though there was a look of worry on his face."

Speaking of his son, Curufin sighed deeply, a deep worry clouding his brow. "Glorfindel saw only the surface, Celebrimbor... he was holding on." Curufin's voice was bitter. "He realized it. He realized that his ambition to surpass the glory of his fathers, even his ancestors, could be exploited by Sauron, leading to a catastrophe that could overthrow Middle-earth. At first, he refused to believe my warnings, believing I was jealous of his achievements, that I was shackled his future with the shadow of the past..." Curufin's fists clenched unconsciously. "It was not until Sauron successfully forged the One Ring in the flames of Orodruin, and the surge of evil power swept across Middle-earth, that he was struck by lightning and finally saw the true face of 'Anata': Sauron. This belated awakening tormented him more than any sword could have, and he fell into deep self-blame and regret."

Meereen felt the same way, with genuine sympathy in his eyes: "This cannot be entirely blamed on him. Sauron's lies are wrapped in sweet sugar, and he sees into the deepest desires of human hearts. I was almost deceived by his hypocritical face of 'giver of knowledge' in the First Age." He still felt a chill down his spine when he thought of the exquisite runes and tempting promises Sauron showed him at the edge of the forest.

Curufin seemed to relax a little at Meereen's understanding, and Maglor invited them to sit down on the cold stone benches at the edge of the observatory. The atmosphere was still tense, but the tension was gone.

"Celegon remains in Eregion now," Curufin said in a low voice, "to keep an eye on Celebrimbor. He is afraid that my son, in despair and self-blame, will do something foolish like rushing to Sauron's base alone and destroying himself with him." A trace of pain and powerlessness flashed in his eyes.

A brief silence fell upon the three of them, the only sound being the whimpering of the night wind on the mountaintops. The future of Middle-earth seemed to rest on the shoulders of the Elf-smith of Eregion, caught in great pain and struggle.

Meereen suddenly remembered something and broke the silence. "Yes!" He looked at Maglor and Curufin. "When I was in Valinor, I often visited Lady Naedaniel in Tor Eressëa." The two Fëanorians shuddered at the mention of their mother's name, their gazes fixed on Meereen's face.

"Soon after Maedhros, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras sailed west, the Lady Naedaniel came to live with them at Tor Eressëa." Meereen's voice softened. "She is well, though she yearns for you three who remain in Middle-earth. She often sits by the sea, gazing eastward."

Maglor abruptly turned his face away, his long black hair obscuring his profile, but Meereen could clearly see his fingers curled slightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white. Curufin also lowered his head, his hard features softening for a moment. His throat rolled, but no words came out. That deep, ocean-spanning motherly love, like the gentlest arrow, pierced the most tender and untouchable part of their hearts.

Meereen remained for several days in the lonely fortress of Fëanorion. He sought from Maglor more information on the meaning of the "two stars trapped in a cage of fire," but Maglor remained evasive, explaining only that they were fragments of an ancient prophecy, their meaning unclear. Curufin, meanwhile, busied himself with the defenses of his realm and watched closely for news from Eregion, appearing to be filled with worry.

One day, Meereen spread out a map, pointed to the location of the Greenwood Kingdom, and asked Maglor and Curufin, who was rarely free, "How much do you know about King Oropher of the Greenwood? What is his character like? Is it possible to strive to become an ally against Sauron?"

Curufin glanced at the map and uttered a short, slightly sarcastic snort. "Orophiel? That stubborn old Sindar? I advise you to abandon that idea immediately. His stubbornness is arguably even greater than that of King Thingol back then." He crossed his arms, his tone hinting at the deep-seated rift between the Sindar and the Noldor. "After Thingol and Melian led most of the Elves of Doriath westward, this prince chose to remain in Middle-earth. He disdained association with the descendants of the Kinslayer and envied the Silvan Elves, who lived a more primitive and free life, untouched by the will of the Valar. So, with a group of Sindar who followed him, he fled to the depths of Greenwood the Great, proclaimed himself king, and lived a secluded life. Convincing him to leave the forest and join the Noldor-led alliance is as difficult as climbing to heaven."

Maglor added solemnly, "Furthermore, since Sauron forged the One Ring, the forces of darkness have become more active than ever. Giant spiders are now ravaging the southern part of Greenwood the Great. Like a plague unleashed by Sauron, their numbers have increased dramatically, their range of activity has expanded, they are attacking elven outposts, preying on travelers, and even beginning to encroach on the very edge of the forest. I'm afraid Oropher will have a hard time too."

Meereen's gaze darted across the map, sweeping north from the southern Greenwood, past the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills, and eastward toward the Sea of ​​Rhûne and the vast lands of the Easterlings. His expression instantly grew grim. "The Greenwood's location is crucial. If the southern Greenwood falls completely to the Spider, or worse, falls directly under Sauron's control, then..." His finger traced a clear path across the map. "Sauron's armies could march north unhindered, directly threatening the Dwarven kingdoms of Erebor and the Iron Hills. If Sauron were to incite the Easterlings to defect..." Meereen gasped. "Half of Middle-earth's north and east would fall to the Shadow. This is no exaggeration."

But the thought of trying to persuade the stubborn King Oropher gave Milton a headache.

Maglor pondered for a moment, then offered a suggestion: "Perhaps you could start with Celeborn. After the War of Wrath, this kinsman of Thingol, Prince of Doriath, married Galadriel, and they both now reside in Lothlórien. Celeborn is of noble rank, having served alongside Oropher at the court of Thingol. Both he and Galadriel are on good terms with Celebrimbor. If they are willing to introduce you, Oropher would at least give you a chance."

This was undoubtedly a viable path, and Meereen immediately took action, spreading out the paper, carefully choosing his words, and writing a heartfelt letter to Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien. In the letter, he briefly outlined his mission and predicament, hoping to use her and Celeborn's influence to gain an opportunity to meet King Oropher.

The reply arrived faster than expected. The messenger brought a short note with a faint floral scent. Unfolding the paper, Galadriel's beautiful yet sharp handwriting was written on it:

"Meereen, the stars will guide you home. Celeborn has sent a letter to King Oropher. May wisdom be with you on your journey. Galadriel's Pen"

Meereen's spirits lifted, and he immediately began to pack his luggage. He carefully selected some plant seeds from Valinor that contained the breath of tranquility and a small bottle of dew from the garden of Lorien as gifts for the green forest elves.

Maglor looked at the busy Meereen and suddenly said, "I will go with you."

Meereen looked at him in surprise.

Maglor's expression was calm, but his gray eyes held unwavering resolve. "The depths of the Greenwood are now infested with giant spiders, posing a daunting threat. Oropher's intentions are also unpredictable. You're traveling alone, and if danger does come your way, Glorfindel is far away in Lindon, unable to reach you. I can at least offer you a measure of security." His reasoning was compelling, and Meereen, after a moment's reflection, nodded in agreement. Having the powerful Prince Fëanolion along for the ride was indeed a far greater safety factor.

Curufin was still worried about the situation in Eregion. After bidding him farewell, the two men rode away from the lonely fortress of Fëanorion, heading west, crossing the vast and slightly desolate plain, and finally arrived at the edge of the Great Greenwood.

The forest before him was nothing like the glen of Rivendell or the golden forest of Lothlórien. It was ancient, deep, and breathtakingly vast. Towering ancient trees blotted out the sun, and even at midday, a gray-green mist shrouded the forest, making it difficult for light to penetrate. The air was filled with the scent of damp humus, an indescribable wildness of the primeval forest, and a faint, sweet, and dangerous feeling.

They didn't venture too far. Meereen and Maglor cautiously observed the forest's edge. Soon, they discovered disturbing signs: some stout tree trunks were covered in thick, grayish-white spiderwebs that shone with a slimy sheen, like giant shrouds; the ground was littered with the empty shells of insects and unfortunate small animals, their sap drained. In some areas, the ground was corroded by a sticky liquid, emitting a foul odor. Even in some hidden corners, they found enormous, oval cocoons, large enough to hold an adult human, hanging from the low branches, swaying slightly, seemingly containing corpses.

"It seems that what you said is true," Milin frowned and spoke in a low voice, "The extent of the spiders' rampage is far beyond my imagination. They are no longer satisfied with the dark corners."

Just as they were about to explore deeper, a faint rustling, like the rustling of dry leaves, came from the dense forest to the side. Maglor's hand instantly pressed to the hilt of the sword at his waist. Meereen also focused its attention on the alert.

Silent and ghostly, several figures emerged from behind tall ferns and tree trunks. Clad in camouflage woven from dark green and brown bark and moss, they blended seamlessly into the forest. They clutched sharpened bone spears and hardwood longbows, their arrows gleaming with a faint blue light. Leading them was a tall, steely-faced young elf. He bore a resemblance to Oropher, though his demeanor was more stern, like an unsheathed blade. He regarded Meereen and Maglor warily, and when he saw Maglor's garments, marked with the star of Fëanor, a flicker of undisguised repulsion flashed in his eyes.

"Stranger, tell me why you are here. This is the patrol area of ​​the Greenwood Kingdom. I am Thranduil, the patrol officer." The young elf's voice was cold, with an unquestionable tone of command.

Meereen immediately stepped forward and nodded slightly. "Nice to meet you, Prince Thranduil. I am Meereen, and this is Maglor. We bring letters and greetings to King Oropher from Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and we have important matters to discuss."

At the mention of Celeborn and Galadriel, Thranduil's eyes softened slightly, though the coldness remained. His scrutinizing gaze rested on Meereen for a moment, then swept a cold glance over the silent Maglor. Finally, he waved briefly, "Follow us."

Escorted by Thranduil and his silent, vigilant guards, Meereen and Maglor advanced deeper into the heart of the Greenwood. The light within the forest grew dimmer, and the oppressive, dangerous atmosphere grew thicker. They occasionally spotted Silvan elf warriors clearing massive spider webs or setting traps and warning signs in certain areas. The air was thick with a tense, battle-like atmosphere.

Finally, they arrived at King Oropher's court—not a stone palace like Lindon or Fëanorion, but a vast encampment nestled among giant ancient trees and natural caves. Vine bridges and wooden walkways connected the treehouses, and in the center lay a relatively open, flat area paved with polished logs. While retaining the elegance of the Elven, the place exuded a primitive, rugged, and wary air.

King Oropher sat on a throne carved from a massive tree root. He was even more majestic than Curufin had described. Time had marked his face, but his icy blue eyes were still as sharp as an eagle, filled with the stubbornness and pride of a forest king. He took the letter from Celeborn and quickly glanced through it. His eyes then fell on Meereen, with undisguised scrutiny and deep curiosity.

"Meereen..." Oropher's voice boomed, like thunder in the forest. "Celeborn's letter mentions you. The legendary Human who set foot in Aman and gained immortality? A rare visitor." His gaze wandered over Meereen, as if examining a rare, living antique. Meereen naturally accepted Oropher's scrutiny, just as he had done when he first arrived in Aman. Most of the elves there had never left the Blessed Land, and this was their first glimpse of the Secondborn. During that time, elves often took the opportunity to observe him during their visits to the Gardens of Lórien, but Meereen also made friends with several of the Vanyar and Teleri.

Milin bowed respectfully and went straight to the point: "Your Excellency, King Oropher, thank you for your audience. As we traveled, we saw that the forest was plagued by spiders, which was worrying. I wonder when this scourge began? What is the current situation?"

At the mention of spiders, Oropher's face darkened instantly, like a dark cloud covering the forest. "Those foul beasts," he growled with suppressed rage. "They used to lurk in the darkest, dampest corners of this forest, like maggots beneath the earth, preying only on those who strayed into their lair. But since the rise of the southern shadows and the forging of that cursed ring, everything has changed." He gripped the armrests of his throne, his knuckles turning white. "They've become unbridled, their numbers swelled, their size increased, and their ferocity grew. They've begun attacking proactively, ambushing trade routes and forest paths, attacking my patrols, and abducting lone elves and humans. We've been forced to abandon large swathes of our ancestral lands in the south and move northward, shrinking our defenses." His voice was filled with humiliation and resentment. "This forest is being devoured bit by bit by those disgusting webs and venom."

Meereen sensed the heaviness and powerlessness in Oropher's words. He stepped forward, his eyes frank and resolute: "Your Highness, perhaps I can be of some assistance."

Oropher's sharp eyes instantly focused on him: "Oh?"

"I discovered in the First Age," Meereen explained, "that wherever I stay, the area naturally becomes more vibrant and the encroachment of dark forces is gradually purified. This isn't magic, but rather an innate quality within me. If Your Highness allows me to remain for a while in the southern Greenwood, where the spiders are most rampant, I may be able to help the devastated forest recover, suppress the spiders' activity, and create a more favorable environment for your warriors to carry out their campaign."

Oropher narrowed his eyes, surveying Meereen, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Allowing an outsider, especially a human, to remain in his kingdom for an extended period... but the threat of spiders loomed, and Meereen's legendary purifying powers held a certain allure. His icy blue gaze swept over Maglor, who stood beside Meereen. His deep-seated distrust of Fëanorion also made him hesitate.

Ultimately, concern for the forest's survival overwhelmed his resistance. Oropher nodded slowly, his voice still dignified. "Okay, I'll allow you to temporarily stay at the old outpost on the southern edge. Thranduil," he turned to his son, "you will be responsible for making arrangements and leading them to the designated area. Remember, any action must prioritize the safety of our warriors and the interests of the forest."

"Yes." Thranduil answered decisively, his eyes still cold as he glanced at Meereen and Maglor.

Led by Thranduil, Meereen and Maglor arrived at an abandoned outpost farther south of the Greenwood Kingdom, near its former border. It was even more eerie here than near the royal court, the air thick with the distinctive, sweet, fishy scent of spiders even stronger. Huge, grayish-white spiderwebs draped everywhere like tattered banners, and the ground was covered in a thick layer of dead leaves and a suspicious mucus. The abandoned wooden huts were dilapidated, and the air was filled with the smell of decay.

Meereen paid no heed to the harshness of the surroundings. He immediately set about clearing a small area, and under Thranduil's slightly suspicious gaze, he began to mobilize the life-giving and purifying power within him, drawn from Valinor. A soft yet resolute silver-green aura emanated from him once again, spreading outward in circles like a pebble dropped into stagnant water.

The effect wasn't immediate or earth-shattering, but it was like a gentle spring rain. From beneath the rotting leaves surrounding their Meereen settlement, tiny green grass sprouts quietly emerged, stubbornly growing upwards. The gray bark of several half-dead trees nearby seemed to have regained a faint vitality. Most noticeable was the air. The sickening, sweet, and decaying odor within a few dozen paces of Meereen became noticeably fresher, as if invisible filth were being washed away layer by layer.

The Silvan elf warriors quickly sensed this change. They were surprised to find that while patrolling near their Meereen outposts, the oppressive feeling and inexplicable restlessness they'd always felt eased, and their spirits lifted. Even more surprising, some of the small and medium-sized spiders, previously extremely active and aggressive in the surrounding area, seemed to instinctively avoid the area, as if fearing some natural enemy.

Thranduil remained silent, but the cold rejection in his gaze toward Meereen finally softened, giving way to a touch of scrutiny and a subtle recognition. He quickly seized this opportunity, increasing patrols and clearing operations around the purification zone. The elven warriors, leveraging their familiarity with the terrain, set more sophisticated traps and organized more effective hunting parties, specifically targeting those spider colonies driven or weakened by Meereen's might. The battles remained fierce and dangerous, but their results improved significantly, and the elven casualties began to decline.

After returning from a small-scale clearing operation, Thranduil took the rare initiative to reveal important intelligence to Meereen: "These spiders didn't just appear out of nowhere. They seem to be coming from further south, towards the East Pass of Mordor." He pointed to the southern mountain range, shrouded in even darker shadows, and spoke gravely, "It's as if something is driving them away, or providing a breeding ground for them."

"The Eastern Pass of Mordor..." Meereen was shocked. This and all the previous clues about the last trace of the blue-robed wizard pointed in the same direction, the sinful place shrouded in the shadow of Sauron.

Maglor also participated in several periphery clearing operations. When he returned to the outpost, Meereen noticed that there was an indescribable awkwardness in the way he wiped his sword?

"What's wrong?" Meereen asked.

Maglor threw away a piece of cloth stained with dark green slime, frowning slightly. His tone was filled with absurdity. "The Silvan Elves' fighting spirit and courage are impeccable, but their equipment..." He shook his head, unable to find the right words. "It's too backward, at least compared to the weapons of the Noldor. Not to mention decent armor. It's far too ineffective against those giant spiders with hard shells and swift movements. They could have saved many casualties."

Meereen had noticed this too. The weapons of the Silvan Elves compared to the steel-forged, rune-spangled armor and blades of the Fëanorian warriors were as different from those of the Stone Age as those of the Iron Age.

“You want to help them improve?” Meereen asked.

Maglor was silent for a moment, his silver-gray eyes gazing toward the royal court with a hint of resignation. "You know all too well King Oropher's attitude toward me. He won't even allow me to approach the core area of ​​the royal court. Proposing weapons forging and skills training would be seen as another instance of Fëanorian's 'cultural invasion,' or worse, a deliberate attempt at espionage. He won't accept it." He raised his sword, its blade gleaming coldly in the dim light. "What a pity for these warriors."

Meereen sighed as well. Oropher's stubbornness was indeed an impassable wall. But the "Eastern Pass of Mordor" revealed by Thranduil burned his heart like a red-hot iron. The blue wizard, Sauron's conspiracy, the rampant spiders... all clues pointed to that sinister pass. He knew that his cleansing work in the green forest, while effective, was only a temporary solution. The true battlefield lay far to the south. He must quickly conclude his affairs here and move towards his ultimate goal.