Chapter 50
Life in the southern outposts of the Greenwood persisted in a strange balance. Like a trickle of water, the power of Meereen continued to cleanse the darkness-infested lands surrounding the outposts. Tender green shoots stubbornly emerged from the rotting leaves, and the dispelled spiders greatly increased the effectiveness of the Silvan Elves' extermination efforts. Both Meereen and Maglor knew this was only a temporary solution. As long as the source of the shadow in Mordor's Eastern Pass was not eliminated, these terrifying creatures would continue to breed and surge.
One day, Meereen mustered up the courage to go once more to King Oropher's tree-house court. He tried to persuade the stubborn forest king to get better weapons for his people.
"Your Highness," Meereen said respectfully but firmly, "The courage and tenacity of the Silvan warriors are admirable. But they paid a heavy price in their fight against the giant spiders. Lacking sophisticated equipment, they are vulnerable to venom and sharp claws." He paused, observing Oropher's gloomy expression. "Maglor is a skilled forger, versed in the finest metallurgy and weapon-making techniques of the Noldor. With your permission, he could perhaps instruct the kingdom's craftsmen to improve the sharpness and toughness of their weapons, and even forge some lightweight protective armor. This would greatly reduce the casualties among the warriors."
Oropher sat on his tree-root throne, his icy blue eyes like a frozen lake, without a single ripple. After listening to Meereen's words, the corners of his mouth curled up in an extremely cold and sarcastic arc.
"Let a Fenorian teach my people?" Oropher's voice was low, but it struck Meereen like a hammer. "Are you joking, or do you think I'm getting senile?" He leaned forward slightly, and the pressure of the King of the Forest spread like a substance. "Why should I believe Fenorian's promise? Is it just based on their history of countless betrayals driven by that cursed oath?!"
He stood up suddenly, his voice rising suddenly, with anger that had been suppressed for a thousand years: "Have you forgotten Nargothrond? Forgot the chilling betrayal after the Battle of Tears? When the smoke of war had not yet dissipated, and the tribes were still licking their wounds and mourning the dead, the seven sons of Fëanor could not wait to lead their troops to the city of Nargothrond. For what? Just because of the slander of that devil Sauron that the jewel was with you, they surrounded King Finrod's city, threatened their allies, and pointed their swords at their own people. If you had not understood the righteousness and voluntarily handed over the jewel to quell their greed and anger, Nargothrond would probably have been a river of blood. This is what Fëanorion did." Oropher's words were like poisoned arrows, every word piercing the heart, pointing directly to the past that was too painful to look back on.
Oropher did not pause, his fury blazing like a forest on fire. "Nargothrond and Doriath have always been on friendly terms. King Thingol's niece, the beautiful Princess Eäwen, was Finrod's mother. When news of Fëanorion's siege of Nargothrond reached Doriath, the kingdom was shaken and outraged. Not to mention the eternal blood debt they wrought against the Teleri at Alqualondil." He sat heavily on his throne, his tone firm and unwavering. "Shall my people learn from a Fëanorion? Expose them to such cursed arts and blood? I appreciate your kindness, but it is impossible. I will never place my people under the influence of Maglor."
Meereen's heart sank to the bottom. He tried to explain the difference of Maglor and tried to emphasize the urgency of the crisis, but Oropher's cold eyes made it clear that he wanted to see him off.
Meereen left the royal court with a heavy heart and returned to the southern outpost. As soon as he entered the simple wooden house, an elven messenger came to greet him and handed him a letter with the mark of Lindon - it was Glorfindel's handwriting.
He unfolded the letter, and the Golden Flower Lord's vigorous handwriting appeared on the paper:
My friend from Meereen:
The situation in Eregion is rapidly deteriorating. Orc scouts have breached the outer defenses, their numbers have increased, and their probing attacks are becoming more frequent and bolder. Sauron's grasp is clearly visible. Gil-galad has given the final mobilization order. I will personally lead the main host of Lindon and depart shortly to aid Eregion. There will be a fierce battle, and may the stars protect Celebrimbor and Eregion.
Also, I learned from Elrond that you and Maglor were traveling together in the Greenwood. Please exercise extreme caution, as his intentions are unfathomable. Do not repeat the same mistakes and fall into danger again. I hope you can escape quickly and return to the right path.
Glorfindel's handwriting at Flinton
The concern and worry in the letter almost overflowed from the paper, especially the last sentence "Don't repeat the same mistakes and fall into danger again", which made Meereen feel mixed emotions. Glorfindel was far away in Lindon, but his heart was always with him. This friendship touched him, but also made him feel helpless.
"Another letter from your father Glorfindel?" a cold, teasing voice called out from the doorway. Maglor had returned at some point, leaning against the doorframe. His silver-gray eyes swept over Meereen's complex expression, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "After all these years, he's still so worried about his 'baby Meereen'? Afraid you've been abducted by some Fëanorion again?"
Meereen glared at him. "Shut up, Maglor, and stop talking nonsense!" He handed the letter over. "Read it for yourself."
Maglor glanced through the document, the amusement fading as his brow furrowed. "The Orcs are gathering in force to test the enemy. Sauron is more swift than anticipated. Unfortunately, we still cannot pinpoint his whereabouts. He lurks like a venomous snake in the shadows, its fangs bared but its head hidden."
"If it is Sauron," Meereen mused, "he would never be so foolish as to remain in that conspicuous stronghold in Mordor and wait for the enemy to come and lay siege. He must have other lairs, and a wise rabbit has many burrows." He remembered that Sauron was good at disguise and concealment in the First Age.
The two discussed the situation in Eregion and Sauron's possible moves, the atmosphere heavy. To dispel the gloom, Meereen rose and went to the outpost's humble kitchen. He soon returned with a large pot of steaming, fragrant tomato-based beef stew. The rich aroma temporarily dispelled the chill of the forest. At dinner, Meereen served Oropher's gift of Dorwinion wine—a token of gratitude from the Elf King for their assistance in exterminating the spiders, though Oropher himself remained cold towards Maglor.
Perhaps it was the stress of the last few days, or perhaps it was the boredom brought on by Oropher's rejection and Glorfindel's concern, but the two of them drank unnoticed. Dorwinion's wine was indeed as famous as ever, even making Meereen feel dizzy. Maglor, in a rare moment of relaxation, embraced his harp and, regardless of the occasion, improvised. His voice sometimes soared like an eagle's cry, sometimes murmured like a stream in a deep valley, with a slightly tipsy abandon and a deep, indescribable sense of vastness. Even in the haze of intoxication, the singing remained precise and beautiful, each note seeming to hold a magical power.
Meereen leaned dazedly against the rough wooden wall, watching Maglor singing and playing under the starlight. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly: As expected of an elf, even drunk as he is, he can still sing in tune. He had studied music with Esti for so many years in Valinor, and his singing was at best decent. This talent, compared to others... no, compared to elves, it was infuriating.
A few days later, although the Green Forest's purification work was effective, there was still no news about the whereabouts of the blue-robed wizard. Meereen's patience was gradually wearing out.
"I can't wait any longer," Meereen said, standing at the edge of the outpost, gazing at the mountain outlines shrouded in eternal shadows in the direction of Mordor to the south. "If I can't find any clues here in the Greenwood, I must go to the source. I want to gather information from the human tribes near the Eastern Pass of Mordor."
"The Eastern Pass of Mordor?" Maglor frowned, his silver-gray eyes filled with worry. "Any Human who could establish a tribe in such a place, living so close to the shadow of Sauron, is most likely a race that has long since fallen and followed the dark. If you go there rashly, you will be like a sheep walking into the tiger's mouth."
"I know it's dangerous," Milin said with a firm look, "but the last message from the blue-robed wizard pointed to that place, and all the clues point to the same place. I must go. I will disguise myself as a spice merchant and find a way to sneak into the caravan."
"Spice merchant? Sneaking into the caravan?" Maglor looked helpless and almost laughed out of anger, "Can you be more obedient? Is it so difficult to stay in one place? Lindon, Rivendell, Greenwood... and now you are going to Mordor under its nose? Do you think Sauron's minions are blind?" His tone carried a hint of imperceptible anxiety and worry.
Meereen stared, his eyes wide, showing no sign of weakness. "No! Glorfindel is fighting for his life in Eregion, Gil-galad is strategizing in the rear, and Elrond is building Rivendell. Everyone is working hard to fight the darkness. How can I hide here because of the danger? Finding the blue wizard is my mission." He was firm. "Besides, you can't come with me. Your identity is too conspicuous. Fëanorion's presence on the border of Mordor will only cause greater unrest and vigilance. It is more convenient for me to act alone."
The two were arguing over Meereen's almost "suicidal" plan when a sharp and rapid elven horn suddenly sounded from the watchtower of the outpost.
Woo-woo-woo-woo
This is a signal of enemy presence or emergency.
Milin and Maglor instantly dropped their argument and rushed to the lookout point at the edge of the outpost. The elven warrior on guard pointed to the eastern edge of the forest and reported hurriedly: "My lord! To the east! A small group of humans are running madly towards this forest! They look terrible!"
Through the sparse trees, Meereen and Maglor could see a dozen or so stumbling, bewildered figures desperately rushing toward the Greenwood. They were ragged, covered in blood and dust, their faces etched with utter fear and despair. Leading them was a girl who looked barely a teenager. She was the fastest and most conspicuous, as her arm appeared severely wounded, bandaged hastily with rags, blood soaking through the fabric.
The well-trained Silvan elf warriors attacked as quickly as cheetahs, silently surrounding the panicked humans, controlling them, and bringing them back to the outpost.
Milin rushed forward to check on the most seriously injured girl, who had been placed alone in a relatively clean cabin within the outpost. She was trembling violently, her face as pale as paper, her lips chapped, and her eyes filled with lingering fear and deep exhaustion. The elven warrior handed her a cup of warm water, which she took with trembling hands and drank greedily before finally regaining her breath.
"Thank you...thank you..." She said with great difficulty, her voice hoarse, using extremely awkward and strangely pronounced Elvish words. It was obvious that she only knew a very limited amount of Elvish.
"What is your name? Where are you from? What happened?" Meereen asked in the Common Tongue as gently and clearly as possible, motioning for the elf to bring clean cloths and herbs.
The girl gave her name incoherently, then pointed to the east and spoke anxiously and confusedly in a language mixed with the strong eastern Rhun dialect and broken elven vocabulary: "...Rhun...east...home...is gone! Bad people! Evil people! They...are like beasts! Killing people! Stealing things! Capturing people as slaves!" Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she struggled to get up, "Save...save them! My people...are in the back...were caught! Please! Save them!" Her plea was heartbreaking.
Milin's heart tightened instantly, and he immediately ordered: "Send a small team to search along the direction they came from to see if there are other survivors."
The elven warriors took their orders and left, while Meereen stayed by Yana's side, comforting her and letting the elves, who were skilled in herbs, treat her wounds. The severe pain from cleaning the wounds made Yana convulse, but she gritted her teeth and did not cry out, only looking at Meereen with eyes full of fear and pleading.
Soon, the search team brought back news: they found another seven or eight members of Yana's tribe further east of the edge of the forest. They were all injured to varying degrees, and some were dying. They were carefully carried back by the elves.
Seeing the injured but still alive people rescued, Yana's tense nerves finally relaxed a little, tears silently flowed down her face, and she once again expressed her deep gratitude to Meereen and the elves.
Milin sat beside her, patiently waiting for her emotions to calm down a little before speaking again: "Yana, tell me, who are those 'bad guys'? Why did they attack your tribe?"
Yana's face once again showed deep fear. "They... are servants of the devil! They live further east... near... the terrible mountain... and force everyone... to obey them... and kill those who disobey! Before... our tribe... was peaceful..."
She struggled to organize her words, then suddenly remembered something, a faint glint in her eyes: "In the past... there were two... elders... wearing... blue robes... they came... to teach us... how to farm... how to read... and how to speak... they were... very good..."
"What happened next?" Milin's voice couldn't help but take on a hint of urgency. "What happened to the two blue-robed elders?"
Yana's tears welled up again, and her voice was filled with pain and anger: "The bad guys are here! They... suddenly attacked... killed people... set fire... the two elders... they wanted to protect us... but... there were too many bad guys! They... were captured!" She gestured excitedly, "Locked up... in a big... iron cage! Like wild beasts! They... were taken away... I don't know... where they went..." She covered her face and let out suppressed sobs.
Meereen's heart sank into a cold abyss. The blue-robed wizard had finally fallen into the hands of Sauron's minions. Those fallen humans attacked the tribe with the purpose of capturing them. The huge iron cage... this was no ordinary prison.
He suppressed his turbulent emotions, comforted Yana, and ordered the elves to do their best to treat all the survivors and arrange to send them to safer human settlements after their injuries recovered.
Leaving the cabin where the wounded were housed, Meereen gazed southward toward the Eastern Pass of Mordor, a shadow that seemed to devour all light. His eyes grew sharper and more resolute. Yana's plea for help was the final piece of a puzzle, connecting all the clues—the Eye of the Red Rock, the Eastern Pass of Mordor, and the imprisonment of the blue wizard—clearly.
"It seems," Meereen said to Maglor beside him in a low and powerful voice, more like a declaration of his determination, "this journey to the East Pass of Mordor must be made."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
