The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

"In the name of the Golden Tree, I cannot stand you Dwarves! You're more stubborn than the flagstones in my dining hall," a handsome Elf in a simple brown robe grumbled, his customary elegance frayed. He clutched a bag of seeds to his chest as if protecting it from a dragon. "I've told you, this soil is exhausted. Planting more cabbage will only weaken it further. Do your brawny heads not have the faintest concept of crop rotation?"

The red-bearded Dwarf in charge of the field below exchanged a glance with his kin. A moment later, they all burst into laughter.

"Haha! Did you hear that, lads? This pointy-ear questions our farming," he roared. "He must not know the magic of Lord Tarnes's Golden Tree. He's still clinging to his own pathetic little ideas."

"Exactly!" another Dwarf chimed in. "If you ask me, they're the stubborn ones. We saw the magic in this land from day one!"

Nepheli Loux, who had been attempting to mediate, rubbed her temples. "Master Elf," she began, her voice strained, "perhaps you could give the Dwarves a portion of the seeds to plant as they see fit, and keep the rest to sow according to your methods?"

The Elf shook his head vehemently. "I appreciate your kindness, Lady Nepheli, but I cannot entrust these seeds to them. My Lord Elrond specifically instructed me to bring only the highest-quality varieties. I would be heartbroken if even one failed to sprout due to their pigheadedness."

The Dwarves, hearing this, immediately launched into another round of fierce arguments.

Just as the quarrel reached its peak, a low hum of activity began to emanate from Moen City. The Elves and Dwarves paused, their attention drawn to a stream of people emerging from the main gate. Some were dressed in fine, brocaded robes, while others wore simple cloth garments. Following them was a procession of humanoid creatures, some covered in scales, others with leathery wings folded against their backs. All of them had long, thick tails dragging behind them—they were clearly not Orcs.

The two groups, humans and Misbegotten, walked on opposite sides of the path, maintaining a wary distance. The Elf, with his keen sight, noticed that their eyes, whether human or Misbegotten, all glowed with the same golden light as the great tree.

After summoning them, Tarnes had allowed the Grace of the Golden Tree to descend upon each of them equally. It was this blessing that had calmed the Misbegotten and kept the nobles and commoners from protesting. Though the rebellion at Castle Morne had been fueled by the conspiracies of the Frenzied Flame, its root cause was the cruel oppression the Misbegotten had endured as slaves. By bestowing his Grace upon them, Tarnes had affirmed their status as recognized subjects of the Golden Tree, not slaves to be slaughtered at will. The nobles and commoners, who already saw the Golden Tree as their lifelong faith, dared not object to a decree from the one who commanded it.

Still, Tarnes knew the animosity between them could not be erased with a single command. The current peace was fragile, maintained only by his presence. Once he was gone, the suppressed conflict would likely erupt anew. He had therefore arranged for them to live and work in separate areas, hoping that time and distance would slowly wear away the long-standing hatred.

Soon after exiting the castle, the two groups diverged, the humans turning right and the Misbegotten turning left. Following them was a hundred-man contingent of Godrick's soldiers, led by two fully armored knights. Roughly eighty percent of the squad were auxiliaries, identifiable by their simpler gear—white undergarments, chainmail shoulder capes, and round helmets, but without the green and gold surcoats of the regular army. They carried short daggers, their equipment clearly inferior to the soldiers at the front. These auxiliaries were not front-line fighters; their duties were to stand guard, transport weapons, and operate siege equipment. But now, their numbers could be put to use tilling the fields and herding livestock.

Nepheli Loux immediately understood. Tarnes had summoned more people from the Lands Between. She was about to invent an explanation for the sudden influx of people, but she realized the Elves and Dwarves were not questioning how the people appeared, only who they were. They simply attributed it all to the convenient and magical title of "Wizard." After spending so much time among the natives of Middle-earth, Nepheli had learned that no matter what strange new thing occurred in the Golden Tree's territory, they were quick to accept it with a shrug and the explanation, "It must be another one of the Wizard's tricks."

Since no one was asking questions, Nepheli was content to remain silent. To her surprise, she realized the argument had ended. The Elf was walking back toward the Elven dwellings, and the Dwarves were jogging toward their farmhouses.

"Wait," she called out, confused. "Where are you going?"

The Elf paused and bowed. "Lord Tarnes's kin have traveled a long way. I imagine they are in need of good food and fresh water."

The red-bearded Dwarf shouted over his shoulder without looking back, "Just spring water? That's pointy-ear thinking for you! We're bringing them fine wine and milk! And steaming hot roasted meat! Hahaha, there's sure to be a grand feast tonight! We'll drink 'til we drop!"

The Elf's mouth twitched. He shook his head, bowed once more to Nepheli, and departed.

A banquet? Nepheli thought, watching the two groups walk in opposite directions. She sighed. The atmosphere at tonight's feast might not be as joyful as the Dwarves imagined.

Within the castle, beneath the golden light of the great tree, a tense tableau was arranged on the open ground. Tarnes stood at the center, a dividing line between two factions. On one side stood Edgar, the silver-armored lord of Castle Morne, his blind daughter, Irena, sheltered behind him. Opposite them were a formidable Lion Guardian, its fur the color of flame, and the hunched, muscular form of Hewg, the Misbegotten blacksmith, who gripped his iron hammer tightly. Behind Hewg stood Roderika, the sweet-faced girl in the red hood who had once served as a spirit tuner in the Roundtable Hold.

At Tarnes's side was D, Hunter of the Dead, his golden and silver armor gleaming. He had driven his greatsword into the grassy earth, his hands resting on its pommel. He was also Darian, Rogier's dear friend.

Hewg nervously protected Roderika, glaring fiercely at Edgar, who glared back with equal intensity.

"Hmph." The Lion Guardian snorted, stepping forward to shield Hewg and Roderika from Edgar's hostile gaze.

Roderika placed a hand on her chest, her voice trembling. "Tarnished, what is happening? I… I feel so many new memories flooding my mind…"

At that moment, Edgar, Irena, Hewg, and Darian all clutched their heads, their faces tight with pain. The Lion Guardian, unaffected, looked on with concern, even steadying Hewg as his body swayed.

To Tarnes's surprise, Roderika was the first to recover. Her clear, emerald eyes slowly turned a familiar gold as the Grace of the tree returned to her. She looked at Tarnes, her expression a mixture of admiration and sorrow. "Tarnished," she whispered. "You truly have endured so much."

Tarnes offered her a warm, familiar smile. "Welcome, Roderika. I'm afraid you'll be quite busy. Not with spirit tuning, but with clerical work. Kenneth Haight is overwhelmed and will explain everything. You know him, don't you? Good."

Though surprised by the change in duties, Roderika immediately agreed. She trusted the Tarnished who had become her Elden Lord. Tarnes had summoned her for this very reason; as a noblewoman, Roderika would have the education needed to assist Kenneth, whose workload was about to explode with the arrival of the new residents. Without help, the endearing but theatrical noble would surely work himself to collapse while complaining dramatically.

On the other side of the clearing, Edgar and Irena recovered from the flood of memories. The knight turned to embrace his daughter, but hesitated, worried his hard armor would harm her.

Tarnes gestured for Roderika to wait and walked past the Lion Guardian, who bowed its head slightly in reverence. "Wise and benevolent Elden Lord."

Tarnes nodded and stopped before Edgar and Irena. "Edgar," he said, his voice firm, "I must examine your daughter."

The middle-aged knight's face filled with worry and hesitation. Though he knew from his restored memories that Tarnes was now the Elden Lord and his command could not be defied, his love for his daughter gave him the courage to stand between them.

Tarnes sighed and drew a Godrick Knight's Sword from his pack, placing the razor-sharp blade against Edgar's neck. "Edgar, you remember now. You know why this is necessary. I have no tolerance for the Frenzied Flame. I promise you, if the witch is not dwelling within her, she will be safe. I will even find light work for her to do."

With a sudden, sharp movement, Edgar dropped to his knees. His body, as if drained of all strength, sank into the soft, golden grass. The sound of his forehead striking the ground echoed under the tree. A smear of blood bloomed on his skin, each drop a reflection of his inner torment.

He looked up, his voice a ragged whisper. "Your Majesty… Tanes. Irena could never be a thrall of the Flame. She is too kind. She showed goodwill even to the Misbegotten."

Tarnes was unmoved. He looked at the blind, frightened girl and spoke slowly. "Irena may be innocent, but that does not mean the Flame has not planted its seed within her. I had a friend, Yura. He saved me from a Bloody Finger when I was weak. He fought a dragon at my side. He died fighting another assassin, one cloaked in purest purple."

Tarnes took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Edgar's bewildered face. He fought to suppress his rage. "You must wonder why I mention him. It is because a thrall of the Frenzied Flame—Shabriri—had taken root inside him. After Yura died, that shameless creature took possession of his body."

"And you know," Tarnes continued, his voice low and intense, "that after your daughter's death, a witch of the Frenzied Flame named Hyetta appeared, identical to Irena in every way. Edgar, do not tell me a knight who guarded Castle Morne for years did not see this as a conspiracy of the Flame, even in your grief-stricken madness."

Irena spoke then, her voice faint and trembling. "From your voice… are you the kind Tarnished who delivered my letter to my father?"

Tarnes looked at the girl, who was fumbling blindly for her father's hand. He calmed himself. "Yes. It is I. But because of what happened after, I must check you for the mark of the Flame. I am sorry, but I will not be deterred. This is too important."

Irena nodded. "You were willing to deliver a letter for me. I knew then that you were a kind person. Though I cannot see, I can hear the deep sadness and anger in your voice now. The 'Frenzied Flame' has clearly hurt you deeply. To put your mind at ease, please, examine me."

"Irena…" Edgar whispered, grasping her hand tightly.

"It's alright, Father," she said, her voice gentle. "The Tarnished is a good man. He was the only one willing to listen to a blind girl's request. He did not mock me for my blindness. I trust him." Then, facing where Tarnes had spoken, she said, "Please, begin."

As she finished, golden light surged from the tree and into her body. Tarnes, holding a catalyst, performed the Law of Regression. The incantation, which strips away all mimicry, bathed Irena in a golden radiance. Her form remained unchanged. There was no trace of the Flame within her.

"The examination is complete," Tarnes said calmly to Irena and the worried Edgar. "You are clean."

Edgar collapsed onto the grass in relief.

Tarnes's tone softened as he addressed the girl who had been so innocently caught in the Flame's plot. "Irena, take the cloth from your eyes. As a reward for your cooperation, I will grant you sight."

A warmth spread through Irena's body, surging into her eyes. Edgar watched, knowing it was the Grace of the Golden Tree. Tarnes gestured at Irena, then turned and walked toward D, leaving the father and daughter to their reunion.

The darkness that had shrouded Irena's world began to bloom with wisps of golden light, until light filled her vision completely. She felt something blocking it and realized it was the blindfold.

Edgar stood, watching breathlessly as his daughter removed the cloth, revealing a pair of bright, vital golden eyes.

"Father?" she asked, sensing a familiar and comforting presence from the unfamiliar knight before her.

As the two embraced, D walked toward Tarnes. "Quite a reunion you've orchestrated," he commented. "But I never expected that weak Tarnished… to become the Elden Lord. That, I admit, is a surprise."

Tarnes smiled. "It is not just Edgar and Irena who are reuniting. An old friend of yours is eager to see you as well."

"Oh?" D looked at Tarnes, confused, then followed his gaze.

Tarnes shouted to the sorcerer who had been hesitating in the distance, "Rogier! How long are you going to stand there?"

(End of Chapter)

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