The nine members of the Fellowship of the Ring set out from the hidden valley. Elrond watched their departing figures and sighed softly.
The world was in chaos and turmoil. Nowhere was spared.
Even the Free Cities, long known for peace and almost untouched by evil, were not exempt. In the past, Sauron would never have cast his gaze upon them, but the moment their leader left, the lands of the North and South Undeeps fell into war.
Thranduil had tried to lead his people in support, but as soon as they left the forest, they encountered a band of fierce orcs attacking the nearby town. Overhead, Nazgûl circled the skies.
Beorn's son led his warriors into battle, holding the orc army on the ground. From the mountaintops, the Great Eagles swooped down, clashing with the Nazgûl and their monstrous beasts in fierce aerial combat, keeping their attention fixed away from the ground to protect the men below.
This was already the fourth wave of invading enemies, and no one knew where this particular horde of orcs had come from.
It was certain they were not from Dol Guldur, nor from Rohan or Isengard.
Thranduil was baffled by these armies. He had received no intelligence about them.
It was not until the arrival of Lady Galadriel that their origin was revealed. The fourth legion had come from Khazad-dûm.
The orcs there had once been slaughtered nearly to extinction by Garrett. Terrified, they had hidden themselves away, some even thought to be completely wiped out.
But under Sauron's influence, a remnant had survived in secret. They had lain low during the height of the forces of light, not attacking even travelers. But now, summoned by their dark master, they had emerged once again, discovered by the border guards of Lothlórien.
Sensing the growing unrest, Lady Galadriel had a premonition. She turned her gaze northward, beyond the lands of Men, toward the desolate Northern Waste, and took action.
In a reception hall that was, for the moment, still somewhat quiet amidst the chaos of war, Lady Galadriel met with Thranduil and Glorfindel, who had come to aid her, along with a commander of the Vales of Anduin Legion from the Free Cities.
Three Elves and one Man gathered for a small council, focused on the situation in the region and their repeatedly delayed plans to rescue Saruman.
The commander mostly listened, following the instructions left by Garrett to cooperate with the Elves.
Lady Galadriel was the first to speak.
"I can feel it. The legend of the North is fulfilling a duty that was never his to bear. Our long-lost kin are returning."
"Kin?" Thranduil asked, slightly puzzled.
Among the three Elves, he was the youngest, barely over five thousand years old. The other two were older by one or even two whole ages, and far stronger.
Both had once bathed in the holy light of the Two Trees of Valinor. When they stood together, no lamps were needed. Their very beings glowed with divine radiance.
"In the age when I was born," Lady Galadriel explained, "many Elves were captured and tormented by Morgoth. Even after his defeat and the fall of his fortress, many of those taken never returned. I sense that Garrett is searching for them in some deep and distant place, and that he will free them, to return at last to Valinor."
"A noble deed," Glorfindel murmured in admiration.
Thranduil nodded in agreement, though he was less moved than the others. He merely acknowledged and praised the act.
Unlike the other two, who had likely witnessed those ancient horrors firsthand, Thranduil only knew of them from the vast stores of elven lore. Hearing them speak of it now brought the memories of that knowledge to mind.
The commander of the Vales of Anduin Legion, who had been silent until now, felt a weight lift from his heart as he listened.
So, Lord Garrett was merely far away, tending to important matters. Nothing had gone wrong after all.
As this thought occurred to him, he looked up slightly, realizing that perhaps this message had been spoken deliberately for his benefit, so he could spread the news across the realms and ease people's fears.
Elves... every gesture of theirs carried meaning, to be understood only through careful thought.
The commander understood.
But then he raised his head and noticed that Lady Galadriel had suddenly gone still, her gaze distant. A flicker of confusion rose in his heart.
What was it now? What had happened?
---
"Hoo..."
Outside the fortress of Utumno, Garrett exhaled deeply, blowing away a few stray flames.
The battle had been too fierce. Vast sections of the fortress's outer walls had collapsed, scarred by impacts and scorched black by fire.
His runic shields had shattered and recharged countless times, drained, restored, then drained again. If not for the elemental energy absorbed from slain creatures replenishing his staff, it would have long since run dry.
Patting out the stubborn flames still clinging to his armor, he flexed his body and rose from atop the massive, lifeless corpse of a Balrog whose fiery energy had been extinguished.
"Pretty dangerous."
Moments ago, a horde of grotesque beasts had charged at him, driven forward by a Balrog from behind.
Inside the fortress's narrow, confined passages, the monsters had jammed together, leaving no room to maneuver. Several times, their combined assault had actually wounded Garrett, nearly threatening his true form, but in the end, his skill prevailed.
Now, the ground was littered with the mangled remains of those creatures, and the Balrog beneath his feet had its wings hacked to shreds.
After he finished clearing out the beasts one by one and gravely injuring the Balrog, it had tried to flee, but in vain. He'd stopped holding back, pulled out his Dragonbone Bow with Power V enchantment, nocked a Dragonbone Arrow, and shot the demon from the air. Then, with his greatsword, he had severed its immense wings, half flame, half flesh.
Now, the Balrog too was nothing but material.
However, even with his loot bonus, all it dropped was a single Flame of Udûn. He felt disappointed.
This Balrog felt weaker, less formidable than the one in Khazad-dûm, or the one I personally slew before.
Of course, that could just be an illusion. After all, Garrett himself was no longer the same. Compared to his first battle with a Balrog, his strength had more than doubled.
After slaying the fiery demon that had practically delivered itself to his door, he tore through the fortress, exterminating every last dark creature he could find.
Once he was sure there were no survivors, he dug deeper.
Clack.
At last, near the fortress's center, the dense stone wall gave way, opening into a surprisingly well-preserved chamber.
"I didn't expect to find a place this intact."
Using the night-vision potion he had recently brewed, he examined the chamber.
It was empty, except for a single dark, abyssal shaft in the center, descending straight downward.
The stairway spiraled endlessly into the depths, its end invisible. It even seemed broken partway down, crumbled into nothingness.
Peering further, the pit looked like pure void, bottomless, infinite, and unsettling.
Should I go down?
The thought had barely formed when a sudden revelation struck him.
No, rather than a revelation, it was a warning.
Unlike before, this warning came from another presence.
A cold wind crossed leagues of stone and earth, sweeping into the fortress and brushing against Garrett's face, stirring his hair. Through it, he received understanding.
It was a warning from Manwë, King of Air and Wind, Lord of Compassion, Keeper of Order, the foremost among the Valar, he who sought to heal and correct all that was broken in the world.
"Beneath the abyss lies the utterly concealed and gathered malice of ages past. It is a world of complete corruption and darkness, shrouded by lingering evil will, sealed away from all light, beyond even the perception of the Valar."
Garrett grasped the meaning at once.
The Valar were forbidden from interfering too greatly in mortal affairs, and their own realm had long been set apart, cut off from Arda itself by the world's Creator.
Now, with this additional barrier, if Garrett were to descend further, even the Valar might not be able to reach him. From that point on, he would be completely on his own.
Each has their domain of mastery.
Some among the Valar could crush Morgoth through sheer power alone, shattering mountains and continents with a single blow, but in other realms, they could not necessarily surpass him.
And this was one such realm.
But...
"A new challenge, then. I like that."
Garrett smiled faintly and leapt into the void-like chasm.
A current of wind coiled around him, forming a barrier of divine law that shielded him from impact or harm as he fell.
---
"I can no longer sense him," said Galadriel softly, staring northward, her expression distant and confused.
"What do you mean?" Thranduil asked.
Glorfindel, more experienced in such matters, answered quietly, "Garrett has left this world."