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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 338
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 20:47:03 +0000 UTCChapter 338: Cirith Ungol
“That is all the better, then.”
Seeing Levi join in, Gandalf agreed at once.
If Levi was at leisure anyway, there was no reason not to drag him along as help.
Once that was settled, Levi asked, “Tell me the details of what you have. Clearly.”
“In Ithilien, near the Cross-roads,” Gandalf said after a moment’s thought. “To be honest, it worries me. That region lies far too close to the Witch-king’s domain. If there had been no more reports of him, I would have begun to fear that Gollum had already fallen under his sway.”
“Oh?”
“So Gollum is skulking near Minas Morgul?” Levi asked.
“Yes,” Gandalf said.
“Then I know where to look.”
Levi smiled.
“I know the place well. I have a base of my own, not far from the Cross-roads. And…”
“And?” Gandalf waited for him to go on.
Levi faltered.
He shook his head.
“Nothing certain.”
“Nothing certain about what?” Gandalf pressed.
“About whether the Orc captain has been replaced. Whether there has been some change in command.”
“And what has that to do with us?” Gandalf asked, growing more puzzled.
“There are always surprises in the world, Gandalf. Even among Orcs, there are those with their own minds, unstable though they may be,” Levi said.
Gandalf frowned, thinking.
“I cannot say whether such a thing exists. But if—if—it does, I can only say it would be rare indeed. The first I have ever heard of it,” he answered at last.
Sauron’s chains were hard enough for the strongest heroes to break. For Orcs, who had no souls of their own, it was harder still.
Yes. Orcs had no souls. Of that, Gandalf, with his peculiar nature, was most certain. He remembered their making.
Most of them were no more than beasts shaped into mockeries of Men. A few exceptional and mighty ones were likely something else altogether, choosing to wear Orc-shape, a kind of skin. In truth, they were other beings.
The so-called Orc-king of Half-orc Town, who must have lived for thousands of years, was almost certainly a fallen Maia who had taken Orc form, and not a very strong one at that.
For the race as a whole, it was almost impossible to imagine an Orc whose will was strong enough to stand against Sauron.
Almost.
“Well, nothing is ever absolute. Sometimes a thought snaps in the mind, and everything changes, and never changes back,” Levi said.
“There is truth in that,” Gandalf agreed, with a look that said he spoke from experience.
Two thousand years of wandering Middle-earth had brought him across more broken minds than he could count. Some were twisted enough to make him wonder whether Morgoth himself had crept inside.
No. That was wrong.
Not even Morgoth had been that perverse.
After a short talk, they moved at once. That very day, Levi set out ahead of Gandalf, slipping through the Nether paths to reach his outpost near the Cross-roads.
He left the base and went straight for the cleft north of Minas Morgul: the pass of Cirith Ungol.
It cut through a narrow valley on the north side of Minas Morgul and was one of only two ways by which the West could enter Mordor.
The other was, of course, through Minas Morgul itself, along the road called the Morgul-way, which ran straight into the dark land.
No one outside Mordor was likely to simply stroll onto that road.
With the Witch-king sitting over it, it was loathsome even to Gollum. No one sane wished to draw near.
If Levi’s guess was right, Gollum had gone looking for a back way into Mordor, blundered into Shelob at Cirith Ungol, and fallen into her service, bringing her fresh meat.
The great spider had long fed only on dried and stinking Orcs, and even those had grown scarce as Orcs grew more wary and kept away.
Gollum, quick and able to creep where she could not, bearing her new food, was not a servant she would lightly let go.
“But this is as far as that goes,” Levi said, narrowing his eyes as he looked toward the valley north of Minas Morgul.
Gandalf and Aragorn might not know what lay there, but he did.
“Shelob, is it. Let us see.”
He did nothing to hide himself as he struck out toward Cirith Ungol.
Nearby, Orcs squatting in the weeds, chewing maggoty bread, happened to look up and saw a figure wreathed in heat pass overhead. At once, they forgot how to breathe and almost dropped where they sat.
“He is here!”
“Quick! Tell the captain!”
By pure instinct, the Orcs who had seen Levi ran to fetch someone stronger.
“Leave him,” came the answer when the word reached the lame, ill-tempered captain.
Seeing their confusion, he dragged himself to his feet and bellowed,
“Filth, what are you panicking for?”
“He is not here for us, and not for the Witch-king either. Why should we meddle?”
His roar was enough to still the troops’ fear.
“That makes sense.”
“Trust the chief. Always thinking,” some muttered.
If the man was not coming for them and not for their master, any move of theirs to draw his eye would be suicide. If they did anything to anger him and he stormed into Minas Morgul through the mists, thrashing someone, it would not end well.
Silence was best. Whatever business he had was their concern after he left.
Among themselves, the Orcs and Uruks rolled the captain’s words around. Most thought them wise, a way to keep themselves alive without disobeying their lord.
Out of their sight, however, the captain himself was nearly jumping for joy.
Taking care that none of his underlings were looking, the lame brute slipped out of camp and hobbled as fast as he could after Levi.
A thin breeze pushed aside the dust-choked air, making Levi grimace.
Mordor’s air was foul. In Ithilien, the ground had been covered with grass and trees. Here, at the foot of the Ash Mountains, the earth was a dry, scorched grey. Only charred, lifeless stumps black as coal marked the change in the land.
Even if this place were taken one day, it would be no fit home.
If the scars Sauron had left were left to heal on their own, even another Age might not be enough.
That could wait. Time would be long enough to think about it later.
After a while, he came to a narrow, still pass and began to climb the steps.
