Session 29: The Horrors of Chetwood

January 12, 2966…

 The Company both rested, and aided the people in Archet; gathering those who'd been slain; aided those who had been wounded to make-shift facilities that were being used to aid those who'd been wounded. Camellia was frantically running back and forth, helping those she could, instructing those who'd been assisting her. Arthanar too, helped with the wounded, though his eyes often drifted to Camellia, whom he watched with great fascination; her courage was something he'd never seen in a human woman, and how well she stood against her employer, how she'd risked her life to come here in the heat of a battle, and even now, covered in blood as she was, how she never tired to help those in need.

 Arthanar and Lodin began their journey towards Combe, when all that could be done was done. Maethordan, Welton, Sigurd, rode on Armanel back to Weathetop.

Weathertop.

Even as Armanel circled, slowly descending down onto Weathertop, Maethordan could see that Beleram was there, one of his wings wrapped in massive bandages. Sigurd leapt from the Great Eagle as it landed and looked to Strider. "The goblins were driven back," he said, answering Strider's unspoken question, "and there was no sign of William. I suspect he may yet be in Chetwood."

Beleram saw Maethordan and Welton. "As you can see, I was wounded by William as I carried him away. He struck me with his ill-blade, but I survived. But the pain felt as if it were a touch of death itself, so cold, I could not hold him as the pain ran through my body. He fell into the webbed woods of Chetwood. I suspect as soon as I had carried him that it had been his plan to fall into those woods. I searched briefly for him, but the pain from the wound was like poison needles, and I could scarcely remain flying. Even now, my vision is greatly impaired and I can not fly. That fell weapon is dangerous. But while searching for Williams; those webbings I saw are not natural."

Strider looked to Maethordan and Welton. "This is why I have called for you here. I want to find William and put him to rest for what he's done," Strider's voice remained calm, but there was a tone of anger there for what William had done to Hergrim. "But I want to understand what has happened in Chetwood that such webbing would exist? Beleram says it covers most of Chetwood's tree tops like a webbed canopy. No spider I know of makes such webs."

Maethordan nodded in agreement as his eyes followed Strider. "No natural beasts make those webs; they are made by giant spiders, children of the Ungoliant. William was going to poison the well of Bree using a potion containing their venom. If William has fallen into their webs he is in no danger in fact he could well be marshalling them for defense. Lodin is gathering forces local to Chetwood to try and clear the spiders, but he will need help. I intend to go back and help, but if we can help him in a greater way it will go better for all."

Strider paced back and forth. "The Children of Ungoliant," he shook his head. "Grim news indeed. The Shadow draws from the Greatest Darkness to summon allies to their side." Strider turned to Beleram, "You must remain here my friend. But I will not leave you defenseless. Three of my Rangers of the North shall remain here with you should trouble come this way. Baranthor had flown to Rivendell to see if Gandalf had news from Elrond." Strider gestured to a tall, slender elf, whose long brown hair flowed past their waist line, woven with golden weaves that appeared to be leaves that glistened in the faint light. "This is Ornendil."

Ornendil bowed deeply. "It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Maethordan. And," he looked to Welton.

"Cirion," Welton answered with a gentle nod of his head.

"A pleasure then, Cirion," Ornendil nodded in return. “A Gondorian name is it?”

Welton nodded.

"Elrond has searched and still has not found a way to destroy the weapon," Ornendil reported. "However, there is a way to contain the weapon. Though it will not be easy. A pouch, made from the flesh of trolls, would do it. Their dense flesh would allow such a weapon to be contained and held until we can find a way to destroy it."

Maethordan looked stunned for a moment, before speaking, "Troll hide you say?" He shrugged his shoulders, "By some strange coincidence Lodin, son of Brodin, has such a hide in his possession. He took it from a troll we slew in the defense of Archet and is seeking to get something made of it. When we return, we will see what we can do about a bag."

He then paused and apologized, "Where are my manners!" He nodded to Ornendil, "It is a pleasure to meet you." He then turned back to Strider. "What would you have us do master Strider? I Hope to return but if you need our help? What are your plans? Will to gather forces to attack the Chetwood from a different direction or should I have them wait for you?"

Strider nodded. "The time has come. We have an idea where William is. Whether or not he has aligned himself with the children of Ungoliant, he will know his final rest by our hands. You, Cirion, Ornendil, and Sigurd ride on the back of Armanel. Halligan, Pallis, Nevinel and I will ride upon Baranthor. Where have you agreed to meet your fellow members of the Company, Lodin and Arthanar - we shall fly to them tomorrow after you and Cirion have gained a night's rest."

Maethordan knew Halligan for was one of the Dúnadan and a brother to Halldor; Pallis was a former guard of Bree, who took action because he saw an increasing shadow growing and Nevinel was his wife and a talented huntress herself.

That night, peace did not come to Maethordan; as he slept, it was broken often by images of his mother and her screaming and fighting as she was engulfed by darkness. Her voice echoed in the darkness that engulfed her; but she was a light that held her child closely, her voice mournful, as she spoke of the deeds of the child’s father.

The following morning, a warm campfire sent smoke gently into the air, as Strider and the others prepared for their travel. Food cooked on the open fire, and Nevinel looked at Maethordan as he stirred awake, the gentle smell of food pulling him slowly from his sleep. "You had restless slumber," Nevinel said softly. "I could not hear the words you spoke, but it was clear your dreams were plagued."

Maethordan smiled as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Just memories of my mother and my father," he said plainly.

Nevinel smiled at Maethordan as her own husband, Pallis, placed his hand on her shoulder. She stood and nodded to Pallis, then turned back to Maethordan. "May the memories of your kin bring light during these times of shadow. There is food there for you. When you are ready, we will take the Great Eagles. Is it to Combe we go to, to meet your previous Company?"

Maethordan continued to smile and said, "My mother yes; she was a Ranger called Iloreth but she died before my teen years, and I never met my father. He was powerful but not a good sort according to my mother."

Nevinel placed her hand on Maethordan's shoulder. "Keep the memory of your mother close to heart and mind. She may not be here anymore," she gestured with her other hand, "but she remains there with you. A part of you. A light in the Shadow. I will speak her name in my thoughts and thank her for the son she has raised with boldness to stand against Shadow."

January 13, 2966… Combe.

Oswald Breeker saw Lodin and Arthanar and he glanced beyond them. "Where is Camellia? She hasn't," his voice trailed. The hard man's stern face softened to a child-like innocence on the verge of tears.

Lodin looked at Oswald again; he saw a different side to him. Lodin finally said, "Camellia is well. She's still tending to the wounded. Without her, many more would have died, so she, and you have our thanks. The Rangers are returning to report to their commander, so the two of us are taking care of other business. We are still planning to clear the Chetwood, but the goblins delayed that. So, we're returning to Bree over the western mountains to avoid the spiders. Timothy Thistle apparently may have some information I need; may I speak with him?"

Hearing that Camellia is well, Oswald coughed to clear his throat, and his face grew stern once again, before he turned to face the two hired help standing behind him, who had not seen his moment of tenderness and concern. "Go on," he snapped, as if shewing away children, "you heard the man! Go fetch Timothy Thistle!"

And in several short moments, the servant returned, face beat red, and Timothy Thistle strolled in behind. Seeing Lodin and Arthanar he extended his hands wide. "Oh, we are in blessed company! It's the troll-slayers!"

Arthanar turned to look at Lodin. "Word travels fast, or this human has uncanny ears."

Timothy bowed, "What can I do for the troll-slayers? What could the heroes of Archet want with me?"

Lodin stared at Timothy, and spoke plainly, "We heard you may know of someone skilled enough to cure a troll hide? It is quite odorous, so I won't take it out, but after it's been treated, I'll make sure to let you see it sometime." Lodin leaned in and added, “And if you have any information on any bows or fletchers capable of making bows that can pierce a troll's hide, that would be information worth paying for."

"Troll hide!" Timothy smiled. "It takes a rare person to work troll hide! Someone quite skilled! Thankfully, as you might imagine, I know so many people and I have so many connections! So yes, I do happen to know someone who knows how to cure troll hide. Or," he smirked, "so they say, anyway! But I trust them! They've never done me wrong!"

"Get on with it," Oswald sputtered. "They've not got all day to be hearing your own self appraisal!"

"Well, you never hear it," Timothy smirked. Oswald scowled. "Fine, fine. It's a man named Fitch Talltree. He used to live in Archet. Well, until the demise of his father, for which he blames himself for. This happened nearly ten years ago, when the two were hunting a brutal Stone-Troll from the Weather Hills that his father had nearly bested in combat previously. Not only was Fitch unable to aid his father in defeating the Troll, but the elder Talltree died saving his son from a particularly grievous blow from the Troll’s massive stone club. To this day, Fitch seeks to alleviate his guilt over the death of his father, but fears facing the Troll alone. He's hunted many trolls in his days. Looks like he's half troll these days," Timothy added under his breath. "He's still looking for that same troll who killed his father."

Oswald cast a glance towards Lodin. "It's true, he's killed a troll or two. Brought their severed heads here a time or two he has, in a daze. If anyone knows how to cure troll hide, it would probably be him. But he does, as Timothy noted, look like a mad-man." Oswald looked to Timothy. "I saw him in town yesterday. Is he still here?"

Timothy nodded. "Yes. He's at the Sunken Hole."

Arthanar looked puzzled.

"Small tavern," Oswald answered.

"Go on and fetch him," Oswald said to Timothy.

As Timothy left, Oswald turned, "Don't mention the business of his father to Talltree."

A moment later, a man following behind Timothy appeared. His wardrobe was a mixture of furs and leather; nothing matched. His beard was wild and unkempt. He looked at Lodin and Arthanar. "What's this business about trolls?" the wild looking man asked.

Lodin nodded to the newcomer, "Good day to you Mr. Talltree. Just recently there was a goblin attack on Archet, during which my companions and I slew a troll. The hide was still good and I got a large quality specimen. Would you be able to fashion it into a cloak or two?"

"A troll! Allow me to see!" Fitch Talltree said in both excitement - and perhaps a sense of dread. Upon revealing the troll's flesh, Fitch Talltree heaved a deep sigh of relief. "This is not the troll that slew my father," he said audibly. Then shook his head, clearing the dread that someone else might have robbed him of his vengeance, and said, "Yes. There's enough here to make two cloaks. It will take me some time, as you can imagine their dense hide will be time consuming to cure and prepare for such a thing. These cloaks will feel heavy and clumsy," he added after a moment, "there is no making a troll's hide soft." He looked the hide over, "Between the fleshing, which it looks like you have already done a fine job of; but there will be the bucking, for which, that should not take too long; trolls are not furry, but they do have body hair; the graining and membraning of the skin will take a day or two; then neutralizing and rinsing it..." He gave it some thought, "Then to sew it to cloaks. It will take me about four to seven days if you have that kind of time?"

Lodin nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. I'll return after our expedition to the Chetwood. How much will your services cost?"

Fitch Talltree looked at Lodin. "You have taken a troll from this world. This one I will do for free. But if you hear news of other trolls - bring that news to me, and I will consider our payment done."

Lodin and Fitch shook hands. "Troll blood," he pulled his hand back, the dried blood from the skinned troll, transferred between Lodin and Fitch, "now binds our agreement."

"Thank you Fitch, Timothy, and Master Breeker,” Lodin said, his gaze falling on each of them as he spoke their name, “I'll go talk with Captain Skyhawk and return in a couple days. By then I expect the rest of our fellowship to return and we'll launch the expedition to the Chetwood from here."

Fitch Talltree had been bucking the troll skin given to him by Lodin, when a voice called out behind him. "Fitch Talltree! What are you doing in Combe? Are you not normally in Archet? The town could have used your skills, Seeker of Trolls."

Fitch turned to see an old man, grey robes, long beard, odd hat, leaning on a staff. "Do I know you, wizard?"

"You do not, but your father did," the old man replied. "My name is Gandalf, and I have a favor to ask of you, son of Redwald."

Fitch stopped - it'd been a long time since he'd heard his father's name. "What would you ask of me, wizard?"

"Among the flesh you are treating, make a pouch with what will be left over," the man smiled.

"A pouch? I could do that. May I ask why?" Fitch turned, but there was no one there. "A pouch," he repeated.

On the backs of the Giant Eagle, Baranthor; Maethordan, Welton, and Ornendil rode; while on the back of Armanel; rode Halligan, Pallis, Nevinel and Strider rode.

The Giant Eagles circled Combe several times, before coming down for a landing.

Oswald, normally stern and grumpy in appearance, seemed relieved at seeing the Rangers of the North.

Strider approached Oswald and gave him a firm handshake.

Lodin, along with Dolly and Arthanar stepped out at the sounds of the Giant Eagles.

At that same moment, Fitch Talltree approached, carrying a pouch. He handed it to Lodin. "The pouch your friend asked me to make," he said. "Was easier and quicker to cure to make. Though," he looked at the heavy pouch, "it's an odd request. I will have your cloaks done in a few more days." Without waiting, he turned and began to walk back.

Lodin looked at Fitch, the pouch, and back to Fitch. "What friend?"After receiving no answer, he shrugs and attaches it to his belt. Ghastly looking thing though.

Ornendil watched Fitch walk away, somewhat surprised, then turned to Lodin. "The trollskin pouch - we will need that to hold William's huine-blade. But if you did not tell him," his eyes followed Fitch before he looked back at Lodin, "then who told him we would need such a thing? You Company," he looked to Maethordan, "told me that you had all slain a troll. But to know a pouch was needed..."

A mysterious figure shows up with no fanfare and even less explanation? Must be Gandalf. "I'm sure it was just Gandalf."

Fitch paused, almost out of earshot and turned, "Yes. That was his name. Wizardry sort of fellow. Big hat. Big staff." He rolled his eyes. "No idea why anyone would want a troll pouch," he said aloud, then continued to walk, muttering beneath his breath, "or troll cloaks for that matter..."

Lodin smiled at the irony of infamy among infamous people. He turned to the newly arrived Rangers of the North. " Let us take count of our resources. How many have come from Archet, Bree, and Weathertop?"

Strider nodded and introduced several of the Rangers of the North that came with him on the backs of the Great Eagles. "This is Halligan, brother to Halldor, who still guards Staddle. Here to my right, is Pallis, Man of Bree, a former guard to the town of Bree, he and his wife," he gestured to a beautiful woman, "Nevinel, who is a great hunter, joined the Rangers of the North when they sensed the Shadows growing longer. This here," he gestured to a tall, slender elf, "is Ornendil, Messenger of Rivendell, sent upon the wings of the Great Eagle by Lord Elrond to deliver news of how to contain the huine-blade William wields.”

Then a familiar voice chimed in, "I will go with you. I can sense William." Standing among several soldiers from Archet is none other than Fred Stoneacre, his fractured mind, seemingly cleared.

Several soldiers from Bree looked amongst each other; they were all too familiar with Fred and his brother’s reputation.

"We should split into groups of five," Strider said. "If you find William, use these," he handed each group a whistle, "so that Lodin can ensure that the weapon is contained safely. Under no circumstance are you to confront William without me and do not, under any circumstance, pick up the weapon. Lodin here has the pouch that we will need to use."

As the groups are split, Strider suggested -

Fred Stoneacre, Maethordan, Lodin, Arthanar, and Welton travel together, since there is familiarity between them - and they were to keep an eye on Fred, to ensure he remained truthful.

Strider selected several men from Bree and Archet to travel with him, and dispatched his Rangers of the North to also travel in groups with men of Bree and Archet.

In total, there are eight groups of five when all is done.

Strider looked to those gathered around and took a deep breath. “Before we set foot into these woods, know that the Great Eagles will not be able to aid us. The webbing on the tree tops are thick and prevent their sharp eyes from piercing the darkness. These woods, once home to travelers coming to and from Combe and Archet, or even Bree, are now paths that are twisted in ways unfriendly to mortal folk. A darkness has taken root here—subtle in places, brazen in others—and we must tread as hunters, not wanderers. Thlingril, the spider-queen, is cunning, patient, and swift, with a malice that has grown fat on the fear of travelers. Her webs are not just snares of silk, but traps of shadow—listen for the silence that comes before she moves, and keep your torches high. Yet she is not the only peril we face. There is a Wight here as well—one who in life bore the name William, though death has long since emptied that name of any warmth. Steel may harm him, but courage and light harm him more. Should his touch reach you, fight not only with your blade but with your spirit, for such creatures prey upon despair. Stay close to one another and let no fear master you. Now… follow quietly, and keep your eyes high and low. The woods watch us, and not all watchers are friends.”

Lodin approached Fred to offer comfort. "Though we have previously found ourselves opposed, I am happy we can seek just vengeance for your brother. You will see there are still men in this world who desire your good without an ulterior motive."

Fred, his eyes aged, though his body is still youthful, looked to Lodin; the shadows beneath his eyes were deep, dark, haunting. He nodded, and whispered, "I thank you. I can not ask forgiveness for how I have behaved. But," he raised his sleeve to show a cut, "I am doomed. The curse of William's blade will soon consume me as well, just as I sensed that the Spider Queen consumed my brother. Tonight, the legacy of both my brother and I will end. Twins in life, so too, shall we be twins in death." His voice was cold and distant, having accepted he dies tonight at the hands of William or the Spider-Queen, or, worse, beg one of you to slay him before he too becomes a restless spirit. "Something changed that cleared my mind. But it does not remove the curse bestowed upon me."

Knowing that Welton was once in the same ruffian organization as Fred, he approached him and spoke softly, "Fred may need you before the end of this. Don't let him do something foolish."

Welton approached Fred and placed his hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry to hear of your brother's fate," he whispered.

Fred turned, smiled faintly, as if briefly recognizing Welton, but his gaze seems to stare beyond - as if he could see Harry's spirit just beyond reach. "I will soon walk with my brother again," he answered before turning back towards Chetwood.

Maethordan spoke to Ornendil, away from the group, as he glanced over his shoulder at Fred. "The Magic of the elves is mighty, could it heal Fred?"

“I am no healer, my friend,” Ornendil replied. “He would be the one to know.” He pointed to Arthanar who approached. Ornendil repeated Maethordan’s question.

Arthanar placed his hand on Maethorn's shoulder and whispered, "I had done everything I could for him before in Archet. I am surprise he walks now. It is sheer will that drives him. He, like William, is far closer to death than he is to life. It is only the goal to meet death courageously that pushes him onward even now."

Strider called for everyone to march into Chetwood; weapons were drawn and the march into darkness began.

As the Company of Fred Stoneacre, Maethordan, Lodin, Arthanar, and Welton moved into Chetwood; the darkness of the woods came quickly. The treetops covered with woven threads of spider silk block the light of the day from piercing the shadows.

Inside there was an unnerving silence; as if the animals have fled the woods, or perhaps have been devoured by the newly arrived giant spiders that now skittering along the treetops. The silence of the woods made it easy to know they were not alone; the spiders, there in the shadowed treetops could be heard skittering around, following, watching.

As Fred moved forward, almost trance-like in his movement, sensing William’s presence, the Company came into a clearing; and here, the light cames from above. Glancing about, it was clear the spiders had not come here – the treetops were clear of webbing – what could have stopped the spiders from infecting this area of the woods?

Lodin scanned the clearing; his eyes searching – something had kept the spiders from here – there was something here that was out of place - something that has kept the spiders from infesting this area - something that has made them fearful of coming here.

Finally his eyes saw it - among the trees along the edges of this clearing - there was one tree, whose roots were gnarled and massive, unlike the other trees, that stood taller. It was a tree like none of the other common trees of Chetwood.

As Lodin’s mind raced, now focused on that tree - he recalled Elven songs of Ents and Entwives; but Ents have not been seen in - longer than many stories about them. Could this be an Ent he was now staring at?

As Lodin approached the massive tree, a deep, resounding rumble seemed to come from the center of the tree. "Who approaches, axe hewer of trees?" - The question, though deep was said slowly, the words drawn out.

"Lodin, son of Brodin,” Lodin replied, unsure where the voice was coming from. “You keep the spiders at bay and this axe is for splitting spiders rather than wood."

The massive tree groaned as roots pull from the ground as it leaned forward; a distorted face visible now in the tree bark. "Lodin, son of Brodin," the words again dragged out, the voice deep and rumbling. "Long have I slept, my own quest now lost to the passing sun and moon; hopeless it was, it seems. Awakened I was from the presence of a powerful She-Spider who now weaves her webs here. Why have you come so deep into the woods, Lodin, son of Brodin? Have you come to slay the Spider, axe hewer?"

"Yes,” Lodin replied, “and more, a wight formerly known as William haunts these woods with an evil blade that must be dealt with. What was your quest?"

The massive tree moaned; it's unclear if it is coming from deep within, a symbol of pain, or simply ancient roots moving. "I sought the Entwives... but they are no more... I," his voice, rumbling like slow rolling thunder, paused, "am not an Ent. I am what your tongue once called a Huorn. Something in my roots called to me," the massive tree rumbled, "to seek out the Entwives. I know not what spurred my roots forward," it added after a moment. "But devastation is all I had found and no evidence of the Entwives. I believe they are no more," his voice, so deep and thunderous, and so monotone, it is difficult to tell if it is able to convey emotion in his words.

"And what is your name?" Lodin asked, curious.

"My name," his voice rumbled, as he seemed to move back slightly, surprised to be asked such a question. He seemed lost in thought, as if trying to recall what his name might have been. After several moments of "hoo" and "humming" sounds, he finally leaned forward again. "In your tongue, I believe the name was Leaftop."

"Well, thank you Leaftop, we must continue with our mission. We'll leave you to rest."

The massive Huorn looked at Lodin, several branches moving, though no wind passed through Chetwood. "If you seek the She-Spider, know I will aid you. She brings Shadow, not only with her webs her children spin; but within her. I feel it in my roots." Several roots suddenly pulled from the ground. "Though," he added after a moment, "if you seek to move like a rabbit in the brush, I am not capable of such."

"We would be grateful for any help, not presuming to command one as ancient as yourself. Be aware, there are more of us in other groups seeking both the spiders and the wight. There are 40 of us in total. Mostly men, a few Rangers, and 2 elves, one of which is Arthanar here. Be careful of the blade the wight wields."

"I have heard their faint steps in these woods," the Huorn groaned. "The roots feel the vibrations of their movement, hear the sound of steel."

After standing in silence for a few minutes, Lodin realized the conversation must be over and tentatively started walking to see if Leaftop followed.

Maethordan followed, amazed for the first time meeting an Ent – or, what it called itself – a Huorn.

The Huorn began to move, the forest groaning in response as ancient roots pulled themselves free of the ground.

Fred turned to the others, "We must find William first," his voice was distant. He continued to stare forward, drawn to the blade in William's hand, that burned in his own veins now. "My time here is not for long. I will see William defeated. The rest of you will have to take the Spider Queen who claimed my brother. I will not live long enough to see that day come. The Shadow grows stronger around me; my vision darkness, both because of death, but the curse that will claim me soon."

Without waiting, Fred began walking deeper into the Chetwood.

As they followed Fred, around the Company, through the silence, somewhere beyond the trees, the sound of arrows flying and spiders skittering could be heard. The other Companies have encountered Spiders beyond this clearing and now fight; but Fred kept walking deeper into Chetwood, giving it no pause.

As the Company, led by Fred Stoneacre, who moved effortlessly through the dense forest; even as plants slapped and clawed at his flesh, as if to slow him down; he was unaware of the cuts and blood oozing from his newly earned wounds; the company stepped into another clearing, and a dreadful chill swept downward, and the unmistakable nightmare sounds of the undead howl. Just ahead, through the dense fog, William stood and with him, three skeletal, ghostly figures...

The grey fog that seemed to emanate from William brought a coldness to the forest that was not natural. Once, William resembled a man, whose skin had been pulled taught; but now, there was nothing left of William that was human. His body was translucent, he levitated just above the ground, the only thing solid about William was the cursed huine-blade gripped tightly in his deadly, wight hands.

He moved with the fog, though it did not part as he moved through it; for there was very little that was solid about William anymore; he was almost one with the fog. The other three wights at his side, moved with their commander.

As William drew near, his mouth opened, but the sound that came out was not human; it was a horrendous song of some kind. 

The world shifted for Fred; he and his brother, who'd fled the Cargûl's wrath, had run into William at the edge of Chetwood. The twin brothers attempted to dash in opposite directions, but William had chased Fred down and cut him.

And now, Fred felt that wound in his arm burn as William's haunting song filled his ears. The searing pain was so much that he collapsed, slumbering in a realm of nightmares.

For Lodin, who succumbed to William’s song, also saw his world change; William’s haunting voice sounded like a twisted cacophony of distorted trumpets blaring a warning ... 

He was suddenly standing on a hill, by himself, the roar of a dragon filling his ears. As he stared around, he saw thousands dead and dying all around him, even as his home town burned to ashes around him. His eyes fell on his mother, Frida, who clasped to her dead breast, one of Lodin’s younger siblings. Just to her left was his younger brother, Reinald, who died, sword in hand, defending two of his other siblings. Lodin’s own weapon snapped before him; his will shattered.

Dolly was just five feet from him, as she neighed her final sound next to Lodin.

Massive wings kicked up ash and dust, and when it settled, a massive dragon landed on the crumbled remains of one of Dale’s oldest buildings, and roared, breathing fire into the sky…

Lodin swore vengeance… a prisoner of his distorted desire to one day fight a dragon, and the nightmare he feared might one day come to pass…

Trapped in the nightmare, Lodin was unaware as the battle against William continued around him.

“Keep them away from Lodin and Fred,” Arthanar shouted, as his elven grace fired arrows at the Wights, as their deathly hands reached out.

Maethordan quickly put himself between William and Lodin and shouted, "Your evil ends here William by Azanfelak's light you shall be freed from the darkness!"

William reeled back from the light, as did the three Wights by his side.

As Maethordan swung his blade to keep William and the Wights at bay, Arthanar kneeled down and shook Lodin violently. “Awaken my friend, you are in great peril.” 

Lodin’s world crumbled, the earth rattled beneath his feet and he plunged into a chasm, only to awaken and discover he’d been trapped by a nightmare induced by William. His bleary eyes looked around and saw Maethordan standing defiantly near him, his blade gleaming; Welton was next to Maethordan, cut and bleeding, fighting off a Wight. The Huorn, Leaftop, was slamming his roots against the Wights; all the while, William lunged forward. As Lodin reached for his axe that had fallen by him when he collapsed, he saw Fred writhing in his own nightmares. Lodin tried to awaken Fred; but whatever realm Fred was trapped in, he would not awaken from it. Furious, Lodin’s eyes turned and focused on William and with a surge of his shoulder, Lodin stood and caught William by surprise, knocking their nearly incorporeal form on the ground. 

Lodin then brought his axe over his head, cleaving William’s form. The axe bit deep into William’s chest who screamed a sound that shivered all who heard it; echoed by the other Wights, whose forms shimmered. William’s form dissipated, leaving behind only the huine-blade. As the other Wights fought, Lodin wrapped the troll-sack around the blade. By the time he’d stood, Maethordan, Welton, Leaftop and Artanar had dealt with the other Wights.

Arthanar, who had been kneeling next to Fred, looked at the others. “He died in his nightmares when William perished.”

Lodin looked, “We should bury him.” He looked at the others. “Was anyone cut by this blade?”

Maethordan revealed where William’s blade had cut him. Arthanar kneels next to Lodin. "The wounds are deep, but I do not see the same infection I saw when we found him in Archet," the elf's eyes glided sadly to the still form of Fred, whose face is contorted in fear, even in death. He grimaced and reached into his pouch, and crushed a dry leaf into Maethordan's wound, which caused it to burn again. "It shall remove any infection the dark blade may have caused," he explained as he bandaged Maethordan’s arm. "We are fortunate the blade did not strike deeper and seep its shadow into your veins."

“We can not leave Fred’s body here, we must bury it,” Lodin repeated, looking around.

Maethordan looked at Fred’s contorted death mask, and said solemnly, "It may be more appropriate to burn him. His body could still be tainted so we should not taint the ground with it.”

Lodin looked at Maethordan with disgust.

The Huorn looked between Maethordan and Lodin. "I do not understand your traditions, hooo humm," he paused, "but I do not like the idea of fire."

Arthanar stepped forward and bowed before the Huorn. "The humans, as Lodin, son of Brodin, mentioned, have a tradition of burying their dead. However, this deep into Chetwood, no one would pay respects to his grave. Do you suppose, you could perhaps carry Fred's body in your treetops until this business with the Spider Queen is done?"

The Huorn, Leaftop, hoo’ed and hummed, for several minutes, giving it thought. "I suppose I could do so."

The Huorn, unaccustomed to human behavior waited a moment before Arthanar nodded, "They agree. If you could carry Fred's body, Leaftop."

The Huorn hoo’ed and humm’ed a bit more, then roots burst from beneath the ground, and like barkskin fingers, wrapped around Fred's limp body and hoisted him into Leaftop's treetops, where he's safely held and hidden beneath the Huorn's greenery.

"Shall we march," the Hourn finally asked, "and seek the She-Spider?"

“Let’s get this over with,” Lodin agreed.

The Hourn sent his roots into the ground and paused. "I can sense her," he moaned slowly, his voice like rolling thunder. "She is a dark presence. I sense... others too ... many of your kin... here.... they're fighting her kin... in these woods..." The words are slow and dragged out. "I have found the She-Spider," he finally groaned as he pulled his roots from the ground. "Shall we go directly to her? Or do you know these others of your kind, hewer, that are in these woods fighting her kin?"

"We should hurry in case they start to retreat towards their mistress," Maethordan noted.

It does not take long, being led by the Hourn, Leaftop, for the Company to find the forest infested with silken webs. The sounds of arrows flying, and commands being shouted, came as the Company as they moved into the dense webs.

But then - a woman's voice entered the minds of the Company - a voice that seemed to skitter through the fabric of their mind. "The Bane-Wielder is here, I see," her voice hissed in each of the Company's minds. "I feel it in the threads of my silken webs! Well, my precious children will rip it from your dead bones!"

Four giant sized spiders descended from the thick webs above; but the source of the voice - Thlingril herself was not visible. Her voice created a sense of dread in the area, even as the four giant spiders quickly moved forward, their fangs dripped with venom.

"I see you, Spider-Bane. We will break you and gnash you," Thlingril whispered.

“Defend Arthanar,” Lodin whispered. “She will be coming for him.”

The Giant Spiders circled the Company, but the presence of the Huorn had made them uncertain; they moved forward, and felt the wrath of the Huorn’s roots ripping from the ground and lashing the giant spiders like a whip.

Arthanar drew the bow’s string back - and the bow glowed a blue, luminescent light that made the webbing in the woods sparkle and shimmer; almost beautiful in this light. "Come to me," Arthanar snarled. "I am the wielder of Spider-Bane! It was my kind who forged this weapon!"

When Thlingril appeared, Lodin swung his axe and he felt the light of the Valar guiding his swing as the axe slid through the queen with ease. A moment later he looked in horror as he realized the lack of resistance was due to the shaft breaking and taking the lower part of the axe with it as the upper part clatters to the ground. He forgot himself and dropped to his knees in disbelief.

Arthanar grabbed Lodin by the collar, "Your weapon breaks before you, Lodin - but your will has not! Stand! The fight is not over yet! She is bloody and she will fall before us this night!"

Lodin heard Arthanar's voice as his world faded back into the nightmare. He looked around seeing the dead, Maethordan, Arthanar, Welton, Dolly, all lying dead on the field. Down swooped the dragon to perch on a rock just in front of Lodin with its wicked smile. The dragon waited, seeing what he would do; what feeble final attempt he would make.

Lodin stood up from his kneeling position and looked directly at the dragon. He pulled out the black arrow made for him by the kin of Durindem. He stepped back far enough to take aim and pulled with all his might on the bow to slay the dragon once and for all. He remembered Arthanar's words, "Your weapon breaks before you, Lodin - but your will has not! Stand! The fight is not over yet!" As he let loose the arrow with such fury and despair, he had nothing left to give.

The arrow flew true - but it did not strike a dragon, as Lodin’s mind perceived - instead, it struck Thlingril directly in the eye. Thlingril reeled back, venom spewing relentlessly from her fangs as she continued to stumble backwards, her legs tripping over one another; as she reeled back, Welton, Arthanar, Maethordan and even Leaftop pressed the advantage, until Thlingril drew her last, wretched breath.

As Thlingril’s last gargled breath released from her lungs, Leaftop's rumbling  voice said, "I have done what you asked. In you, I see Shadow, but light. I sense the others - many of them coming. I know them not. I ask you keep me a secret, for I know not how they would react." His roots reached into the tops of his branches and gently laid Fred at the base, and without awaiting a response - Leaftop's facial expressions vanished and his roots settled and for all intents and purposes - he looked like a large tree again.

A moment later, Strider, and the others emerged - "The spiders retreat," Strider commented, then saw Thlingril's corpse. "You have found their mother and slain her. Excellent. Now we must find William."

Maethordan sheathed his weapon and explained, "William has been slain, he is freed from his torment. Fred has also passed away and is..." Maethordan thought for a moment, 'he is still in Leaftop's grasp', but saw him lying at the foot of the tree that was once Leaftop and breathed out, "there, we brought him back to bury him but had to put him down during the fight. William's sword is the troll skin bag," Maethordan gestures to the bag.

Lodin, just cogent enough to have heard Strider only holds the pouch out to him waiting for him to take it without a word.

“Lodin slew both William and Thlingril.” Maethordan noted with a nod. Maethordan came to stand next to Lodin, placing his hand on his shoulder. "It is not your fault the weapon broke, we can get it repaired.”

Strider peered at the bag as Lodin held it out - he turned his head and nodded to Ornendil, the Elf who'd come from Rivendell. Ornendil stepped forward. "I will fly on the wings of Baranthor when we return to Weathetop and rush this quickly back to Lord Elrond so that he might find a way to destroy it."

Strider kneeled down and looked at Fred and moved his fingers down his face to close Fred’s eyes, which did little to remove the horrific death mask Fred wore. “We should take him back to Bree, where he could be properly buried."

After handing off the pouch, Lodin walked over to Thlingril and collected Rukhsfelak. Despondent because he has failed as a steward, he decided even in disgrace there was duty. He will bring Durindem the remains of Thlingril to prove the story. He removed her fangs, then her head. The others watched Lodin wordlessly.

January 18, 2966

Dolly pulled the cart with Fred’s body inside; covered by a blanket. Somberly, Lodin, Maethordan, Arthanar and Welton walked; despite having rested and briefly spoke at Weathertop with Strider; all four had looked as if they’d walked through a battlefield. Silence lingered between them, with only the sounds of the wooden wheel turning.

As they approached the gate, a familiar figure stood waiting. His grey robes and tall hat blew gently in the wind. As the wagon approached Gandalf, the wizard looked at each of them. “I see Shadow on you,” he whispered. “I am sorry for what you have endured these last few days. Strider made mention of it and I rushed here while you had gone to Archet to bed for a few days of rest. I have secured a room for each of you with Barnabas Butterbur. I have also located Fred’s mother and let her know her son’s fate. She, sadly, was not surprised. I have told her that we will tend to any fees for Fred’s burial. Strider informed me that they were able to recover what remained of Harry as well - but it was too gruesome. I told their mother that Harry died as well, but that his body could not be recovered.”

At the Prancing Pony, after Fred’s burial…

Gandalf sat at the table with the Company. “Tend to whatever you must. Our enemy moves East from what the Great Eagle Armanel has said… but we know not where or why. In the meantime, Hoplite Glendoodle is alive; though blind now; but alive thanks to you, Arthanar. Your abilities saved him. He has returned to the Shire. I had hoped he could have been of use to the Company, but, I was,” he paused, “mistaken. Perhaps I should have recruited Cedivar Greenhand instead!” He shook his head and smiled for the first time since seeing the Company at the gates of Bree early in the day. “Cedivar Greenhand has reported that the Bounders have had some trouble. When you are ready, I would ask you to venture towards the Shire. If you decline, I would understand. You have all already seen much.”