The Trollshaws
There was little to no conversation that night, as if a great cloud of dread hung over the encampment. The Angmarim captives sat in silence, tied against the base of a great oak. Faeleth and Fangion sat beside the fire whilst Cadhrion and the others took first watch. The silence was an eerie, unsettling thing. No sound of nature could be heard. No wind among the trees nor nocturnal beasts of the night. It was still, foreboding presence that put Cadhrion on edge.
“No more” said one of the two Elves standing beside the covered package. “I can’t spend another second beside this… thing!” Abandoning his post, the Elf walked past Cadhrion in distress; massaging his temples as if overcome by a great head cold.
“What is the matter?” Cadhrion asked.
“It’s not at all natural, it’s as if…” The hunter paused in his speech and shuddered slightly.
“As if what?”
“As if it’s… watching me. As if it’s staring into my very soul; probing my mind…” The hunter replied once more.
“Calm yourself” said Cadhrion, placing a hand upon his comrade’s shoulder. “I do not doubt that your senses are well-founded. But whatever it is, it is no threat to us now.”
The Elf nodded and made his way to the fire. Curiosity however took hold of Cadhrion, as he went to take his place beside the package. Going against his better judgement, he reached out and pulled back the covering. The foul smell of death and decay washed over him, the sense of dread weighing heavily on his heart. Upon closer inspection, the occupant of the stone coffin was twisted and malformed. Blackened flesh clung to what little remained of its frame whilst its jaw was contorted as if it had died in agony.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said one of the Angmarim, a twisted smile etched upon his face.
Cadhrion turned, “Your definition of beauty is quite different from my own.”
“And yet, you Elves have not destroyed it? I wonder…”
Cadhrion re-covered the coffin and moved towards the Angmarim. It was evident that the prisoner sought to taunt him, but there was something more to his smile that gave the Elf warning. It was if he knew something; something that was obvious. “There is clearly some purpose to this item, otherwise why would you guard it so heavily upon the road? Nevertheless, I doubt you will tell us what that purpose may be.”
The Angmarim laughed “Of course, why deny you the surprise? Besides which, my oath binds me to silence on the matter. Guess away, Elf. Your struggling with provide me some light entertainment at the very least.”
Cadhrion felt a flicker of rage mingled with frustration prickle up his spine. He would not rise to the rebuke, however. Instead, he marched back to his position where Fangion awaited him.
“You seem troubled” said Fangion.
“Aren’t you?” replied Cadhrion. “This is clearly some relic of evil, it’s as if some energy pulsates from it.”
“Indeed. It makes one want to run and hide, a pressing dread which cannot be explained.”
“Should we not destroy it, then?” asked Cadhrion.
“No. If we destroyed every evil relic, we will have no knowledge of what we are up against. The scholars of Imlad-”
“Surely not!” interrupted Cadhrion. “You cannot mean to bring this to Imladris?”
“How else can we better prepare ourselves for the coming storm, Cadhrion?” said Fangion, in a matter-of-fact tone. “The scholars may give us insight, and an opportunity. Trust in my judgement.”
Reluctantly, Cadhrion nodded. The thought of bringing something of such evil into the Last Homely House seemed wrong. However, in his time spent in Rivendell, Cadhrion dare not question Fangion’s wisdom. He had learned much from his would-be mentor and become the wiser for it.
Dark were Cadhrion’s dreams as he slept. He saw images of the body within the coffin, bathing in darkness and writhing in pain. Its jaw cracked in protest as it screeched and howled, reaching out a clawed hand attempting to grasp at some invisible force. The dream did not end there. Cadhrion looked down at his own hand to find it skinless and dark. He traced his hand down his body to find it too had decayed. Whispers surrounded him, wind howled in the night and the speech carved into the stone coffin before him glowed a pale hue.
“Cadhrion!” shouted Faeleth’s voice in the wind. “Cadhrion, wake up!”
He did so, bathed in sweat and his hand clenched upon the hilt of his sword. “F-Faeleth? I…”
“To arms! It’s Fangion, he…” she came to an abrupt halt as she looked over her shoulder. He noted that the Angmarim were nowhere to be seen, only their ropes remained at the base of the tree. Beside them, the two corpses of the Elves in their company lay; eyes wide and gazing in horror. The coffin had toppled over, and only rags lay within.
“Where is he?” asked Cadhrion.
“He went into a fit of madness, uttering words I’d never heard in my lifetime! He slaughtered the guards and… Oh, Cadhrion. That thing, it stood at his side. Its eyes a flaming glow!”
