Findegil chuckles when Cereidh apologises, his tongue waking up.
"Do not concern yourself Cereidh. If anything, I should apologise for allowing the spiders to catch me. I will endeavour to avoid that fate repeated!"
Findegil speaks to Belgo alone at one point.
"Your father fell foul of magic in the water. It was not his intention to become confused and run off. I hope you can find it in you to forgive him for it."
A little later, he will speak with Baldor alone.
"I know it was not your intention to be enchanted and befuddled by the magic in that water. But you scared and confused your son, and you need to make amends with him. Please so do, for both of your sakes."
****************
Later, when Cereidh asks for aid, he gladly gives it. And when she asks him about his siblings, Findegil goes quiet for spell and then replies sombrely:
"I was the second-youngest of four sons. Thanks to ill fortune and the wiles of the shadow, I am now the eldest of two. My younger brother, Bronedir, also serves Gondor as a knight in her armies. And what of you, Cereidh?"
Cereidh turns away to gather more sticks, again perturbed by all this human mortality.
"My people have quite smaller families than yours, although in Thranduil's Court we are all raised as cousins. Children are rare, now, and since I was not born in some far-gone age I am myself often treated as one - I think my parents would have liked to give me more siblings, but my mother and brother left for the West before, I think, you were born, Sir Knight. My brother, at least, lingers in Lothlorien, and sometimes we write."
She half-smiles. "He is less than fond of the younger races, wistful for our days of glory. His time in Lorien, away from Thranduil, has unfortunately only changed the reasons for this distaste, not his willingness to come back. He was not at Dale's council."
She straightens her shoulders with a sigh. "Regardless! Perhaps this adventure is giving me some idea of what it's like to have younger siblings, hm, Sir Knight?"
"What I really called you out here to say - have you talked to Baldor and Belgo? It seems to me that the misadventure with the enchanted waters as disrupted their - knowing? Their familiarity with each other. It is quite outside their experience."
"I know a little of the Elven ways. It is how I was accepted into your people's halls after all. But it did not occur to me the practicalities of so few children and such long lives. But if you can find a surrogate younger sibling, so be it!", he grins.
More seriously, he continues:
"I thought on the matter and approached them separately to speak with them. I would not see the bond between father and son weaken further due to my inaction."
"And how did you think it was received?"
The company travels along the Elf-path when a sudden storm descends on Mirkwood, turning the forest as dark as midnight. High winds tear through the tree-tops, sending a hail of leaves and twigs down on the company. Larger branches creak ominously, and rotten boughs crack and tumble. The clouds open as though some great hand picked up the whole of the Long Lake and dumped it on the forest. Thunder and lightning crash overhead, incredibly loud and perilously close, and water starts trickling along the trees more and more copiously until dozens of little
streams and rills start winding their way through the forest floor. Further travel is impossible – the company must find a dry place within sight of the path.
As lightning flashes, one of the company’s Scouts spots an unusual sight at some distance from the path. There is a huge dead hollow tree up ahead, and a thin plume of woodsmoke rises from the top. Someone is living inside the hollow tree! Searching around the base of the tree lets the characters find a tunnel that runs between the roots into the tree’s interior.
There is no sign of anyone around or inside, but they cannot be far away if they left a cooking fire unattended. Even if the company are willing to brave the weather and travel on, neither Baldor nor Belgo is strong enough to keep going in the teeth of the storm. The tree is the only source of shelter to hand.
The tree is hollow on the inside. The entrance tunnel opens into a single round room. The walls are the dead wood of the tree, and the roof is a mix of bark and thatch that keeps most of the wind and rain out. It is not as snug as a hobbit-hole, but it’s better than being outside in Mirkwood in the storm. There is a ring of stones in the middle of the room, and a small cooking-fire burns there, with some hunks of meat (one hopes a rabbit or a squirrel) cooking on a spit. Other unidentifiable bits of meat hang from the ceiling on long black strings. There is a single bed of leaves and furs near the fire. Jars of water and baskets of fruit sit in a cool muddy hollow at the back of the room.
"Into the hollow!", says Findegil, his voice competing with those of the wind and the thunder.
His initial relief changes.
"Whomever lives here is tormented. The walls adorned with woodcarvings, of monstrous faces and forms. We would do well to touch nothing here, and stand watches."
Findegil speaks to Belgo alone at one point.
"Your father fell foul of magic in the water. It was not his intention to become confused and run off. I hope you can find it in you to forgive him for it."
A little later, he will speak with Baldor alone.
"I know it was not your intention to be enchanted and befuddled by the magic in that water. But you scared and confused your son, and you need to make amends with him. Please so do, for both of your sakes."
"Belgo, you should speak with him. It might help him regain his memories."
"Then speak with him, Baldor. Relearn or remember what you now cannot."
"Many people are tormented," Cereidh says very gingerly while setting up her own bedroll and starting to warm rations on the fire. "Let's take it on faith for a moment that they are either a victim or simply of an unlucky turn of mind, and not any sort of accomplice."
After a few minutes, the company hear scratching outside, as someone arrives at the entrance tunnel and wriggles their way into the hollow tree. You smell him before they see him; an incredibly rank smell wafts from his filthy rags and scarred, rail-thin body that trail wet spider webs. The old man's wrists and ankles are scarred. And his hair is wispy white.
The hermit shrieks in alarm when he sees you in his home and levels his familiar hunting spear at you, but he does not attack.
Cereidh raises her empty palms in a gesture of peace and gives Findegil an uneasy sideways look, waiting for him to speak.
Raises his hands in show of peacefulness.
"Greetings sir we mean you no harm we are just traveling thru."
Findegil also shows his hands.
"Old one, we would not harm you. We simply seek shelter and to pass on after the storm. Can we offer you some food or water perhaps?"
At the knight's words, the old man shrugs and leans his hunting spear against the wall. With hunched shoulders and chattering teeth, the hermit sniffs the air like an animal. He devours the food offered showing how starved he has been.
Cereidh moves herself and her equipment out of the old man's path, but otherwise finishes making and eating her own dinner. She's quiet, reluctant to disturb the fragile peace, and assumes that the rest of the party will want to post watch anyway; she doesn't think anything else will be necessary to deal with the current worry. Hopefully.
Findegil says:
"Is it fine for us to remain until the storm is gone? We will trouble you little."
"Aye. Food for shelter. Shelter for food. That's a funny inn. The inn of the Forest." The old man replies in a sing song.
Smiles slightly at the old man. Figures he would let the others take the lead.
Cereidh is still wary of the old man, but keeps their rations within the tenuous communal grey era and makes no intervention if he helps himself to them.
Findegil continues speaking.
"You have my thanks. I am Findegil, son of Durothil, knight of Minas Tirith. I would know your name."
The hermit shrugs and replies, “Don’t need a name, do I? There’s only me, I know who I am. I’m me. You need name, though. You’re not me. Had a
name once, but they took it.”
"Cereidh, of Thranduil's court," Cereidh says in a subdued tone.
"They?" asks Findegil, with sympathy in his voice. "And I do need a name, there is little left of my line but that."
Cereidh hadn't been aware that Anar is chronicling them, and gives him a curious look, resolving to ask about it later.
"They? They? They? The nightmares! The darkness! The great shadow! Who left me these!" The old man raises his voice in agitation displaying his scarred wrists.
"For all that you have saved my compatriots," Cereidh says in a near-whisper, "and doubtless are braver than any of us, I do wish that we'd not met - eager I am to battle for my home but not so eager as to want to do so now."
Recognising the mark of the enemy, Findegil is startled:
"The shadow!? Long have the knights of Gondor fought such. And I will fight it here if I can. You have my thanks, old one, for saving the lives of myself and Baldor."
[B]"Interesting we will need to spread word to the world so we can prepare for anything that happens"
After a few minutes, the Hermit grows tired of the conversation, and falls asleep. You settle in and enjoy the shelter from the storm.
The day after the storm sees the sun rising on a warm morning (unusually warm if it’s autumn). Even if the company is still in the shadow of Mirkwood, they feel the temperature rising. The hermit is gone when you depart his treehouse.
The company marches on and begins to feel very hot. Towards midday, a sense of sleepiness seems to creep out of the ground and up their legs. Flies buzz round your ears, and water trickling from a hundred rills sounds like a half-whispered lullaby. A short distance ahead of the company there is an old stone well.
Findegil will bid the Hermit a farewall, with his repeated thanks.
Cereidh leaves the hermit one of their few fig cakes, uncomfortable talking about the Shadow.
Since most of you feel downhearted and worn out, the company agrees to stop for a midday break. You choose a place a short distance from the path. Close by, the mouth of the old well opens. The well is not readily visible, as it is simply a low ring of stones around a hole in the ground, currently covered by fallen leaves and thick undergrowth.
Krogen acts as a look-out while everyone else feels compelled to take a nap after a quick meal. As soon as they close their eyes, they start having vivid dreams. The dreaming companions dream and feel that something of great importance is nearby, if only they can find it. Each of the dreams use your Shadow weakness to draw you to the well.
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Anar awakens and wants to really head for the well and ring of stones.
Something draws me there. What is it. It's relief from the dammed forest and being way from rock and stone
"From friends...let's head to the well. Perhaps there is some relief from these dammed trees and lack of a good bed." He walks over to the well.