At the very moment the expedition stepped into the forest's brooding edge, high atop a dark tower within Dol Guldur, a shadowy figure loomed over the lands steeped in gloom.
"Azog…"
The voice was neither heard nor spoken - it struck directly into the pale orc's mind like a blade of cold iron. Azog jerked awake, gasping, clutching his chest.
The massive wound, once torn from shoulder to waist, was now sealed - healed, but marked with a long scar as proof it had been real.
Lifting his head, Azog glared toward the tower, toward the dark silhouette that had called his name.
For a moment, fury flashed in his eyes - until he realized it wasn't the one he truly hated.
No… this was the Dark Lord himself - Sauron.
"Azog. You will lead the army. The time for war draws near."
Azog's lips curled in resentment. "And the dwarf? You promised me his death."
A lesser orc would've been flayed alive for such insolence. But Azog wasn't just any orc - he was Sauron's warhound, yes, but one on a leash of negotiation rather than fear.
Sauron didn't reply to the question. Instead, he pressed the command harder, more absolute.
Azog snarled, fists clenched - but obedience, however reluctant, was demanded. Finally, with a growl, he summoned his son.
"Bolg," he barked. "Take the warband. Continue the hunt for the dwarves."
Bolg stood tall - broad, cruel, and every bit as fierce as his father.
"If you come across the human," Azog muttered with a glint in his eye, "you may fall back if you must… but if you can kill him, the leadership is yours."
With that, Bolg marched out, followed by a squad of hulking orcs.
Deep in the Dark Forest...
The dwarves trudged onward, yawning and grumbling in equal measure.
Though the forest canopy blotted out the sky, casting a murky twilight over all, the company's journey had thus far been oddly uneventful. They now stood before a crumbled stone bridge that once spanned a slow-moving, dark river.
"Don't touch it," Eric warned, catching a dwarf about to dip a finger into the water.
Instead, Eric filled a bucket, inspected the water. It looked… normal.
"Huh. Magic doesn't travel well. Must be bound to this cursed forest," he muttered, mostly to himself.
Behind him, Thorin raised his voice, scolding the others. "Didn't you lot hear what Gandalf said before we entered? This whole forest is drenched in dark magic. That river's full of curses!"
"There are vines," someone suggested. "We could swing across. Lightest ones go first--"
"No need," Eric cut in smoothly. "Let's build a bridge."
Without waiting for argument, Eric pulled stone blocks from his pack - seemingly from thin air.
With a few plop-plop-plops, stone blocks began appearing midair, clicking neatly into place across the broken bridge.
He even widened the edges for the broader members of the company.
"Incredible," murmured Balin, blinking away his drowsiness. "Magic stonework…"
"Thank heavens," Bofur muttered. "I wouldn't trust that vine with Bombur's weight."
"Oi!" Bombur huffed.
Kili stepped cautiously onto the bridge, testing it with a few solid stomps. "Feels real. Solid. How do you make rock appear like that?"
Fili snorted. "You've seen what Gandalf does. Fire, lightning, thunderclaps… next to that, conjuring stone is practically domestic magic."
Then, glancing sheepishly at Eric, he added, "No offense, of course."
"None taken," Eric replied with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder.
By now, the dwarves treated Eric much as they did Gandalf - with wary respect and an unspoken assumption of authority. Eric didn't complain. He had signed a contract, after all, and unlike Gandalf, was officially part of the company.
Even Thorin, who usually snapped at everyone for the slightest mistake, never once turned his infamous temper on Eric - just as he never dared bark at Gandalf.
As Balin once said, "He's a wizard. You don't question wizards."
Only in Eric's case, the wizard actually had a clause in the agreement.
From the rear, Bilbo watched Eric conjure stone paths with a flick of his wrist. His hand drifted unconsciously to his pocket, brushing the ring hidden inside.
Does this count as magic too? he wondered.
"Keep moving," Thorin called. "Let's cross before nightfall."
Beyond the river, the path dipped into darker territory - closer to the woodland elves' realm, yes, but also to things that stirred in the shadows.
Eric's eyes narrowed at the sight of webbing glinting between the trees.
He resisted the impulse to harvest some silk - those webs were traps. Giant spiders used them to feel vibrations, sensing prey by the slightest tremor.
'Bad idea', he thought. 'I'd be fine—but the others... not so much.'
One wrong move and--
Sssskkkrrrch.
A low chittering came from above.
In a blink, Eric's sword was in his hand, cleaving upward in a flash of steel and fire. A monstrous spider carcass crashed down, its legs twitching, its body smoldering.
[Achievement Unlocked: Spider Slayer]
Description: You killed a spider. Good job?
Thorin leapt to attention. "What in Durin's name was that?!"
"A spider," Eric replied coolly. "A big one. They're everywhere in these woods. Evil things - servants of the dark. Did any of you touch the webs?"
The dwarves shook their heads, alarmed.
"Nope!"
"Not me!"
"I didn't even see a web!"
Bilbo gave a tiny shake of his head. He'd been right beside Eric the whole time.
"Then it came looking for us," Eric muttered, retrieving the spider's eye and some of its stringy silk. Useful crafting materials, he thought. Too good to waste.
"Which means more aren't far behind…" he added, casually, eyeing the trees.
"Prepare for battle!" Thorin roared suddenly, spotting movement in the canopy.
Bilbo drew his small sword.
"They're not orcs," he muttered. "They're--"
He looked up -- and his jaw dropped.
Dozens upon dozens of giant spiders were descending from the treetops. The sky itself seemed to vanish beneath the tide of twitching, black legs.
"RUN!" Thorin shouted - his voice echoing Gandalf's favorite advice.
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
Bombur, as expected, became their first target. He flailed, smashing spiders with his frying pan like an enraged chef.
Eric moved fast. Sword swinging in smooth arcs, each strike split a spider clean in half. He cut a blazing path through the forest, never slowing, never stumbling. His backpack grew heavy with trophies - eyeballs, silk, chitin.
From above, the trail they carved looked like someone had drawn a fiery line through the woods, spiders burning in their wake.
Most of the creatures were forced back, though a few daring ones leapt from the canopy in desperate lunges - only to be skewered by dwarven steel.
Schlick.
Even Bilbo, who appeared to be dueling enemies only he could see, somehow managed to stab a spider straight through the head.
He paused, blinking.
He could've sworn the spider said something when it died.
"…Sting?"
He looked at his blade. "That's a good name. From now on, you're 'Sting'."
Just as it seemed the worst was behind them, the sound of whistling arrows sliced through the air.
One by one, the remaining spiders dropped - each pierced dead-center through the eyes or underbelly.
From the trees above came swift, silent figures in cloaks of green and silver. Elves - gliding between branches, striking with unnatural grace.
But they didn't lower their weapons once the spiders were gone. In fact, they raised them.
"Don't flatter yourselves, Dwarf" said a young elf with piercing blue eyes and a rather cocky draw of his bowstring. "I'd gladly shoot a dwarf or twelve."
The lead elf, tall and youthful, had his bow trained on Thorin's chest.
Eric narrowed his eyes. Though they'd never met, he recognized him immediately.
Legolas.
Prince of the Woodland Realm. Son of Thranduil.
The woodland elves were not like the serene folk of Rivendell. They were less refined, more alert and often less patient. Years of defending their borders and dealing with humans had made them sharp and, frankly, a bit irritable.
Eric stepped forward, sword still sheathed.
"Hold," an elf warned, raising his bow.
Legolas turned at the movement - and froze.
He looked directly at Eric, eyes narrowing, then relaxing.
With a wave of his hand, he signaled his warriors to lower their bows.
"Do not aim at him," he said coolly. "He is our honored guest."