Mirkwood: The Captain
Deciding that danger had yet to arise, the Prince turned toward his companions who were crouched in the shadows and waved them onward. Moving figures passed by him as silent and graceful as the spirits that were said to dwell in the forest of Mirkwood and he made sure that none stayed behind.
He looked around once more with his head high and proud as he turned his face to the breeze, making his hair fly. Once he was sure nothing had followed them, he ran to catch up with his patrol. One did not survive long in Mirkwood without growing suspicious of every move of the trees and Legolas was no exception. A patrol had spotted wargs in that area the day before and a fight with Sauron's dark wolves would unsettle their careful plans.
Finding wargs so close was nothing unexpected, only untimely. The freshness of Fall had given way to the chill of Winter only a few weeks ago and this year the cold season promised to be long and harsh. Temperatures had drastically decreased in the space of a few days and snow littered the ground, making it impossible for them to cover their tracks.
The woods had taken on their winter shades, depriving most of the animals of their food, which encouraged them to sleep or travel to milder climates. Prey had become scarce for the wargs and hunger made them even bolder than usual. If one of the dark beasts picked up their trail, it would follow them mercilessly and compromise their silent approach.
Contrary to wargs, spiders did not know the winter hardships of hunger. Pernicious and merciless, they paralyzed their quarry and kept them alive in the prison of their nests to be eaten alive when hunger arose. Too many of Legolas' people had known such an unfortunate fate. When it came to feasting, Mirkwood's arachnids were not picky.
Legolas kept on leading the warriors forward and stopped only to make sure that they were not followed. As they approached the dreaded nest, the air grew heavy and bitter. The stench of death seemed to weave its web through the limbs of the trees, heavy and suffocating, and lingered on the ground like the fog on a swamp, choking the spirit of the land and corrupting its beauty.
Nature had long fled this place. The trees were threatening in their silence and quiet anger arose in the Wood Elves' hearts at this new outrage from the Shadow.
Suddenly, Legolas came to a halt and gazed in mild wonder and repulsion at the great web that shut the road. Long silken threads twined around the trees and knotted in intricate designs. He had seen and destroyed spider webs before but never one so big and intricate. This was not a trap, but a fence woven to protect the heart of the nest.
For several seconds, none of them moved as if they were lost in contemplation of what awaited them. Deep malevolence emanated from the den so strong that the Elves felt it coiling around their inner light and battling against their very feä. Yet none would have denied the fascination they felt. In spite of its evil, it was beautiful. It captured what little light that seeped through the foliage and reflected it through the darkness, causing it to glow brightly. Yes, it was beautiful like a deformation of the Valar's blessed work or a monstrous exaggeration of what should be magnificent in its extravagance and monstrous nature.
Snapping out his reverie, Legolas ordered the warriors to deploy with a simple gesture. One by one, the Elves disappeared, melting into the numerous shadows.
Archers were posted in the trees that were untouched by the nest. Most of them were Wood Elves and their skill with the bow was unsurpassed by the Imladrin warriors. On the ground at a safe distance from the nest and protecting the archers was the rest of the troop positioned in a perfect half-circle. Their hands clutched their swords or spears firmly since knives were too short to keep the arachnids at bay.
Breathing deeply to contain his nervousness, Legolas closed his eyes for a brief moment. He suddenly threw his head back and let out a call. It resounded against the trees before fading slowly into silence. One of the archers drew his bow and stilled himself, his eyes narrowed in deep concentration. The arrow he released flew above the ground troops’ heads with a whistle and embedded itself in a distorted tree, where it vibrated from the strength of the shot.
From where they stood, the Elves could see the net quivering in rhythm with the arrow. Holding their breath, they waited for the spiders to come, their stillness born from apprehension as well as centuries of training.
Legolas sang to himself as time passed at an excruciatingly slow rate and his world narrowed to that place and the moment. The ritual prayer to the ancient spirits of Greenwood rolled on his tongue in sweet familiar tones, strengthening his resolve and raising his spirits. They would be victorious and clean this part of the woods from the Shadow that fed on the forest spirits, the Prince swore to himself.
He allowed himself a moment of inattention and glanced over his shoulder. He could feel the tension rising in his warriors and understood them. No one knew how many foes the nest sheltered. It might be a hundred...it might be more. All the Elves there knew that many of them would never go home again but all of them faced the path of death with honor and resolve. As Legolas met their unwavering eyes, he felt proud to lead such warriors to battle.
His gaze fell on two identical faces and he forced himself not to linger more than he should. Scarce were the times that his path had crossed the sons of Elrond for he had avoided them on purpose, fearing meeting Elrohir again. 'Too much is at stake,' he reminded himself. 'You need to think clearly.'
And thinking clearly was something he could not do when this scion of the House of Eärendil was so close to him. No one had ever looked at him as Elrohir did. It was if Elrohir was touching his soul and opening a new window of possibilities. No one had ever frightened him so. In a simple glance, Elrohir had overthrown centuries of habits and made him want things he had never before.
The younger son of Thranduil had always been a solitary soul. Few had been his companions in his youth and fewer had been his friends for he had always preferred the company of trees, often seeking shelter in their dense foliage and immersing himself in their songs. His mother had been the only person whose presence he had always sought.
Her death had changed his way of seeing the world, casting a shadow of gloom on his youth. For long months, his father had mourned, unable to cope with her passing and the Shadow had grown unhindered in Greenwood, strengthening its hold on the land.
It was then that Legolas had decided that his first duty would ever be to the Wood Realm. He had fought his grief by enclosing himself in a life of habits and solitude, swearing that he would never feel such anguish again even if it meant never growing close to anyone.
That had been centuries ago and for centuries he had guarded his soul from others.
Until now...
He could still remember the first time they had met...how frightened he had been. But once he had returned home, he had wondered how it would have been to let the younger twin approach him and to have someone who knew him as he was really, would not need him to be strong every minute of life, and who he could rely upon.
After journeying to Imladris, he had realized how much loneliness weighed on him and that looking at the raven-haired Elf had made his burden seem even heavier. Legolas knew the Peredhel desired him. Even if he had always denied others the right to touch his heart, he was no innocent to the pleasures of the flesh.
His lovers were countless, male and female alike, who shared his bed for a night of warmth and passion but never more. His dalliances were always fierce and short-lived, an unspoken agreement between his lovers and him. He had all but forgotten about compassion and love a long time ago. He knew the whispers that haunted the court but he dismissed them. Sometimes shining eyes or lascivious smiles would catch his fancy and he would allow himself to forget the tense situation of the Kingdom for some hours. However, dawn was always there to remind him of his duty.
But Elrohir's eyes were different. What he saw in them was as distant from lust as winter was from summer. It appealed to him with a persistence that he could not fathom and it made him wonder about how it would be to let the younger twin approach him.
Legolas shook his head, displeased with himself. It was not the best moment to entertain such thoughts. A low whistle sounded as though to demonstrate how true that was and halted his heart in his chest.
The nest was vibrating.
An imperceptible wave was slowly spreading over the length of the threads, its strength increasing with each second. ‘Something is nearing,’ Legolas thought, grim with the thought of the upcoming fight. He firmed his grasp on his bow as his pulse pounded at his temples.
When three dark shapes appeared, the archers braced their bows as one, arrows pointed in the spiders' direction. But the arachnids' advance was excruciatingly slow as their long claws gripped the web with caution, their red eyes glowing in the dark.
Legolas glanced at the warriors behind him, willing them to remember that this shot was his alone to make. The arrow he released hit one of the great shapes and sent it rolling on the ground with a screech. But the spider was soon silenced as a second arrow from the Prince found its way to its neck.
"Do not move! Let them flee!" The Prince raised his voice in command, reminding the troop that they had to wait for the spiders to come to them.
And flee the two remaining spiders did, leaving in their wake a flow of imprecation and curses. Soon, the whole colony would know that they were there. But the Elves did not move.
Next: The Spider's Lair
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