Mirkwood: The Spider's Lair
Old fat spider can't see me!
Attercop! Attercop!
Won't you stop,
Stop your spinning and look at me!
The Elf Knight's face was grim as he lifted his heavy blade and brought it down on the hairy back of a Spider. The fight burst into cacophony and more of the dark creatures seemed to pour into the clearing, the clicking sounds of their claws unendurable and seemingly endless. The arachnids' curses left his head spinning as though he had indulged in too much of the sweet, golden wine he craved so much. It was chaos and Elrohir felt like laughing hysterically. If it was not, it was a good foretaste of it then.
He winced as dark, viscous blood streaked his face and blinded him. But he did not attempt to wipe away the loathed substance. Listening to his instincts, he took a step back and speared the crawling shape that tried to bypass him on the left.
He screamed then, fury and frustration incensing him. Cursing and spitting, he emptied his lungs and his mind as he ended the miserable life of another creature with great chopping blows.
Spiders were resilient animals. Protected by several layers of thick skin, their bodies withstood most of the Elves' blows. Every time his steel hit one of the Spiders, the hide would cleave and crackle ignominiously but without so much as drawing blood. He had to strike again and again until the arachnid collapsed onto the ground in a convulsion of limbs.
But the carapace grew thin around their necks or abdomens and the archers did a thorough job of aiming their arrows to those parts. However, when the creatures grew too close, the warriors had little choice but to confront them with swords and spears.
Elrohir swung his blade in an arc as his eyes noticed how it cut effortlessly through the abdomen but his mind was lost to his surroundings. He was no longer cognizant of what he did, his gestures mechanical and unusually graceless.
Raise your blade. Let it fall. Step aside or back away. Never stay in the same place lest the spiders surround you. He whispered the nursery-rhyme-like chorus that he had learned as a novice, letting himself be absentmindedly guided by the words of wisdom of his long gone tutors.
Elrohir slowly grew tired of this lethal but repetitive dance, feeling more and more acutely the pull of his exhausted limbs. He wondered briefly what Mordor looked like before recalling Vanyacar's words. He scowled while stepping away from a Spider that had come too close and beheaded it with a forceful swing of his sword. How he disliked it when others' ignored counsel proved veracious!
He paused, his chest heaving, but his respite proved short-lived for the onslaught of arachnids only grew more forceful. The Spiders were everywhere. No matter how many he slew, it seemed that they were only more numerous by the minute.
The Elf warrior brushed against his twin’s back, drawing courage from the familiar and comforting presence. They had fought thus for several centuries, relying on each other to cover for their weaknesses and mistakes. When they engaged in battle, Elladan’s arm became an extension of his hand; the steel of his brother’s sword another blade Elrohir wielded. When they fought, they became one; their joined strength formidable and their skills redoubtable.
That was why he knew without looking that his brother’s stance was less straight, the strength of his blows sapped by fatigue.
A scream caught his attention and he watched helplessly as a Mirkwood warrior fell a few feet away from him, overwhelmed by the superior force of the dark mass that surrounded him. He averted his eyes as their wicked claws tore at his living flesh with glee. It was not long before his voice faded into the surrounding pandemonium.
"I suggest...that we move...on the left...muindoren." Elladan's voice was strained by the fight. Elrohir complied without bothering to reply but wondered nonetheless where his brother gathered the strength to string words into sentences in such circumstances. He would have satisfied himself with an unpolished but less breath consuming "Left!"
Elrohir's foot encountered a root and he stumbled away from his twin, their protective association suddenly broken. He hastened backward to close the gap between Elladan and himself but his blood turned to ice as something that was not supposed to be there slid against his shin. As he glanced down, his heart stopped in his chest at the sight of the arachnid that was biting forcefully in the leather of his high boots. Panic began to build, darkening his vision, dulling his reason, and he had to restrain himself from lashing out at the arachnid. He shook his leg wildly, the screams of the fallen warrior all too vivid in his mind.
The Spider crashed to the ground with a shrill scream and, before it could regain its footing, the Elf Knight drove his blade in its abdomen with relieved rage.
But it was not over, for still too many Spiders stood between himself and his beloved brother. He tried to force his way into the malignant herd but was compelled to relent in front of the dark wave that surrounded him. He uttered another profanity as he swung at one more dark body and decided that salvation would only be found in retreat. In such close quarters combat he had no hope of prevailing. Gathering his wits and his courage, he kicked the closest Spider and sent it rolling in the dark crowd. Using their distraction, he broke away from the malevolent circle and ran in the direction of the trees where the archers were perched, drawing strength from the disturbing knowledge of the presence of the cursed creatures on his heels. He almost crashed into a tree and faced the battlefield with his back against its bark, breathless but glad that he had made it.
But none of the Spiders had followed him as though they had turned their treacherous attention from one prey to another.
'Muindoren, where are you?' Elrohir raked his surroundings with anxious eyes for his brother, guilt gnawing at his heart for letting himself be separated from his twin. If aught had befallen Elladan... But his concerns proved groundless as his twin appeared hale and whole in spite of his being at grips with a stubborn Spider. When his opponent was dispatched, their gazes crossed and Elrohir felt his brother’s relief echoing his own.
In unspoken agreement, they were able to resume fighting back to back, cautious not to be divided again. Around them, some archers dropped to the ground, forsaking their empty quiver for the sword. As time went by, hope budded anew in the Elf Knight's heart as he noticed that the number of their foes was dwindling significantly. But his expectations were short-lived as the Spiders suddenly backed away in an abrupt and sloppy mess, leaving the Fair Folk to wonder at their unforeseen retreat.
The malevolent creatures lined up at the entrance of the lair, their crimson eyes gleaming with gall, their silence odd and threatening. None of the warriors endeavoured to follow them as they knew the folly of approaching the threads of the nets.
If one would have walked in on the scene, they would have thought the strange gathering a farce. The Firstborn and the Spiders seemed to defy each other, poised for the kill but all waiting for the other to dare the first move.
The silence was broken by a sound that froze every Elf to his very core. The web was playing an extravagant melody, not unlike an ill-chorded violin in the hands of a child. Reality dawned on them as fierce as thunder.
Elladan and Elrohir stood side by side, their dark tresses soaked in blood, their eyes fixed on the oscillating web. The net had vibrated slightly when the Spiders had first come out of the nest but not as much as it was now. Whatever it was, it was nearing and it was large.
"What is that?" Elrohir's voice was barely more than a whisper but he could not hide his growing apprehension from his brother.
For a brief moment, Elladan seemed to ponder the answer he would offer, so when he finally spoke, his words were deadly serious. “We are in a Spiders’ nest, Elrohir. What do you think will come out?” The younger twin breathed in deeply, his mind refusing even to imagine what kind of monstrosity could make a web sing beneath its weight. All too soon, imagination was not needed as the greatest Spider he had ever encountered emerged from the den.
The Queen of the colony landed on the ground with a furious snarl, her crooked claws drawing holes in the dry land. She was at least thrice as large as her pawns, her eight limbs as long as young trees, her pale abdomen swollen and slack. Her head that was surmounted by two distorted horns shone with deep soulless eyes. At the sight of her, the Elf Knight’s mouth suddenly went dry.
She turned her burning gaze on the Firstborn as though to assess the situation and expressed her annoyance by opening her mouth and letting her greenish saliva melt in a puddle with the dust. The stink of her breath was almost unbearable, the ghost of her malice suffocating.
The younger twin wondered briefly if the fabled Ungoliant had been as frightful as this Spider, her eyes shining with such hatred as she had suckled on the light of Aman. He remembered then what he had been told. With the Queen defeated, her breed would flee the nest.
'Wonderful,' he thought while steadying his hands and bracing himself for the attack of the monster. One more Spider to kill and then they would go back to the Fortress, which was without doubt the best part of the day.
But the Spider Queen had not yet determined to attack the intruders. She glared at the Elves, digging her long pointed claws in the ground as though she could have them disappear by the sole power of her dark will.
However, the warriors had no intentions of waiting meekly for her to ravage their ranks. Never would they fawn in her shadow. Hers would be the first blood to flow. The Mirkwood rallying cry sounded from the trees as an arrow was released.
“For Greenwood! Death to that Spider!”
A volley of arrows followed the call but few were those that pierced the thick hide of the creature. The Spider hissed horrendously as the projectiles impacted with her body. Elrohir realized in surprise that none of them had managed to draw blood.
But he had little time to ponder this as the affronted Queen chose to charge at them in retaliation, followed by some of her vociferous spawns. This was the final stand, Elrohir thought with fervour as he decapitated one of the smaller arachnids.
A hideous shriek caught his attention and he rounded just in time to glimpse a daring Elf that had leapt from the shelter of the trees to the back of the Dark Beast and was attempting to ride her as others would a reticent mount. Roaring fear gripped the younger twin’s chest as he became aware of whom the foolhardy warrior was exactly.
Legolas.
The Elf Knight sensed rather than saw the new attack of a Spider on his left and he pivoted slightly to dispose expeditiously of the animal. A fervent prayer arose in his heart, 'A Elbereth Gilthoniel...'
As if in a dream, he watched from the corner of his eyes as the Queen’s struggles increased to rid herself of the nuisance. Though exemplary, the Prince’s balance failed him on the smooth back of the Beast. Elrohir could see how the long knives Legolas held in his hands hindered his progression but he knew the Prince would not relinquish them for those were his only weapons.
Elrohir was fighting intermittently, unable to disregard the combat that raged between the Prince and the Queen Spider. He struck at any of the arachnids that imperilled his life or his brother’s but his eyes would always stray toward the reckless warrior that intended to take down such a foe by himself. The younger twin watched Legolas straddling the neck of the Dark Beast with his long, powerful legs and held his breath as the Prince raised his knives to strike at a glowing red eye. But at the last possible moment, the Queen Spider destabilized her fierce rider. Elrohir’s stomach churned in anguish and he cried in denial, "No!"
But the Prince did not fall as he relinquished his blades to grasp at the Arachnid’s horns. Weaponless, there was nothing Legolas could do but endure the waves of the Spider’s fury. Acting on instinct more than reason, Elrohir ignored his twin’s outcry and snatched a spear that lay on the ground forsaken by his previous owner before springing towards the Queen Spider to fling the spear at the Prince. But as he readied himself only a few yards away from the dangerous claws, Legolas suddenly let go and landed on his side with a loud thud.
Several thoughts crossed the Elf Knight’s mind as he stood still, unable to react as the malicious Arachnid turned her attention on her forlorn rider that had passed out. He was the only one that could do something for Thranduil's younger son.
The Dark Beast approached the unconscious warrior, glowering at him while her stinking saliva splattered the Prince. She raised one of her legs, intent on piercing his chest and terminating his life. Coming back to himself, Elrohir took advantage of the lowered head to charge.
The sharpened steel of the weapon bit through the eye of the Spider and, as he felt skin and flesh give way, he pressed the spear with all the strength he had left and felt the bone cracking under the pressure. As the Arachnid reared back shaking her head with pain and frenzy, he let go of the weapon and ran to Legolas to bear him as far as possible from the battlefield. Ignoring the screams of the Dark Beast, he stooped to gather the Prince in his arms.
But he did not get up again. Suddenly, darkness overtook him and he knew no more.
Next: The Paths We Take
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