Feud

Title: Feud
Author: Nárcolindë, robey61@yahoo.com
Pairing: Legolas/Elrond
Rating: NC17 overall
Warnings: AU, OOC
Disclaimer: Characters, events and locations recognizable from the works of JRR Tolkien are the property of his estate. This story is intended for enjoyment, not profit.

Summary: Arachnophobia!

Thanks: First to all the loyal readers who enjoy this story, most especially reviewers!
Second, to my absolutely fantastic beta, Sarah, [she is the best!] whose careful attention and insight improves the quality of this story immensely! Any errors found at this point are my own fault!

Chapter 35: Dagor Minui: Auth dan Yngyl [First Battle: Fight against the Spiders]

The Man and the Wizard did not know exactly what to make of their elven companion's unyielding demeanor. Legolas persisted in his counsel to head directly for the mountains and assault the demons head on. The two travelers refused to give up their strategy of attempting to keep to the longer route of the elf-made road. No amount of argument could prevail upon Legolas to abandon his intent to meet the challenge of the Dark Lord's minions, but Aragorn and Gandalf together overruled him.

Just before noon the trio set forth upon the pathway again, two hoping to discover a means of circumventing the danger and reaching the Wood Elves' stronghold unscathed; one morosely certain it would not be that simple. Riding single file, Mithrandir lead the way holding Legolas seated before him, an arm protectively wrapped around the wild elf's waist. Aragorn followed.

Legolas appreciated the opportunity to lean back and rest against the Maia, finding comfort in the old wizard's encircling grasp. The flow of vitality from Mithrandir had ceased, but the infusion retained its potency and rendered the forest warrior calm and clear-eyed, free of the gnawing guilt and rage that so recently had feasted on his broken spirit.

He was still amazed by the sense of genuine enjoyment the old wizard projected, a certainty that he felt fortunate to be a part of the archer's existence. It was just like the comfort of Fearfaron's solid grasp upon his arm, or Aiwendil's embracing smile. The terrors of the grieving affliction had made Legolas forget that there were at least these three beings in Arda who accepted him with absolute affirmation.

Having come to his decision concerning the confrontation he was certain awaited him, Legolas chose to use the brief respite from his turmoil to store up as much strength as he could. All around him the woods seemed as usual, an ever changing interplay of light and dark, a mixture of the gentle harmony of Tawar's Song and the more somber, fleeting notes of mortality's frail anthem, played out in the intricate two-step of life's dance among the unchanging weald. Yet he could feel that shift in tempo and the loss of balance as the Shadow grew bolder, proud in its defeat of the trees, and the archer longed to join the rencontre and restore the Greenwood's stability.

The trio had not traveled five leagues before the horses were once again hopelessly lost and the skillful gifts of the Ranger were outwitted, for no sign of the elf-track could he discover. Back-tracing led the horses into even greater confusion, and it seemed to Aragorn that the trees were rearranging themselves to thwart their return to the road.

"This is hopeless! Gandalf, can you not think of some counter spell for this situation?" the Man scowled with infuriation as he surveyed the ground around him. He had dismounted to examine the hoof-prints in the duff only to realtheythey were the ones their horses had made two days previously, the last time the pathway had disappeared. The evil enchantment had them going in circles whenever they attempted to head due northwest, cunningly forcing the horses to veer northeast instead.

"Nay! I fear any magic attempted here may be swallowed up and regurgitated in a much less healthy form! Legolas was correct in his assessment of the forest dwellers; more are now unsympathetic to our cause!" the wizard replied. He pointedly ignored Aragorn's incredulous expression; it was his own business when he chose to disobey the Powers and when to hold true. Battling the evil infecting the trees, spell for spell as it were, was not his place. A sudden inspiration lit Gand's e's eyes and he nudged Legolas in the shoulder. "Legolas, climb up and take a look; you can guide us back to the path from above!"

The wild elf turned to gaze at his old friend mirthlessly. No matter how often he told them, they refused to heed his words, and he was rather tired of it.

"Mithrandir, these trees will not allow it!" he said, exasperated ave ave to explain this yet again. He expected Mithrandir to understand these things on an instinctive level, as Aiwendil did.

"There must be much good wood left; we are still nearly 40 leagues from the mountains! Use your bond with Tawar to find the trees that favor you!" Aragorn contradicted him irritably as he remounted his charger and guided the horse closer to them. The elf and the Man stared at one another wordlessly for a few minutes while Legolas decided what answer to give to this objection.

Of course there were loyal beeches and true oaks, and all manner of other species steadfast in their resolve to combat their foes. Yet the forest's defenses seemed unable to halt the unnatural infiltration of shadowy energy that encroached over the woodland's spirit and dulled the ability to act in concert. It was as if the Dark Lord had devised a way to isolate the individual trees from Tawar's omnipresent consciousness, using the vast system of osmotic fibers and roots to spread the sickness through the region. While not enough of the poisonous force was present to kill the trees, it was at least enough to confuse and befuddle the stalwart woods. In its distress the Greenwood was actually pleading for the forest champion's help and retained little ability to be of any service or aid to Legolas.

"Why do you refuse to understand me?" the Tawarwaith demanded. How could he explain to this mortal that he was here for Tawar, and could not just ignore these pleas? His bond with Tawar was not a tool to be manipulated for the travelers' benefit, but rath nea nearly sacred trust between the wild elf and his homeland. "Yes, there are kindly trees here, but they, they are alone, cut-off!" he struggled to make things clear to Aragorn. "It is expected of me to deliver them! The Greenwood cannot hold fast to the straight way designed by my people. I can go up into the branches and direct your horses back to the elf-path, but when we travel upon it then it will cease being the elf-path. You will find it does not lead us to the stronghold, but rather into an unpleasant trap!"

"What trap?" asked Gandalf. "Does the forest speak of this?"

Legolas rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers and sighed. He had been dealing with the Orcs for so long it was second nature to him to reason out their strategy, and as their intelligence was limited it was generally the same thing every time. He did not need Tawar to tell him these things; his experience was more than sufficient.

"Nay," he said with strained patience. "It is merely what Orcs do, Mithrandir! They will try to corner us and then overwhelm us with superior numbers. They believe they will succeed as long as we are grounded." Legolas suspected that the monsters planned to use some of his own traps against them, based upon the direction they were being forced to follow, but these thoughts he did not divulge.

"That is what I fear, also! We have no way of overcoming such a threat unless we can see the twisting of the wrong path and get back to the right one," rejoined Aragorn. "Why do you resist this chance? Are you well, Legolas?" he looked his comrade over as he said this. The Wood Elf appeared much rejuvenated, yet this had seemed so before and been proved false. Refusing to at least try to escape seemed irrational to the Man, and he sought signs for the return of the depression that had preceded the excruciating spasms of the previous night.

The moment he saw the gentle concern in the human's eyes Legolas' aggravation dissolved away. They meant well; after all, Aragorn and Mithrandir desired to avoid the inevitable confrontation primarily to spare him any further harm. And had he not already pledged eternal devotion to the pair?

Yet he was torn in heart, for he could think of no way to aid the wizard and the Man without abandoning his beloved trees. How he longed to grant them relief by heading straight into the fight and ending it quickly, removing the source of the sickness! It was a hard choice, and an unfair one to demand from him, for he did not relish the thought of drawing these two friends into his battle, risking their lives. He would just have to try to find a way to turn the Orcs' trap upon its springers.

"Aye, I am just weary, that is all. I will guide you from the canopy," he said quietly and without any spoken words to order it, the palomino stepped to the tree Legolas wanted. He felt Gandalf give his shoulder a quick squeeze just before he stood upon the gelding's whithers and pulled himself up into the branches.

The forest vibrated in uncommon dissonance as the tension between those trees of the Greenwood loyal to Tawar and those that had abjured to the Masters of Dol Guldur warred one another. Once in immediate contact with them, the Wood Elf was caught in the disanceance and could not help a growing sense of defeat as he watched the subtle, relentless coercion of the normally unswerving way of the elven foot-road. He could feel the strain of the forest's effort to close its ened sed soul to the injurious umbra, and saw how this was the manner in which the Dark One achieved his goal; for, once cut off from the network of nerve-like nodes, the trees floundered in isolation. Legolas' only hope was that as he moved through the woods, the evil flux would follow, receding from the oaks and beeches, myrtles and pines behind him.

It was a slow process, leading the travelers, for he had to scout high above and then move ahead and guide them by voice to his new location, only to begin again. Twice he had to come completely down and go forward by horse to a different stand of trees in order to avoid the small groups of turncoats within his beloved woods. Several hours of this effort in addition to the resonance of his own spirit with the stressful endeavors of the disjoined trees began to wear upon him, and Legolas found the pain was more difficult to tolerate. He waited in the lofty heights for Aragorn and Mithrandir, considering how he might defy the fates and avoid the trap he felt closing round them. The sun was just setting beneath a violet and crimson streaked sky when he heard the horses under the boughs and climbed down lower, peering from just above head level into Aragorn's rugged features.

"We are nearing a rather nasty section of Greenwood now, where I have numerous enemies. I do not thie cae can avoid an attack," he said.

"Is there a part of the woods where you do not have an overabundance of foes? What variety are these, Legolas?" asked Gandalf, dreading the answer.

"I am sorry; for as long as you remain my companions, no area will be safe." Legolas could not suppress a flinch at the sting in the wizard's words, though they were not unkindly meant. "We can only go forward this way or turn about and drive towards the approaching Orcs. For my part, I would prefer to face the Orcs."

Aragorn and Gandalf shared a glance of confirming knowledge that each had observed his reaction and an unspoken decision was unanimously decreed between them. Aragorn guided his charger under the wild elf's supporting tree and waited there, extending a hand towards Legolas, a friendly smile upon his lips.

"Come down, Legolas, we have traveled enough for this day. Guide us to a suitable campsite, if you will," he said. "And tell us what sort of enemy is more loathsome than a troop of Orcs?"

Legolas accepted the proffered arm and swung from his perch to sit behind the human, grateful for the call to halt, yet sure no ease awaited their bivouac. He reached round and took the reins from the Man's hands, dropping them loosely against the charger's neck. The stalliot oft off at once as surely as if his master had spoken, and Aragorn looked back over his shoulder into the elf's serious eyes, waiting for his answer.

"For many years before going south, I hunted out the spiders' nurseries and destroyed many. Ungoliant's offspring are ever vigilant for my return. The spiders are far more intelligent than the Orcs, and they know I am near by the feel of my walking in the limbs. They will come from all the lairs in a seven-league radius for the chance to feed me to their young. It is not going to be a restful night," he explained solemnly, yet his tone indicated this to be a normal and unremarkable sort of experience.

Aragorn stared back unspeaking as he listened to this, disturbt wht what sort of life the wild elf must lead. It was not a life at all, as he defined the concept. He turned back to gaze ahand and observe their progress, but he saw not the trail his horse was treading. Instead he became lost in introspection, considering the years since the Battle of Erebor and wondering how old Legolas was at the time. Like most of the Eldar, Aragorn found him to be both old and young. {But, in his case, the wrong sort of youth, and the worst kind ge,}ge,} he thought. It was all askew, an immortal constantly rubbing shoulders with death, like a child being given a wolf's den for a play yard.

He was jarred from his musing as the stallion broke from the cover of the trees into a large clearing; brightly lit with the last remnants of fading crimson from the west. In comparison to the continuous half-light under the forest's eaves the spot was bathed in brilliance, and yet unlike most breaks in the cover where the land reveled in worshipful adoration of Anor, the glory of the sun's warmth failed to touch this field.

"What is this place?" he asked with alarm, for the site had the feel of a graveyard to it. {Or a battleground!} he corrected himself.

"It is your camp, Aragorn," said Legolas as he lightly jumped down and waited for the others to do the same. He watched as his two friends surveyed the chosen spot with revulsion and turned to him, their shock evident upon their features.

"You are not wrong, your instincts are true; it is a foul place and under other circumstances I would never want you to come here! This was once a woodsmen's village, but all is devastation and woe now. The earth is defiled with the spilled blood of men, women, and innocent children, slain and eaten by the kin of the Orcs now pursuing us. Only sorrow grows in this soil these days, for the Greenwood will not reclaim the site, and so it will be for all time to come, I fear!"

"Then why do you place us here, Legolas?" Gandalf demanded. He gazed with loathing at the bare and blighted land.

Abruptly the order of time shifted and he could see the gruesome scene under the starlight of a summer's eve: a great troop of Orcs swept upon the unprepared townsfolk, and the people were overwhelmed and subdued. The demons remained in the village, caring nothing for the grotesque tableau of decomposing bodies in various stages of dismemberment strewn throughout the settlement. Some of the humans they kept alive for weeks, bound and piled together in groaning heaps, wailing piteously as they starved slowly. These unfortunates had borne witness to the Orcs' voracious consumption of their friends and family members before becoming fodder themselves.

And Gandalf could see how it ended, as well: confusion and disarray erupted among the abominations of Melkor's pride as a torrent of arrows broke upon them where they glutted their gorges in their gruesome feast. Every one of them died within the hour, and the egregious, putrid flow of Orc blood mingled with that of their human victims' in the sanguine saturated soil. The few surviving villagers, six in all, were released and lead away from the disgusting and traumatizing display.

It was Legolas who was their savior, Gandalf saw, and in the instant of comprehension a short and bitter sound, a twisted inversion of laughter's lightness, shattered the mirage and returned the wizard to the present.

"Too late," was the outcast archer's sorrowful nt. nt.

The Maia's eyes peered with worried concern upon the Tawarwaith's, for he realized the events had occurred exactly as he had envisioned, and indeed were the very sights his elven friend had recorded within eternal memory that horrendous day.

"You could not have done more," said Mithrandir gently.

The Wood Elf's ability to access the wizard's mind had apparently progressed so that he could initiate the contact much as he did with Tawar. This form of communication was not unheard of among the Eldar, but was still rare enough to be regarded as an almost frightening gift, even among elf-kind. {A result of the lengthy exchange of essentia on the previous night, no doubt. Legolas is a quick learner,} he thought, and caught the fleeting smile that graced his young friend's lips.

"I am sorry, but the two of you will have to use more words," Aragorn's grim chiding finally ended the abbreviated tete-a-tete. Legolas sighed and Gandalf smilnd ond offered an apologetic shrug to the Man.

"I have brought you here because it is the only defensible site in the region. We are not in a position to be choosy, much as I abhor this place!" the fallen prince at last gave an answer to Gandalf's earlier inquiry.

"That does not make this more clear, Legolas!" exclaimed Aragorn. "How is a huge open clearing defensible by three lone warriors?"

"Two. Your foes will be at a disadvantage on the ground. The spiders prefer to pick off their victims from the cover of the leaves, using their silk to bind them.

"You must make and keep a strong fire through the night, for they fear it more than blade or arrow. Have a burning brand in hand even as the other wields your sword. They will not attack from only one side, but come upon you en masse, from several locations among the surrounding trees. You will need to be quick with the fire, for it is all that will sunder their threads if once they ensnare you!" Legolas instructed as he moved around the clearing gathering up the remains of the human's furnishings for the fire.

"Two? Where will you be?" demanded Gandalf.

"I cannot fight them this way; I need to be in the trees," he said, aiming a glance at his friend to judge the wizard's reaction to this half-truth.

A snuffling breath and a short stamp directed his attention to the animals. Legolas threw down his armload and went to the horses and spoke to them; the steeds immediately obeyed, leaving the clearing for a destination only the wild elf knew. He would not have the fine animals become the spider coven's next meal. Satisfied with their prompt response, he resumed his gathering.

The two travelers watched their companion in a sort of daze, trying to take in what was happening and understand how events had gotten so far beyond their control. When had their friend undergone this transformation from crushed and immobilizing despair to determined and stubborn command?

"Unacceptable!" It was Aragorn, to the wild elf's amazement, which blurted this singular rebuttal. "We must not become separated!"

Legolas watched him with mild surprise but made no reply, merely dumping his armload of kindling and fuel near the Man's feet. The exiled prince then removed his quiver and bow, withdrew his dagger from inside and slipped it under the leather tied round his waist, and held the weapons out toward the mortal.

"I will not need these," he spoke another lie, "but please do not let the spiders near them! They will spot them and wish to destroy the implements of so many of their future generation's destruction!"

Aragorn just stood staring at him and so Legolas sighed and put the quiver and bow upon the ground beside the Man's pack.

"Do not leave the clearing, even when the battle is over. Stay by the fire in case any get away from me and come here, seeking their brethren. I am not sure how many members are in this particular colony, for I have not been near for several years, but they will not send all the adults anyway. Some will stay behind to protect the nests. We have an excellent chance of surviving, though it will not be an easy task by any means."

Legolas meant this speech to be reassuring, but could see by the dour expressions regarding him that his effort had failed miserably. He frowned, there was no time for more discussion, and he could not make them understand anyway. After the fight they would have all the knowledge they would ever nebut but before hand no explanation would seem rational to those who had never encountered Ungoliant's bizarre mutations of Yavanna's design.

"Legolas, what are you planning to do? I think Aragorn is right, we should remain together to face this threat!" Gandalf said and laid a restraining hand upon his friend's shoulder.

Through the physical connection the mental one was opened and the wizard received a flood of information on fighting the arachnids, too much to assimilate. He had no references with which to associate most of it. A visual of the most vulnerable points in the creatures' bodies was all he could manage to retain. Legolas' intent was clear enough, though; he would do things his way and no words would deter him. Mithrandir's hand fell away limply from the elf, but the wild archer grabbed it up again in both his own and clasped it tightly albeit briefly in encouragement.

"Do not get bitten!" Legolas said and raced away back into the trees before they could attempt to stop him.

Gandalf and Aragorn stared at one another in the descending darkness for a moment or two, and then in silent accord set about creating a fire. As he carried more wood to the center of the barren glen, the Man considered what he had been told.

"Gandalf, neither of us have the reflexes of an elf, and not even the Lorien elves are as quick as the Wood Elves, it is said. And I would be willing to wager that among his own people Legolas is somewhat more resourceful than most, for he thrives amid the harrows of the Shadow where many have faltered," he said contemplatively. The wizard stopped his activity and turned to his companion.

"All that you say I would not contest. What is your meaning?"

"Legolas owns the ability to combat these things, but we have none. Without him here I fear we will be lost in a direct conflict. I think we need to take measures to even the odds a little. If the creatures fear fire, then we must use it more robustly than even our wild friend instructs. We must construct a flaming barricade to guard our backs, or we will be overwhelmed by these foes."

"Legolas would not approve of endangering the trees in that way, but I agree with you!"

The two shifted their focus, defining a broad expanse of earth as a suitable location for their firewall. Carefully they cleared away all inflammable debris between their fortifications and the forest beyond the bleak expanse of the blasted settlement's boundaries. It would not do to have their elven friend return only to find his homeland ablaze due to careless oversight.

They piled high the logs and planks, rafters and beams, broken bedsteads and chairs that had once comprised homes to happy families, raising the bulwark as high as they had means to do. It seemed fitting that the decimation of the human habitat would assist the travelers, as though the townsfolk long dead partook of the struggle, too. As the sky over head began to gleam with the lustrous mithril scintillation of Varda's gift to the First Born, they completed their task and lit the palisade up.

Another glance passed between the duo, and together they drew their swords, planted themselves firmly before the burning blockade, and waited.

From the position of the moon, both knew that three hours had passed from Ithil's reign with nothing but the crackling inferno to break the somber night's silence.

There was no prelude to the attack. Unlike four-footed beasts or the fearsome Orcs, the spiders were silent in their approach and as careful in the trees as an elf. Of a sudden the clearing was brimming with the huge bloated things, scrambling with alarming speed on their eight hairy hinged spindles of legs towards their prey.

Aragorn braced for the onslaught, gripping his blade with calm determination, remaining fixed to prevent being flanked and exposing his back to danger. Yet the creatures halted just beyond range of his sword arm and in the next instant a stream of fetid silk shot across the remaining distance and wrapped his ankle in a tightening knot.

The spider grasped the strand with its two front legs and yanked hard, jerking the Man from his feet. Aragorn shouted in anger as he was flung to the ground, and hacked at the sticky stinking string as the arachnid reeled him in. Their silk was sterner stuff than it looked and yielded not, and then the human recalled the Wood Elf's advice too late. He had not kept a flaming torch at hand.

With an enraged yodel Aragorn grabbed onto the silk and pulled with all his strength, and the foul beast was taken by surprise and toppled forward, its gruesome eyes shoved rudely into the dirt. The mortal took the opportunity and speared the grotesquely bulging body through; gagging at the release of vile fluids that poured out, surging from the breach.

The spider did not move again, and Aragorn scooted backwards as another streak of yellow-tinted spinning launched towards his chest. He reached the fire and snatched a branch from its base, searing away the clinging wrap even as the loathsome spinner began its relentless retrieval. Before the spider could sever the thread and shoot forth another, the Man replayed his initial maneuver and, snatching the disgusting extrusion, hauled the writhing enemy into his blade's eager bite.

But Legolas had not been recalcitrant in his warnings, for this species was eminently more astute than any Orc could ever be. The next bit of organic rope to reach him ensnared the Man's sword arm. Aragorn shoved the torch into the web-maker's hold even as a second and then a third cord attached to his shoulder and his thigh.

He was down again, and now two spiders held tight their twines as the d add advanced upon him with rapidity he found alarming. Frantically he seared through the constraint upon his shoulder and swept his sword through the attacker's neck, severing the goggle-eyed head from the bulbous thorax. The malodorous juices of the fiendish monster spewed over him and he strained to suppress his rising gorge.

A hoarse shout from his right alerted Aragorn to Gandalf's plight, not much different from his own.

The wizard was swinging his fiery brand in the same two-fisted grasp that controlled his sword, and three spiders tried to snatch the old one's arms and legs with their hateful webs. Even as he fell, the Maia succeeded in chopping off two legs from one and burning the eyes of another in one upswept, arcing movement of controlled fury.

The disabled spider clicked its menacing fangs and lunged at the Istar's darting arm, hoping to inject its potent venom, but Gandalf kicked with his free leg, knocking yet another of the loathsome monstrosity's supports from under it. His sword and the torch finished the arachnid as its two companions sought to tug him into their clutches.

Shouting damnation and curses upon the diabolical arthropods looming in the dancing haze of the roaring firelight, Gandalf copied Aragorn's strategy and pulled back on the silk attached to his leg. The creature bared down and stood firm, bracing against the pressure, and the wizard singed the thread through, sending the spider rolling backwards in the release of tension on the line.

The third creature disengaged its own string and retreated slightly to try again, and Gandalf jumped to his feet and picked up the discarded length. With a snapping crack he whipped its free end up and caught the destabilized spider as it was trying to right itself, and the strong filament stuck tight. The wizard gave a satisfied yell as he yanked the flailing heap of legs and eyes toward him and sliced its segmenterso rso in two.

The retreating spider continued its rout, suddenly less bold as the noisome liquids that served as blood for its kind flowed so freely from the broken remains of its fellows. Two others, fleeing from Aragorn's wrathful advance joined it, and in mere minutes the battle was over.

The two travelers remained alert, expecting another assault, and gulped in lungfuls of the polluted air as their hearts thundered from the exertion and the flood of adrenaline released by the stress of the encounter. Gradually, they calmed and eased their vigilant stances, at last realizing the spiders were defeated. They exchanged weary looks filled with unbelieving relief and surveyed the carcasses littering the ground.

In all, they had felled seven of the ghoulish abominations, and they dragged the disgusting remains out away from their encampment, forming a ring of death to the front in accord with the barricade of flames at their backs. This done they at last turned to take stock of one another, and identical grins spread across the two companions' faces.

What a sight they were! Bits and pieces of spider's silk clung to them and their garments were befouled with a revolting mixture of dirt and arachnid blood and innards.

Gandalf's beard had suffered the worst in the fray, for a large swatch of the flowing gray-streaked hair had been caught in his torch's flame and burned away. His long soft robe was ripped at the hip where a thread had landed, and both arms bore abrasions from the steely grip of the arachnid's attempts to disable him.

Aragorn was not much better; bearing a long tear in his fine leggings and a terrible disfigurement of his elegant elven left boot at the ankle. His chest and shoulder had been protected from the silk by his jerkin, which proudly bore its new-earned scars. The Man's sword arm was sore, but not unusable, and so he counted himself fortunate indeed to have fared so well.

The two did not relax completely, however, lest the attack be but the initial advancement of the dire creatures. They stood back to back, swords drawn and ready, torches at hand, awaiting the night's end and the return of the Wood Elf.

Tbc