Chapter One: On the Paths

Galion had worried for the past three days, as he hadn't heard of Tawariell much then. He was lying up against the bars of his cell, pondering if she was still alright. She said she did not know when he would return, but he knew she'd keep her promise to come back. Though he served her adar, he wished that only she ruled these lands instead of him.

She would be a fairer monarch, a wiser and better queen than he had ever known. He had faith in her, and he continued to hold true to the thought of her word. However, the walls of his cell seemed to be closing in with every minute he strived for air.

The mists of the falls that surrounded the rock seemed to brush against the bars, but he still wanted space, still wanted the chance to escape his iron-barred prison. Galion would sleep little, if not for a moment's time. He rested against the door, hoping one of the guard would bring him news.

It'd been a four-day ride back, and it took nearly an hour just to follow the paths through the sickly forest. It was taxing, and it put strain upon Tawariell's mind and body, same for every other that accompanied them through the twisted wood.

The air was foul and thick, and it was hard to get a fresh whisp of air to breathe. All of them traveled on foot, with the guard protecting and surrounding them. The Elvenking and his daughter were safe in their grasp, but the thoughts of the spiders paraded through Tawariell's mind.

She'd taken a back route out of her realm when she left, and she worried that they would encounter the ghastly eight-legged beasts on their way. Her grey eyes were ever watchful on the woods.

The sight of the trees' bark seemed to be a gnarled green, one covered with filthy moss and thorns that wrapped around their thick trunks like snakes. Tawariell remembered how the forest used to be, long before her muindor Legolas was born. She noticed how their leaves also seemed to be discolored, even as their small scraps crunched beneath their feet.

The sound of their dried skins crinkled in her ears, even when she suddenly went to touch her adar's hand. He walked beside her, his eyes also ever watchful of his homeland.

He wrapped her fingers within his, pulling it close to his heart. The guards walked in front and behind them, surveying the paths. The marred and faded stone they walk on seemed to age away. Shaking, Tawariell felt a sense of dread fall over her; she shook, as to show her fear.

Noticing how pale his daughter had suddenly become, Thranduil spoke softly to her, "Avo 'osto. We are both safe with the guard. Lord Elrond has given us trustworthy soldiers, so you must not worry yourself, my daughter."

He longed to reassure her, as to keep her calm and at ease. Tawariell nodded slowly and in silence at his words, and kept close to him. She was still fearful, but tried not to show it anymore. Of course, when one traveled through the forests of Mirkwood, anything could happen. The guard ahead then stopped, raising a hand.

The others immediately withdrew their swords, others taking out an arrow and sliding it into their bows. Tawariell's heart then palpitated. Thranduil wrapped an arm around her now, drawing her near and close.

The scent of the area became rather polluted then, as if it were an orange stench. She could smell it. She could smell how thick, how close, those foul creatures were. When she'd been born, she'd been given the loathsome gift of being able to tell what creatures were lurking in the dark, ready to strike. She clenched onto her adar's robes and held him tightly. Her fear was real, as was his concern for her. Looking to a passing scout, the king inquired, "What is it?"

Looking toward the king with a bowed head, the scout replied, "Ungoliants, heruamin."

Tawariell then cocked her head to look into Thranduil's eyes; the sight of woe and fear had taken them over. He continued to hold her, even as she buried the side of her face in his throat. Then, he felt her tears touch his skin, and Tawariell tried her hardest not to make a sound. The guard then made a tight circle around them, aiming their weapons to the dark.

Moments had passed, and though they were completely alert, the guard began to continue moving the royals through the forest. The Elvenking escorted his daughter in hand, walking quickly down through spiraling turns in the dying forest.

The main guard, Riastan, was busy making sure none of the spiders came toward them, as he continued to fire arrows toward their direction. Their burly image came at them like a storm, and their teeth were exposed within their heavy-set jaws. Snarling and snapping at him, the spiders growled, "Feast!"

"Get the king and the princess out of here!" he shouted back to his comrades, hoping they'd obey him. He continued to fire arrows, each striking a spider in their black eyes. At long last, Tawariell removed her sword Narnamo, and removed herself from Thranduil's grasp.

His hand let go of her, and she ran toward the large predators. Her blade sliced deep down into their marled flesh, drawing black blood from within. She did not fear them in the moment, but she did it to protect her adar.

"Iell nín! Tolo sí!" the king cried out, reaching for Tawariell. He struggled to grasp her arm, or even her shoulder, but it was a great futile attempt. She'd already pilaged her way to the front of the company, striking down any spider that dare to go up against her.

Her blade was already stained with the spider's blood. In an instant, she did a 360-degree spin, where she decided to raise her hands above her, only to lash out at the great monsters that came. She flicked her wrist at the right angle and severed the spider's head at last.

Unable to stay away from the fight, Thranduil unsheathed his own sword and joined in. His hand struck at the nearest spider, whose jaws had almost caught him. The snarls gave him shivers, but he did not back away. When chance came, he slid his sword through the bottom jaw of the spider, allowing the sharp steel to peak out from the top of its head.

It fell dead at his feet. When suddenly the battle seemed to stop, all became silent. There were no more cries from the spiders, as they had killed each and every one that had come to attack.

The beasts fell dead, and cringed with their limbs, curling up into deranged crafts. The attack subsided for the moment, but Thranduil knew more would come. He gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white.

"Tawariell," he whispered, breathless. "Come now," he continued, "we make haste. We simply cannot take any more risks."

Without thinking, he took her by the arm and escorted her down the winding path, and the two continued along with their guards, into the dark heart of the forest's labyrinth.

(Chapter two to come!)