Summary: Achilles regards his honor as sacred, but he is not the first to do so. Sequel to "Weakness" and "Strength." Features the same major Greek and Elven characters, plus two new faces. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Sorry, I still don't own them, and I still am not making any money off of them. But that's okay – I love them to death anyway.
Author's Note: Okay, I think I'm becoming disproportionately happy when I get a new chapter posted for this fic nowadays. I mean, I knew it would be an epic endeavor when I first started, but it certainly has proven to be taxing on the creative literary energies. It's still amazingly fun, of course - it's just taking me a good long while, so thank you tons to everyone who's stuck with me through it all! Special kudos to Torilei, mangacrack, Trollmela Angeline, GoldenHorde, and halberd for the lovely reviews you all left on the last chapter. And now, we're on to Chapter 9 - hope you enjoy!
Chapter 9
"For other foul creatures of spider form had dwelt there since the days of the delving of Angband, and she mated with them, and devoured them; and even after Ungoliant herself departed, and went whither she would into the forgotten south of the world, her offspring abode there and wove their hideous webs."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Silmarillion"
By the time Maedhros and Patroclus were reunited with their comrades, Fingon and the other Greeks had already moved far away from the gruesome remains of their antagonists. Any survivors of the conflict – if indeed there were any – had long since fled.
Achilles was the first to happily mark their coming, for he had been ill at ease ever since the discovery of his cousin's absence; however, he had hardly expected to see the boy returning in the wake of their most temperamental traveling companion. Maedhros distanced himself from the young Greek as soon as they had joined their friends, choosing yet again to bind himself to the more familiar company of his own dear cousin.
"Where were you?" Achilles demanded at once as he drew near to inspect Patroclus for any sign of injury. He knew the boy would resent the harried concern borne on his words, but that was a small matter. The Lord of the Myrmidons would have worried over the fate of any of his men, had they likewise vanished in the midst of a battle against strange foes. He hadn't worried about Maedhros, though; in hindsight, he realized he hadn't even noticed the Elf was missing. Could there have been some connection between the two coinciding separations?
Standing an arm's length away, Patroclus withstood the well-intentioned onslaught of his cousin's scrutiny, all the while bracing himself for the humiliation that would surely come of having his capture inevitably revealed. He would be so ashamed when his lifelong teacher knew of it, especially if the older man should also learn that it had only happened because he had been childish enough to let himself get distracted. He could hardly have prevented it, though. Surely all of them must have noticed!
"Patroclus, what's wrong?" Achilles could read guilt in the boy's face, but that only confused him more. What could have possibly happened this past hour?
"I'm sure he only regrets that you were not there also."
Achilles started – not at hearing the voice itself, but upon recognizing the speaker.
"I pursued a number of the men who attempted to flee back eastward," Maedhros continued nonchalantly, as though he was merely discussing the color of the sky that particular evening. "Your cousin accompanied me, Achilles, and I am pleased to report that none of them escaped us."
"Really?" Fingon's admiring eyes traveled from the young Greek to Maedhros, and then back again. "I commend you for keeping pace with my cousin, Patroclus! Even I have not been able to do so on some occasions."
Personally, Patroclus had been stunned speechless by this unexpected intervention, yet he did not miss the knowing look of mutual conspiracy that Maedhros briefly sent his way. And so he made no contradiction.
Unseen beside him, however, Achilles' sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion. Though he refrained from voicing any of his doubts, he knew Patroclus far too well to believe the boy capable of such a feat; even he himself, renowned as a great runner, would have been hard-pressed to keep pace over this terrain with any tall, sure-footed Elf.
"Was it really necessary to go after them?" he asked instead.
Maedhros' answer was immediate. "I don't like leaving my enemies alive."
Achilles had no answer for the unyielding coldness of that retort, and he felt the air next to him tremble as Patroclus shuddered slightly. Had Maedhros really scared the boy that badly? Or had Patroclus just been so deeply affected by what he'd seen?
The great warrior frowned. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his blunt assessment of Maedhros early on…
But the party of travelers had their own needs to tend to before moving on to find a more suitable place to settle for the night. Odysseus had a notable gash on his left arm from where a halberd had skimmed over the top of his shield, and Eudorus' right foot was a painful, bloody mess. Someone wearing a heavily armored boot had stepped on it during the melee, and his soft Greek sandal had offered no protection whatsoever. The man stubbornly insisted he could still walk on it at great need, but he was nonetheless grateful to be mounted and riding again.
As Achilles bound up Odysseus' arm, his mind still dwelt on the matchless display of skill he had witnessed earlier that very day. For he, too, had observed Fingon and Maedhros during the battle, albeit more discreetly than some others; and even now he continued to mark their every move of calculated grace with new awareness. He also noticed Eudorus giving their newest friends a wider berth, though his attention was drawn to them more often than before. After all, Achilles reflected, this was the first time Eudorus had ever seen Elves in earnest combat – much less two of the most revered warriors in all their immortal history.
When they had resumed riding again the next morning, Achilles approached Fingon. He knew the time for him to talk alone with Maedhros would come, but it was not now.
"It seems you and your cousin have lost none of your skill," he commented.
It was a casual observation, but one that would inexorably point the conversation in the direction he wished it to go; and Fingon, apparently, held no objection.
"In a way, that almost surprised me," the latter confessed softly. "I remember everything I ever learned of battle, and my strength is not at all diminished. I know Maedhros can say much the same. Once a sword is in our hands, it is as though we had never left this place."
"May I ask who is the better of the two of you?"
The raven head nodded deeply. "You may, indeed. My cousin and I have practiced together for so long, I can hold my own against him better than most anyone; but Maedhros still has the upper hand between us. Nine times out of ten, I say he would beat me."
Achilles permitted himself a small smile at the description that could have so easily been applied to Patroclus and himself. "Is Maedhros the best you've ever seen, then?"
Fingon did not even need a moment to consider. "Almost, but no. That title I could bestow only upon Fingolfin, my own sire; for in his time, he achieved more alone than the rest of us could combined, after he had passed. He was an unrivaled warrior, a shrewd tactician, and a most wise ruler. I'm sure his equal shall never be seen again in Middle Earth."
And yet again, the lord of the Myrmidons found himself floundering in a conversation where there was nothing more to say. There was always more to learn about these ancient people – more to the story than had yet been told. Always more that had happened before. Was there even a beginning to it all?
He soon concluded that it was just another inevitable side effect of immortality.
Another week passed. The days were gradually growing cooler as they moved farther north, but it was a small change in comparison to the evenings. Gone were the warm, pleasant summer nights of Greece, now to be replaced by a chill dampness that clung like dew to every limb after the sun had hid his shining face. But one night, the travelers unanimously decided to forego the comforting light and warmth of their customary fire.
They were camped on the fringes of a dark forest that had bordered the coast for many miles, with still no end in sight. The darkness was darker here, and the cold colder, so that even Achilles and his friends could tell something was horribly amiss. A bitter salt wind blew inland off the Sea, stirring up the angry waters and churning a host of ominous black clouds which prophesied a storm; but still they lit no fire.
"Something foul lives here," Odysseus finally spoke, voicing the sentiments of all present as his anxious gaze was lost amongst the gnarled and twisted shadows of the trees.
But Maedhros, while very much alert, was hardly daunted. "Let it come."
Eudorus then came up beside his Ithacan friend and remarked, with a subtle nod at the taller Elf, "He's not afraid of much at all, is he?"
"Not of anything that could bring harm to himself," Odysseus replied with a grim chuckle. "I imagine he has already encountered nearly every such thing."
As usual, they soon settled down to try to sleep; but the feeling of unease was so potent that, for the first time since their departure from Phthia, Maedhros did not leave them to look for Maglor. Rather, feeling certain that his brother would never choose to stay near such a dark place as this, he volunteered to take the first watch of the night. Fingon remained awake as well, speaking in low tones with his cousin, while the Greeks had faith enough in their sentinels to drift into a restless repose.
It seemed not long, however, before Patroclus was awakened by Eudorus stirring at his elbow. When the youth blinked and looked up, he saw that the elder warrior was already on his feet, alert and limber. And yet again, Patroclus berated himself for lacking that innate warrior's sense that his cousin and the other Myrmidons were privy to, even in slumber. Achilles had even teased him about it recently on their journey, saying that his naïve little cousin "still slept like an innocent lamb in the fold, happily heedless of any danger."
Indeed, he was the last one to wake now, as well. Fingon and Maedhros stood a distance apart, closer to the edge of the forest than their companions. Both Elves were tall, erect, and tense. Though they did not move, they still appeared more ready for battle than Patroclus had yet seen them to be.
"Did they see something?" he whispered to Eudorus, who was already well accustomed to humoring the boy's questions after many trying years of practice.
"They must have." Even with their heads bent so close, Eudorus' words were scarcely audible. "I've no idea what, but I'll trust their eyes over my own in a place like this."
Then something moved in the utter darkness – an ominous bustle of activity that could almost be felt, rather than seen or heard. Patroclus took an involuntary step backward, behind Eudorus. He would much rather face those hostile men they had encountered further south again than these mysterious shadows that made his skin crawl. All three of the other Greeks, including Achilles, looked as though they shared his opinion on that subject. How did Fingon and Maedhros remain so collected?
Before fate had whisked him away to his cousin's care in Phthia, Patroclus had, like most of the other small boys in his village, taken a certain pleasure in tormenting the young girls of their acquaintance with a well-placed spider or three. Now he knew what those same unfortunate girls must have dreamt during the nights following such awful pranks.
For the shadows began to slowly take shape as they silently drew nearer to the edge of trees by where the travelers had camped. The first things to materialize were the legs – like a forest of limber saplings, bristling with prickly black hairs. It was both sickening and terrifying. Then the rest of the bodies emerged, round and massive and altogether grotesque. And what little light was to be had in the dead of night glistened in reflection off a host of sickly spider eyes.
As soon as the beasts had come near enough to be recognized, they halted and drew their creeping limbs in close to their monstrous abdomens, ready to flee or strike like a bolt of sudden lightning.
Patroclus guessed there to be three of four of the arachnid giants; but his eyesight, especially in such poor light, was less than trustworthy. He stole another glance at Fingon and Maedhros, observing with distant wonder how they still stood like two living memories of light in the all-encompassing darkness.
But the unworldly image was not to last. With a cry that shattered the stillness of the moment like a mighty thunderbolt from before the years of Men, Maedhros suddenly sprang forward, drawing his sword like a flash of fire, and Fingon followed him. The spiders scattered before the intense ferocity of that assault, preferring instead to draw the battle deeper into the familiarity of their web-infested forest. Soon all of the combatants were swallowed up in the maw of ancient trees.
And so in the space of only two heartbeats, the four Greeks abruptly found themselves very much alone, staring at one another in dumbfounded silence.
Eudorus spoke first, his voice still a nervous whisper. "I hadn't expected that; they were not so aggressive the last time we saw them fight."
"But still, we cannot leave them to do battle alone against those…monsters. I had not even known such things existed." The unusual tremor in Achilles' words merited a few worried stares from his companions, but in truth, each of them felt the same cold terror stirring in his heart.
Nevertheless, they all followed suit when the Lord of the Myrmidons drew his own sword and set off in the aid of their Elven comrades. But by now, Maedhros and Fingon were already deep within the heart of the forest, spurred on by such a rage and hatred that the Greeks could never share. For this was an old feud, older even than the memories of many of their own immortal people.
It was impossible to keep up with the Elven warriors, much less gain any ground to locate them; and despite their best efforts to avoid getting separated, it was not long before the Greeks were all lost in a maze of webs and endless darkness. Patroclus, for instance, thought that he had been following directly behind his cousin; but in the blink of an eye, a shadow passed between them, and Achilles had simply vanished.
The young Myrmidon froze, battling down his surge of panic. He was tempted to call out for Eudorus or any of the others, but at the same time, he feared drawing unwanted attention to his location. So, whether it was wise or foolish on his part, he pressed onward, doing his best to move quietly while listening attentively for any indication of his friends.
It was only early autumn, yet already the bare black trees reached out to snag his skin and clothing like the hands of an arboreal skeleton. But worse by far were the webs, as enormous and hideous as the beasts that wove them. Patroclus yanked his arm free of one with frightened gasp and shuddered violently. Lightning flashed, and the approaching thunder rumbled overhead; it was high time to be gone from this wicked place!
Offering a quick prayer for guidance, he turned around to hopefully retrace his steps back toward the coastline. He could see no glimpse of sky through the massive canopy of trees above him, so navigation was impossible. Instinct would have to see him through.
As he groped and stumbled along, Patroclus again wondered what had become of his colleagues. A chorus of chilling shrieks in the distance testified that the righteous fury of Fingon and Maedhros had finally caught up with the spiders, minimizing considerably the danger that was left to the rest of their comrades. But then another sound reached his ears, and the boy stopped, positively mortified. He had never, in all his life, expected to hear such a thing.
It was his cousin's voice – calling for help.
Blind with sudden panic, Patroclus at once took off in the direction of the cries. He could only hope that Achilles' voice would continue to guide him, and that nothing with less than friendly intentions would arrive there first. The youngest Myrmidon pushed on through the undergrowth and protruding tree limbs until at last he emerged into a sort of clearing, the far side of which was dominated by a huge, gauzy spider web.
And there struggling in the midst of it was Achilles. He was thoroughly stuck, that much was obvious. The greatest of all Greek warriors was suspended upside down, caught and held by a sticky, tangled mess of web fibers. And all his futile struggling just made him look more and more ridiculous. He still held his sword securely in hand, as indeed all good warriors should; but his arm was stuck, so the ready weapon was rendered absolutely worthless.
Now rooted to the ground in shock, Patroclus bit down on his lip to hold back the fit of laughter that quite seriously threatened to escape past his lips. Not that it was funny situation, by any means; if any of the spiders returned, the two Myrmidons would be in deadly peril. But it was simply the sight of the mighty Achilles hanging upside down in a giant spider web, helpless and frustrated beyond expression, that the youth found so hopelessly amusing.
Just then, Odysseus burst into the clearing as well; and as soon as he caught sight of Achilles, the royal Ithacan made no effort to stop the riotous laughter that instantly overtook him. Of course, his roaring guffaws did nothing to aid the efforts of poor Patroclus, who could soon contain his own laughter no longer. And Achilles himself, now well alerted to their presence on account of the hysteria, was livid. He was shouting at them, of course, but his numerous threats about, "when I get down from here, etc." were lost on the ears of his distracted comrades.
Finally, and thankfully for Achilles, Eudorus had heard the commotion and painstakingly limped over to their position as quickly as he was able, still arriving late because of the lingering injury to his foot. The soldier's shock was no less than that of his fellows upon seeing his commander's predicament; but unlike them, he still had sense enough to realize the danger and hastened to cut Achilles down. Patroclus and Odysseus at once moved forward to help him in his efforts, as many hands were needed to efficiently cut through the webs without getting their own swords caught in the same manner as Achilles' weapon. They all continued to chuckle throughout the entirety of the work, though – even Eudorus.
Once the four Greeks had successfully navigated their way out of the dank woods, their next laborious task was to cleanse their fearless leader of the obnoxious, clinging mess. Patroclus thought back to the largest spider web he had ever had the misfortune of walking into, and he imagined the trauma must now be immeasurably worse for his cousin, who was at that moment lamenting over how long it would inevitably take to get the stuff out of his tawny hair. There was simply no good way to go about it, and they were still hard at the task when Fingon and Maedhros at last emerged from the dark line of trees to rejoin them.
Though blessedly unscathed, the Elves were hardly a pretty sight themselves, as might have been expected. But they were coated rather with spider gore, and while the sight and smell of it was enough to make a person gag, it could at least be washed clean with minimal effort.
"Do you think the rest of the journey will be like this, with some strange new enemy trying to kill us every hundred miles or so?" Eudorus idly pondered aloud as he peeled another long sticky string away from behind Achilles' ear.
"I doubt it," Fingon answered him with a grim smile. "The Lord of the Waters has ever been friendly to the Elves, and so creatures of darkness will rarely come near the Sea, unless they've truly no alternative."
"I wish someone had told those spiders that," Achilles grumbled petulantly. "I'll be spitting out cobwebs for a week now!"