CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Arachnids
No one had seen them coming. Not even Farren who tried to slice down as many of the cackling beasts as she could, only managing to kill two of the twenty that came for them.
Kill! Feast!
The whisperings filled her head as she struggled against the hundreds of legs that tried to hold her down long enough for their leader to sink its teeth into her neck. She heard Dwalin calling desperately for her but all she saw were the horrifying faces of her attackers. Their many eyes were glowing charcoal and boring into her bones, silently debating whether or not to kill her there and then.
She is bigger than the rest! We will feast like kings!
Farren felt the wet teeth of the beast on her shoulder, almost mockingly tearing her cloak to expose her skin. Then the pain came, spreading from the puncture wound that seeped clear poison, numbing her limbs and causing her vision to become grey. Her mouth went slack and she couldn't call out for help, she couldn't tell Bilbo not to come down from his tree, to stay away from an inevitable death.
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she succumbed to the darkness, dropping her sword and faintly hearing it clatter to the ground and the high pitched screams of her captors,
It has returned!
Farren did not know what happened next, for her entire being was throbbing in hysterical pain and her mind was filled with a white fog that seemed to be beckoning her towards it. A grey hand reaching out to her, putrid and rotting, extending a finger and willing her to join it.
Her curiosity yearned to see what the hand was connected to, whether it was dead or alive, powerful or weak, dark or light.
Her gut told her no. Her head groaned at her. Her instinct told her yes. Her possessed soul screamed that it was the best decision. Her heart told her of Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.
She seemed to be the cocoon that Bilbo hunted for the most. Dodging rotting insects the size of horses and getting tangled in webs, the silk sticking to his clothes and his sword. He felt guilty when he spotted the thirteen dwarf shaped bundles of silk hanging from white branches, waiting in line to be eaten. But his keen eyes sought only the largest chrysalis, clutching her sword in his sweaty hands and keeping an ear out for the oncoming beasts ready for a meal. Nervously raising the blue sword, he sliced the web neatly down her side, dragging Farren's slack limbs away from the fibres that clutched her body desperately. He took her cheeks in his grubby hands, gently stroking her skin and calling her name quietly, in some attempt to awaken her.
She stirred slightly, her eyelids opening quickly and her eyes darting around them, wide and alert, looking for danger. Tentatively, Bilbo reached out and placed a feather light touch on her shoulder, tracing the enflamed skin of her still seeping wound and she opened her mouth to cry out, her eyes watering thickly from the pain that surged through her body.
"My sword," she choked out and she grappled around blindly, feeling the cool hilt of her beloved weapon and sweeping the rest of the web off her body and out of her hair. Holding her sword in one hand and squeezing her numb shoulder with the other, she directed Bilbo to cut down the rest of the company, with a series of unclear eyebrow movements.
"What?" the Hobbit whispered confusedly and Farren rolled her eyes, swinging her sword with gritted hiss and slashed the dwarf shaped cocoon nearest to her, watching it fall like a feather to the ground not far below. Understanding this movement perfectly, Bilbo continued her work as Farren hastily made her way down to the ground, jumping from branch to branch like she was flying.
The first cocoon was Balin and he grunted angrily as another dwarf landed atop him, Farren hoisting them both up to their feet and searching for the rest of the Company,
"Farren, my dear girl," Dwalin muttered, aiding in her search, "You're hurt,"
"I will heal," she replied with a hiss, cutting her way to the struggling Thorin and Ori, "We must hurry,"
Grasping the youngest dwarf's hand, she led the pack through the forest, her mind immune to the whisperings that tempted her to kill the dwarf king. But the voices of the enraged spiders threatened to break her ear drums and she cringed at the uses of their words, screaming at how they will starve and calling her ancient names that only her forefather would be offended by.
"DUCK!" came a startled cry from behind her and Ori shunted her forwards, out of the path of a flying dagger which embedded itself in an oncoming spider's head. And with a battle worthy shout, Farren sliced its head clean off, punching another that tried to snap at her leg.
"BILBO!" she shrieked into the darkness around her, realising that her Hobbit was no longer with them but her worried thoughts were short lived, Thorin racing in front of her to cut down the advancing spiders. But he stopped, as did the rest of the Company and Farren looked up, spying what was making Thorin so infuriated.
An elf, one so beautiful that her breath stopped dead in her throat. He brandished a bow made of wood and had upon his back the same quiver she had when she was young, with carvings of elven maidens and lords. He whipped an arrow into his bow, shooting a rather rabid spider and straightening up, preparing to shoot at Thorin.
"Do not think that I won't kill you dwarf," he said dangerously, "It would be my pleasure," and within moments, they were surrounded by fifty weapon holding elves all adorned in green and brown clothing with long hair tied up in intricate braids. The back of Farren's cloak was suddenly tugged and she was enclosed in the middle of a protective barrier, Thorin standing before her with his sword still brandished.
Then came the frightened and pained shouting of a male creature, a defenceless dwarf to be exact and Fili cast his eyes around desperately, calling his brother's name.
"KILI!" he shouted into the black forest and Farren's breath got caught once again, hearing the muffled screeches of a dying spider and the clanging of metal on bone.
"Search them," the beautiful elf ordered and the Company circled in, enabling Farren to tuck away the key to the Lonely Mountain and the map safely deep within her surcoat, the elf watching her do so. He seemed intrigued by her and the way the dwarves protected her so, keeping her away from the prying hands of his guardselves. But another object caught his eye, glinting from beneath her cloak, a polished stone of many different shades of blue.
"Legolas," a fellow elf was standing before him, holding a sword of magnificence, dotted with the blood of the beasts,
"This is an ancient Elvish blade," he said in his native tongue, explaining to his surrounding elves, "Forged by my kin," he took the sword in his hands and weighed it against his chest, breathing in the weightlessness of it. He turned to Thorin with a menacing glint in his eye,
"Where did you get this?" he asked and Thorin scowled,
"It was given to me," he bit out, struggling to keep his calm composure and the flash of a blade caused his mouth to clamp shut, the tip of his sword pressed to his throat,
"Not just a thief, but a liar as well," Legolas hissed accusingly, waving the sword at his elves who stood guard around them, "Take them!" he shouted in Elfish, commandingly and his fellows moved forwards, seizing each dwarf by the arm and strutting away with them leaving Farren to be escorted by the beautiful elf.
Her mouth grew dry as he took her uninjured shoulder, obviously expecting a fight for his grip was impossibly tight but she did not whimper; she did not show any emotion as she was marched through the winding forests of Mirkwood, over streams of black water and beneath the tree dwellings of growling creatures. Only when the light became brighter did her posture change, her muscles relaxing and her breathing slowing, her bones trembling with some kind of excitement that she had not felt in over one hundred years. Legolas dropped his hand to between her shoulder blades, directing her down a narrow path and onto a stone bridge, and leading her up to a pair of magnificent gates that looked thick enough to hold a dragon out. However her mind was still uneasy as to the whereabouts of Bilbo Baggins, whether he was alive and following them, or being digested in the bowls of a giant spider. She shivered at the thought.
"Close the gate," Legolas instructed after he had lead Farren through the gates and past a pair of unsmiling elven guards but he stopped, sensing something and she sensed it too. A small presence of some kind and she felt a breeze waft past her, though she thought nothing of it
However what Legolas said next startled her,
"Take her to the throne room," and she was taken hastily by two guards and led down and narrow, earthy hall lit only by glowing white lanterns.