In the North of the world Summer was now hastening to its end. The fresh green hues had been lost from the beeches in Northern Mirkwood, and as the West winds swept across Rhovanion bearing the chill of the snows that fell on the Hithaeglir, the burnished leaves were caught and carried far away. Beneath the branches, the Elves of Thranduil prepared for winter, gathering great store of food from the lands East and South, for the passes of the mountains were treacherous in the colder months, and few ventured to cross them unless necessity demanded it. Most disregarded the incident of the Dwarves, but Legolas could not forget them.

On the second morning after the feast, he took a small company of archers back into the Forest. Slipping through the trees they came upon many of the spiders slain by Legolas, Annúmír and Thalion on their last expedition, but nothing stirred. The cannabalistic nature of the beasts was notorious among Elves and Men: when food was scarce they would devour their mates and offspring without thought, so the absence of feasting monsters surprised and disturbed the Elves.

"What can this mean?" Ornendil asked Annúmír in a soft voice, but the other merely shook his head, then murmured in Legolas' ear, "Surely our valiant little friends could not have destroyed the entire colony?"
"I only wish I could believe it, although indebted to a Dwarf is not a condition in which I would generally wish to place myself!" he returned wryly.

Creeping stealthily through the trees they came nigh to the place that had been identified as the borders of the main settlement, but before they arrived there Legolas raised his hand, signalling for the others to halt. The dark unease that filled him when creatures of Sauron were near had once more fallen on his heart, and by listening carefully he could discern an unhappy bubbling noise: the sound of a spider in pain.

"Annúmír, take four and go to the left; Thalion lead another four to the right," he commanded quietly. "Go no closer than we did two days ago, and only shoot if you are threatened. I want you to attempt to discover how many are still alive-and what in Arda they are doing! Culedhel, come with me; the rest of you form a longer perimeter about the area and remain on guard. I wish to see everyone returned here before the sixth quarter."
He did not need to check whether they had understood his instruction: with silent nods of comprehension they slipped away into the shadows, almost before he had finished speaking.

The prince and his companion, however, would take another route. An oak tree, with branches spread wide like welcoming arms, grew close beside them and with barely a glance upward Legolas sprang up it, moving from limb to limb in swift, lithe movements; Culedhel followed a few boughs behind. In their wake a few leaves quivered, but these trees knew and loved the Elves, and seemed to sympathise with their present desire for secrecy: no creak of complaining branch betrayed their presence.
The trees spoke with gentle voices of their own, however, and though Legolas was moving with too great a speed to hear all that they said he knew that they whispered of their pleasure at the slaughter of the spiders, of the gladness that filled them at the knowledge that the creatures who poisoned their water and bound their limbs together with sticky, clinging ropes were fewer than they had been.

Moments slipped by and Legolas was now passing through the branches of less welcoming trees, trees who muttered words of foreboding and malice. It was in such places the spiders invariably chose to make their dwellings-though naturally they could not hear the speech of the forest, they somehow sensed the moods that provoked it and treated groves of singing beech and oak with a hatred born of fear. At night they would wander far afield, polluting the fair trees with their presence, but in daylight hours they retreated to their lairs in the darkest areas of the Greenwood, places made even blacker by their vile inhabitants.

Grey eyes narrowed as Legolas surveyed the scene before him. A great pine was before him, standing proudly but with several broken limbs jutting out as a grim testament to the violence that had occurred there. A thick strand of translucent spider cord drifted lazily in the wind, seemingly innocuous but potentially deadly: Legolas had witnessed similar situations too frequently to be unwary. Venture into the radius of that rope and it would strike with apparent intelligence of its own, and that as venomous as its creator's sting. Brushing the victim lightly at first, a touch only intended to annoy, the cord would swiftly become entangled about the struggling body, for the harder the prisoner strove to escape, the more securely he was trapped in the sticky coils. No, he would not risk passing too closely to that silken trap.

Culedhel was now ahead of him, and Legolas sprang swiftly across to a neighbouring larch. Now that they were approaching the heart of the colony, it would be unwise to stray too far from one another, especially while the rest of the company were still making the more circuitous route on the ground. Even as that thought passed through his mind, almost instinctively through many centuries of such expeditions, Legolas heard the unmistakable hiss of a spider, and it was clearly a spider with a grievance. In an instant an arrow was on the string, and he gazed about him into the shadows that lay beneath the canopy. Some yards away, Culedhel was doing likewise and it was he who first sighted the creature, but his captain's hands were the quicker. A faint twang, a momentary noise like a sharp breath of air and the arrow found its target with a familiar, nauseating squelch. The spider had no time to voice its anguish, for it was dead before it hit the ground. The Elves heard the hollow sound as its flabby body bounced on the pine needles and exchanged glances from their different trees.

Signalling for Culedhel to remain where he was, Legolas swung lightly through the branches to land on the forest floor and strode across to their fallen prey. Forcing detachment, he examined the body. Although his companion would be constantly vigilant, he too remained alert to the sounds of Greenwood as his gaze travelled over the stinking carcass: not one of Thranduil's people remained alive through careless folly. Having seen the other dead spider Annúmír had discovered the previous night, Legolas was not as surprised as he would otherwise have been to discover that the wound about which the beast had been complaining was a deep, narrow gash that had pierced the many folds of tough skin and seemed to have been inflicted by a fine blade of exceeding sharpness.
Another quarry of the nameless warrior who walks the Forest, Legolas thought lightly, but the import of the words struck him suddenly and filled him with disquiet: there was a strange swordsman wandering his father's realm, and no-one had any clue as to his identity, where he could be found, or whether he was friend or foe. It was not a pleasant thought to entertain, particularly when the security of their people was the responsibility of his family.

Slinging his bow over his shoulder once again, Legolas placed a slim hand on the bough of a nearby pine and swung himself upward in one smooth, athletic motion before resuming his elevated progression through the forest, Culedhel still some trees ahead. They were moving more or less directly towards the centre of the settlement of the spiders, but there were surprisingly few at large in the surrounding area. The children of Ungoliant were prone to familial disagreements and there were almost always a few exiles lurking in the vicinity but today they seemed to be on their guard, gathered close to their home and seeking security in numbers.

It was perhaps this uncommon peacefulness that lay over the Eryn Galen that lulled the younger Elf into a false sense of security, but whatever the reason he was moving far too quickly. Legolas could not understand it: Culedhel was a trained warrior in the service of Thranduil who had been personally chosen to be a part of numerous missions before this one and until now he had never even come close to failure. Today, however...there was a lack of caution in his movement that betrayed a certain preoccupation-perhaps even carelessness, although that was not a word used lightly when describing an Elven guard.
He cannot be listening attentively enough, Legolas thought in concern, and it was true, for the dark-haired Elf was springing from tree to tree with increasing speed and it was impossible that he should be paying sufficient attention to the whispers of the forest around him. Already he was a hundred yards ahead of his companion, a distance far too great to be risked when in an area of such danger as this, and one that was steadily growing longer.

Soft notes rippled suddenly through the conifers, a sound that would have appeared to any stranger to be the call of a woodland merilin, but this particular birdsong was recognisable to some as coming from Legolas' lips. Culedhel was one of those who knew the signal and he half-turned, glancing over his shoulder to see what the problem was. Unfortunately for all concerned, he did not cease moving but instead continued to swing from branch to branch, a bemused frown spreading across his features as Legolas gestured for him to slow down. Suddenly the gestures became much more frantic, and the pursuing Elf even hissed out a warning-but too late.

The elaborately woven web stretched between two trees and was the height of three men. It had evidently been there for some time, judging by the level of success with which it had already trapped its intended prey, but this did not make it any less effective on this particular occasion. Culedhel did not sense it until there was no time to save himself and he stuck fast, the sticky cords binding to his hair and clothes.
"I rhach ned i Belain na bo ti a i lhing!" the trapped Elf muttered angrily, knowing that he could not afford to move if he did not wish himself to become inextricable from his stringy prison. Legolas cursed and quickened his pace through the trees, only to stop abruptly. Freeing his friend should have been a simple matter enough, for spiders' webs were little cause for fear provided that at least one person who was present remained both free and armed with a blade. It should have been a moment's work for one who had experienced such things before, had they been left alone.

Alone, however, was precisely what they were not. Shocked, alarmed and angry that in their distraction they had allowed themselves to be thus surprised, Legolas observed silently as a great, bloated spider floated down from the perch on the branch above from where it had kept close watch on its trap. He was unsure whether the creature was aware of his presence-it seemed too much to expect that it was not-but whether or no, it had effectively prevented him from shooting it where he stood by the simple expedient of lowering itself to Culedhel's level and remaining behind him, on the far side of the web to that from which the Elves had approached.

Not daring to make a sound lest he draw the attention of the already wary spider to himself, Legolas crept along the branch and slipped up the bole of the next tree. It was excruciatingly slow progress considering that his friend was at the beast's mercy, but he could not afford to drop to the ground: one of the first lessons for survival in the place Men called Mirkwood was never to allow oneself to get below a spider if it was at all avoidable. From above, he would be able to shoot with accuracy into the vitals of the predator without risking the safety of the prey. Culedhel, meanwhile, was showing that he was still very much alive by persisting in squirming as the spider wound him in silk, vociferating curses all the while but retaining sufficient presence of mind not to call out for aid from his companion.

Elbereth Gilthoniel, Legolas thought, fearful for his friend but not daring to speak the prayer aloud. Attempting to escape was a natural impulse, but if once the spider tired of the Elf's struggles a quick jab of poison would end them: temporarily or permanently, depending what whim governed the beast.
No na sîdh, Culedhel! Legolas willed his companion to hear the words, but the younger Elf either sensed them not or disregarded them, for at that point his free arm, which he had been flailing wildly in the air, landed a particularly well-placed blow just below one of the spider's eyes. With a creaking scream of anger the beast jerked forward in attack, piercing Culedhel's skin near his shoulder. The warrior gave a choking gasp, then became suddenly, ominously still and Legolas could have sworn that if it was possible for them to show such emotion, the spider retreated with a smugly satisfied air. Now deeply concerned for the other Elf's well-being, he had to force himself to remain detached, focused and cautious. Though nigh thirty centuries had passed, he had not forgotten the words Galendil had spoken as he trained the king's young son into one who could captain Men and Elves.

"Lasto na nin, ernil muin nín," the instructor said, looking into the face of the youth before him. "You will see battle, and more insidious methods of warfare, but this you must always remember: if you recklessly put yourself into danger on behalf of a wounded comrade and are yourself slain, whom will you have helped?"
Legolas lifted his chin in proud defiance to gaze into his mentor's eyes. "At least I will have died honourably, in the defence of a comrade!"
Galendil shook his head, a faint, sad smile on his lips. "Those who say you are like Thranduil speak truth, but it is another whom I see in you...thus spoke Galadur in Doriath," he said, sighing.
A startled expression sprang into Legolas' eyes at the mention of his great-grandfather, for few now lived who remembered him.
"And thus he died," the older Elf concluded sharply. The point was not lost on Legolas, but he persisted in his argument.
"Would you have me live, a coward too careful of his own blood to save that of his friend?" he retorted hotly, spitting out the words with disdain. "Do you tell me this only because I am my father's heir?"
Catching hold of the boy's shoulder, Galendil shook him lightly. "No! I tell this to all those whom I teach. How long do you think the Eryn Galen will last if all her armies are killed? Who will fight for her children if every warrior adopted your policy? Better that one live than none!"

"Best of all if two survive," Legolas had promptly replied, but despite his stubborn heart the warning remained in his mind. He had not always heeded it, but on each occasion that he had run the gauntlet of orkish arrows or ventured too close to Guldur in search of a missing patrol Galendil's reproachful face had appeared once more before his eyes. It did so now, as he caught hold of a slim, smooth limb and swung his body towards the next tree. Not that there was at the moment any real danger to himself, for even were the spider to see him now, he would be able to kill it before it had him in range: in the treetops he could move as swiftly as any spider. It was Culedhel's life that hung in the balance-if indeed he was still alive-for spiders had an advanced knowledge of the use of hostages and if all else failed, they would vindictively do almost anything to ensure that their prisoners died before themselves.

Now, however...Legolas was almost directly above the web, standing a couple of branches higher than the uppermost strands to ensure that he did not himself become entangled. He could see Culedhel's pale face sitting incongruously on a mass of spider silk, dwarfed by the bulk of his captor. Reaching over his shoulder, Legolas drew out a long arrow and placed it on the string before raising the bow and gazing down the length of the shaft to take aim. The Elven weapon was silent, but a second later something alerted the spider to its danger and it looked around frantically, gurgling in anger and fear. Perhaps it turned its gaze upward; perhaps for the briefest fraction of time it saw the slim, green-clad form that easily remained upright, despite the gentle swaying of the branch on which it stood. Perhaps it recognised the shape held in his hands and perhaps it knew, just for a second, that the creature above it was going to bring about its death.

Legolas neither knew nor cared. The instant the sharp head buried itself in the many-faceted eye he had slung his bow over his shoulder and was dropping through the foliage, not even waiting for the sound of the spider hitting the ground and the satisfying silence that followed. Despite his haste, he took care to avoid the sticky support strands that held up the web. Stretching as far as he could from the branch on which he lay, he reached out to touch Culedhel's cheek, murmuring entreaties to the Valar as he did so. The skin was cool and clammy, covered by a film of sweat...he moved his hand lower, brushing the throat with his fingertips. After a moment he sighed in relief, for weak and erratic though it was, there could be no doubt that a pulse still beat there.
Raising himself for a moment, Legolas drew a deep breath. A second later the call of the merilin rang out clear and strong across the forest, but there were words in this song, signals that were understood by all of Legolas' followers.

Bending once more to the unconscious Elf, Legolas whispered reassuringly. "It will be well, Culedhel: I have told the others where we are and that you are injured. Soon they will be here to help us...for now I am going to begin releasing you."
Drawing his white knife from its sheath at his waist, he began to carefully cut away the threads that held his friend captive, liberating his arms but leaving enough strong cords to hold the Elf suspended until aid arrived in the form of more Elves who could catch the limp body when Legolas had freed it.

"I hate this stuff," he muttered in disgust, flicking some of the sticky mess away from his fingers before moving to slice through the silk that bound Culedhel's legs together. As he did so, he became suddenly still, then turned slowly to look behind him with cold dread in his heart.

It was at this point that Legolas discovered that the predatory spider had not been on a solitary excursion. From the gloom of the trees above, a cluster of eyes shone menacingly.

Translations

Hîn in Ungol — Children of the Spider
merilin — nightingale
I rhach ned i Belain na bo ti a i lhing — The curse of the Valar be on them and the web
No na sîdh — Be at peace, keep still
Lasto na nin, ernil muin nín — Listen to me, my dear prince.