Shelob by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Shelob. - 

   The carter sighed with exasperation. A bare furlong from the brow of the hill where the foundations of Minas Ithil were being laid. He moved the long brake lever into place and climbed slowly down, it had been a long journey and he had been delighted to finally arrive in this high sunlit valley, thickly wooded on the upper slopes, but with meadows bright with flowers sloping down to the sparkling stream. He took a deep breath of the clear upland air and kicked the chocks under the back wheels, jamming them in with his stout boots. The snowy white marble blocks were so heavy that the cart only looked half-full, but as the elves had pointed out, the horses would rather make the journey twice with a pleasant load than struggle all the way once.

   The elves... He had seen these blocks of marble at night, the elves had treated them with their magic and now they soaked up sunlight all day and glowed at night like the moon. Furthermore, the light, which by night was pale golden, would change if orcs, or other creatures of the Enemy approached. The carter, who had never met elves before, didn't know whether he found the elves themselves, so wise and fair, or their works, the most impressive. They had laughed when he told him and said it was all one.

   He smiled and bent over to look at the leg the horse had been keeping off the ground. It was as he had thought, a stone in the hoof, this new road up to the site of the city was still strewn with rubble. 

   The sound of hooves and cheerful cries made him look down the valley, a troop was approaching, their banner snapping and rippling in the breeze. The banner flapped straight, it was the White Tree, Isildur himself, whom the carter had never seen this close before. He stood proudly to attention.

   Isildur trotted up and drew rein by the stopped cart. He looked down at the carter 'Are you in trouble ? A lame horse perhaps ?' he asked politely. The carter looked up into the kind grey eyes; Isildur looked older than his years, but well and happy, shining hair fell from the slim mithril circlet on his tall head, his shoulders were broad, his back straight, his long legs gripped the sides of the horse as if braced for galloping.

  The carter put his hand to his heart and bowed 'Stone in his hoof sire, thankyou for asking ' The sun caught the blacksmith in the eyes, he raised his hand to shade them.

  Isildur had gone rigid, the sunlight on the rocks looked like... Suddenly he threw himself off his horse and scrambled over the rocks beside the road. His companions, and the carter, hurried after him. There was a stunned silence.

   A steep staircase had been carved into the rock face, vanishing up into the heights. Finally Isildur turned to one of his companions, who gaped at him

   'My lord, I... I do not know how the scouts could have missed this. I can only apologize and offer my resignation.' He bowed his head.

   Isildur clapped him on the upper arm and said 'I decline your resignation. But we had better have this valley searched again. Do not be ashamed, we have all ridden past this stair a hundred times and not one of us had the wit to percieve it. Now that we have found it, it does seem incredible that we could have missed it for so long...' He took off his circlet and ran his fingers through his smooth dark hair 'We must discover where it leads.  But not before morning. I want three of your best climbers here at first light, with ropes, the stair may not be complete.' 

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   The scouts did not return.

   When three days had passed, a rescue party of five was sent in search of them.

   The following day the builders noticed something large, tumbling slowly down the long stair. Isildur, who was at hand, ran down the slope to the foot of the stair. It was one of the scouts, mangled beyond all hope of recovery, a livid wound at his neck. His eyelids creased and blinked slowly open

   'Ungoliant !' he said, but it was his last word, he died then in the arms of Isildur, who looked up at the forbidding heights and gritted his teeth. He looked down at the puncture wounds on the scout, the foul-smelling, bubbling poison seeping forth, and knew of no other weapon that could inflict such an injury. Giant spiders in Gondor, or at least one...

  He sighed, this was a fight for a mighty elf lord, such as that great bane-of-balrogs Glorfindel, not mortals exhausted after climbing a mountain. He took off his circlet and ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the stair; perhaps it could be approached in safety from the other side of the mountain, he would discuss it with his generals.

  In the meantime he had no intention of sending his troops into an obvious trap, to be ambushed and picked off one by one. The oldest of Isildur's companions, a well-travelled loremaster and friend to Mithrandir, spoke

   'Sire, if the tales of old are true, of spiders of monstrous girth found dwelling in Beleriand, there may be only one here' he gestured upwards 'It is likely a female, for they are the larger, and devour their mates, and often their own offspring. I surmise that prey is scant on these barren, rocky heights, and therefore this shelob will have hungered. Now that she has fed, it may be that her vigilance will fail and we may take her at unawares.'

    Isildur nodded 'Truly, you are wise, my friend, but it may be that the whole valley behind is crawling with spiders... We will reconnoitre before we attack, I will not sacrifice one more life to this noxious Shelob.'

Chapter End Notes

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