The Webs. by hennethgalad

The Webs.

The child was crying again. Oropher rose silently and left his wife to sleep. For some time young Thranduil had been irritable and belligerent, uneasy awake and finding no rest. Oropher sighed, his wife could get nothing from the child, nor he himself; his concern had reached the pitch of seriously considering reading the thought of Thranduil. But he must try once more to reach his son, to find the cause of his distress.

   The room was as lovely as they had been able to make it, the cloth was of green shot through with silver, and outside the fountain glittered in the starlight. The murmuring melody of falling water eased the tension from Oropher, who looked with a frown for some hint or clue to his child's mood. There were the familiar toys on the shelves, a wooden faun that he himself had cherished in the remote past, and the carven figures of all the prominent people in Menegroth, that Thranduil spent long hours arranging into plays and processions. Oropher smiled and picked up the figure that purported to represent himself, the likeness was uncanny, but when he set it back in place, his heart was touched to see the prominence he had been given among the silent images. 
   There were drawings on the wall, Thranduil had a good eye, though he would never be an artist, much to his mother’s disappointment. Oropher looked thoughtfully at the study of the head of the spider that Mablung and the scouts had brought back from the northern marches. The object itself was on display in a hall of curiosities, and the children had visited and made drawings and clay models. 
  
 The many eyes of the spider disturbed him, roused some primal fear in him, and he looked from the drawing to his restless child muttering in his sleep, and wondered if this was the answer to the riddle. Of course the child would never admit to his fear, he must always appear perfect, indestructible, indomitable...

   Oropher sat down and stroked the pale hair, and the pale blue eyes looked thoughtfully up at him.
   "Father! Is it time to rise? It does not feel so, I am very sleepy."
   "My dear, I heard your distress, do you have bad dreams?"
   Thranduil shook his head and sat up "No! I am fine, father, you must have heard someone else!"
   Oropher looked silently at his child, then turned his head as though listening. All was still, save only the murmuring water... He looked back at Thranduil, who had clenched his teeth and lifted his chin, as one facing a deadly foe. Oropher sighed, then smiled at the child.
   "Courage is an admirable quality, my dear, but so too is wisdom. We must learn what to fear, and when, and why. The flame is deadly, yet we love the fire in the hearth and the light of lantern and candle."
   Thranduil frowned and bit his lip. "But the flame is not alive..."
   Oropher looked at the drawing of the spider. "But the spider is alive?"

   Thranduil looked at him with round eyes "How do you know I have dreamed of the spider? Have I spoken aloud as I slept? Or is it that you have read my thought?"
   Oropher moved back slightly, both offended by the question and ashamed for having even considered taking such an unacceptable step. But he shook his head and gestured towards the drawing of the spider.
   "Your mother and I have been worried about you for some time, your unprovoked anger speaks to us of fear. For if we do not address our fears, the struggle with them exhausts us, and we become slowly blinded, first to the world, then to others, and finally to ourselves, and the fear grows and grows until we become as dark as the Enemy."
   The child was pale with terror, his breathing fast and erratic. Oropher cursed himself, he was handling things badly as usual. He put a hand to his forehead and smoothed away the frown that had gathered there. Calming himself with an effort, he poured some fruit juice and gave a cup to the child, who held it without drinking. Oropher made an effort and took a sip himself, and Thranduil trustingly copied the gesture and drank. It was moving to see the two small hands holding the little cup, Oropher found his heart almost pained by the love and pity he felt for his valiant child, and smiled warmly at him, delighted to see a tiny answering smile.

   "This spider," he said finally "When I looked into the eyes of this spider, I myself was disturbed, for they are strange creatures, with eight limbs and several eyes, their thought is strange to the elves, and there are few who know their ways, fewer still who have spoken with their kind. But tell me, have I truly found the cause of your fear?"
   The dam was burst, the words, and tears, poured out of the distraught child, until Oropher lifted the cup from the shaking hands and drew him into a warm embrace. The words continued, of webs and poison and dreadful deaths. The tears continued, and when his tunic was wet through, and the sobbing had turned to hiccups, Oropher stroked the smooth hair and sighed.
   "Yes, it is a terrible thing, that spiders eat their prey alive. But the flame burns elves alive, yet you are not kept from rest by the candles in your room. Wait, I shall bring a spider from the terrace, we shall examine it together and put your fear to rest."
   But Thranduil wailed "They are everywhere! Do not leave me, father!" and gripped Oropher's sleeve with small fingers. A moment later the door opened and his wife hurried in.
   
   "Whatever is the matter? My poor little Thranduil! Has your father been telling you horror stories?"
   "Oh mother, I am afraid of spiders! And they are everywhere!"
   She scooped him up into her arms, and smiled warmly at Oropher, and he felt once more the tremendous glow of pride that he had always found in her approval, and which, more even than her great beauty, had made him beg her to become his wife.
   "Listen to me, my darling child, for when I was a child, before ever these monsters from the north came to trouble our lands, I myself was afraid of spiders."
   Thranduil pulled free from his mother’s arms and looked up at her in astonishment "You? But you fear nothing! You are the bravest elf in all Menegroth!"
   "Thankyou for the praise, though as you grow older you will see that you have underestimated your friends and neighbours! But yes, long ago, I was afraid of spiders." She turned to Oropher "My love, will you fetch the book on the top shelf, third from the left?"

   Oropher reached up and brought down the book, there was thin gold wire set into the cover, in the shape of a cobweb, with stars showing through, and where a spider would be, at the end of a thread, hung a star. He had read the book himself as a child, and smiled with fond reminiscence. It was so widely read that a satirist had written a mocking version, comparing Melian herself to a great spider, her web stretching through every tree in Doriath, out to the very edge of her domain, and that it was for this reason that the Enemy had sent spiders against them. For a chilling moment he actually believed the jesting story, then looked down at the book in his hands, remembering the observed facts about spiders, how a single pair could produce hundreds of offspring at a time. It might be that those creatures on the northern marches were all children of one pair, or even one pregnant female, not come as an army to invade the elves, but escaping from the real horror in the far noth, the hell of the Enemy’s own devising. Perhaps these creatures should be pitied, rather than feared...

  He reached out in thought, and found the mind of Galadriel, and to his embarrassment for a moment he thought of the mighty Noldor, close in friendship with Melian, as a spider herself, her word and thought echoing in the minds of all who met her. 

   But the voice of Galadriel was clear and cool in his mind "What troubles you, my old friend?"
   "Should we pity, rather than fear, these spiders in the north?"
   "Yes, Melian has given much thought to this. They are creatures of Yavanna, and should be honoured as such.
   Or so it seems. But these giants, these fell creatures which have the strength and guile to prey upon the very elves, these are not wholly of this world, as Melian herself is not wholly of this world. They are the spawn of Ungoliant, a spirit of malice whom some name a greater evil than the Enemy himself. For the Enemy, we are told, began by wishing to create life himself, whereas she seeks only to devour."
   "But children cannot be held accountable for the deeds of their parents!"
   "They are not. The elves do not seek them out to destroy all their kind. We merely defend our borders from their attacks. By the grace of Melian none may enter Doriath, but by the malice of these creatures, none may now leave in the north, and the way to the dwellings of my brothers is shut. The seige line is itself beseiged, our forces divided, and we are weakened. 
   These are to spiders as wargs are to wolves, fell spirits in spider form, not innocent children of Yavanna. To me they are a knife pressed to our side, scarcely seen, yet should we move suddenly..."
   "Do you, then, think that we should destroy them?"
   "Yes! No! ... I cannot say. Oh Oropher, I have seen a little of the doubt in the mind of my lady Melian... I myself intend to leave this place, though it will break my heart to do so. The spiders, we fear, are but the first move in a long attack; the patience of the Enemy, his cunning and guile, resemble the webs of these creatures, scarcely to be seen, yet when discovered, alas! The trap is sprung!"
   "My lady, I had sought words to comfort my child, to reassure him that his nightmares are but dreams. Yet your words will disturb my rest for a long time, I suspect."
   "Mablung... he has seen the trophy that Mablung carried back..."
   "At least now the child has admitted to fear, which before had been impossible."
   Oropher felt her smile "Poor Thranduil, it may be that he has greater skill in perceiving the mood of others than he has yet the wisdom to understand. Fear walks the halls of Menegroth, my friend, and we must all judge the nature of the danger, and whether we have the strength to pit ourselves against it.
   But Oropher, heed now my words. For when first we set forth from Valinor, in the darkness brought about by the very Ungoliant of whom we speak, we were reminded to know ourselves, and what we are. The words I will reveal to you were spoken by a messenger of Manwë: 'none of the Valar canst thou overcome now or ever within the halls of Eä, not though Eru whom thou namest had made thee thrice greater than thou art.' 
   There can be no victory for the elves. Yet the Valar have vanquished the Enemy before, though they released him again...
   In this one thing I share the thought of my wretched uncle Fëanor: that we may be vanquished, yet still, we will form the vanguard, and take the fight to the Enemy, and not be daunted!
   But my uncle was crushed like a fly, even he, for all his intellect and his great strength... And whereas there should be a great host of the elves, united against our common foe, instead we are scattered and the wedges are driven between us. But we may hold our line until the day of awakening, when the Valar heed the pleas of Yavanna and of Oromë, and take pity on us, and on all that lives, and cast out the Enemy, whose malice breaks the very hills we walk upon."