A fifteen fic by Iorhael

Category: Horror/Angst

Rated: PG13

Summary: Shelob was not the only one to reside in the dark tunnel. So did the spirits of those taken and eaten by her, orc spirits – and an elf’s, which would not be able to get out as long as Sauron still existed. AU, violence.

~ Prologue ~

The terrain was hard. The slopes were steep and the dark sky looming over them was no help for the last alliance of elves and men to distinguish friend from foe. And the condition was made worse by the fact that they were all helmeted. But there was something different among those races, though, the smell…

“CHARGE!” The elven lord Elrond would not let the spirits of his kin die away. If there was the slightest sign of exhaustion that might allow the swarming orcs to take the advantage, Elrond would briskly step back to his men and yell out words of encouragement. He knew his effort had reached them once he heard replies from them, be it in the form of a yell or a rhythmical tune.

But grim was the chance for the elves and men to come out of this dark, barren land. The dominion of Sauron the Great would have been final if it had not been for Isildur. The son of the King of Gondor, eyes wide in despair, witnessed his father’s body slammed to the rock wall by Sauron himself. The prince took up his father’s sword, Narsil, and with a deafening, pained howl, Isildur swung the weapon as if to ward off the threat before his very eyes.

Without his knowing it, this desperate act had wounded its target, severing the very finger bearing the One Ring and detaching It from Its owner.

The Ring had been secured away from Sauron and now it passed to Isildur.

All he had to do was to destroy It.

* * *

“Secure the area,” ordered Elrond to one of his men. “I have to see to it that Isildur safely passes through the gate to Sammath Naur, where he must cast the Ring into the fiery chasm.”

And the elves and men that had survived the blows of Sauron and his pernicious hands spread out--yet they were stunned for a moment at the sight of Sauron's dead troops. The alliance swiftly covered the area, searching for any signs of living orcs or Easterlings in any corner of the plain, in the dark towers, or down in the tunnels.

But one seemed to be wandering, alone and lost, getting too deep into one of the tunnels. The murky surroundings failed to awaken the elf’s suspicion for they were no different from the outside. His uneasy feelings only began to grow when he put down his bow and leant over the tunnel’s wall a bit with his left hand. Sticky. Sticky was all over his palm, and the elf gasped, stupefied.

Then all of a sudden, a voice invaded his mind.

“Do not be afraid, my little fly.”

The elf took a sharp breath, glaring fruitlessly to the obscurity around him. He could not resist feeling afraid.

“Who are you?” His shout boomed, echoing against the walls.

“It is no use for a prey to know its predator.”

And the voice made a noise meant to be laughter. His blood froze. A prey? He was meant to be a prey?

But a high-pitched screech suddenly coming from behind, interrupting his thoughts.

And everything was too late for him.

TBC