𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ━ lord of the rings

Eight: Eight-legged Freaks

The hobbit was gone for an age. No words came down from above, though Nymmril was unsure if they would've heard his shouts if they had been uttered anyway. The canopy was full and bushy with leaves, and very high up. The young man almost got vertigo staring up at where Bilbo had disappeared, swallowing bile thickly and averting his eyes when it became too much. He had never been fond of heights. Nymmril kicked his feet through the dead leaflitter, hopping to his feet.

"He's been up there for a while, now," he said, wincing at his cracked voice. They had run out of fresh water, too, some time back and his throat was dry as it could possibly get. "Should we- should someone go up to get him?"

"Give him a bit more time," Thorin said patiently. The King under the Mountain was leaning against a tree, examining the blade of his sword. "He will come down eventually."

Nymmril hummed, settling back down. There was a snap of a twig, and a rustling in the branches above, and then silence. His head snapped upwards: "Did anyone-"

"- Hear that?" Kili finished, a hand already on his quiver to draw out an arrow. "Yes."

An estranged clicking echoed through the trees and Nymmril felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand upright at the sound, clenching his fists.

"Everybody up!" Thorin roared, sending many of the dwarves jumping to their feet. "We have compa-"

A creature came up behind him, its fat abdomen supported by eight stilt-like legs, and it stuck him with a needle-like stinger. The dwarf fell to the ground almost instantly, caught mid-fall by the spider, and was swiftly wrapped in white, sticky web.

"Thorin!" Fili yelled, rushing towards the beast with his sword raised. Another of the creatures came sweeping from the tree tops, felling the prince too. And then another, and another, and soon enough all the dwarves were jabbed and neatly packaged before they even had time to react. Nymmril, however, was quicker than his shorter companions, and had time to react before the arachnids caught sight of him. He slid away from the clearing, crouching in a divot beneath a rock and watching as his dwarven friends were routinely transported away, the spiders traversing the treetops via silvery webs stretching from tree to tree.

"You stupid feline," Nymmril spat at himself, cursing the creatures from afar. "You should've noticed before! You absolute imbeci-"

The skin changer felt a sharp, piercing pain in the back of his neck and a cold, aggressive sleepiness flooded his being. His eyes fluttered closed to the sound of scuttling and a spidery laugh.

⚜✺⚜

He came to his wits abruptly, gasping for air as he clawed his way out of his silky, sickening cage. Wisps of the web stuck to his fingers as he snatched it from his face with a shrill screech. "What the fu- Bilbo!"

The hobbit lifted a finger to his lips as he brandished his elven blade, cutting through the webs encasing the few members of the company left inside them. Beside him, Balin brushed himself off and offered Nymmril a hand, pulling the shifter to his feet. He even caught a glimpse of Bombur, finally awake and confused as the rest of the dwarfs.

"What's happening?" The young man whispered, wincing as he tried to tear a clump of web from his flaxen hair. "Where's-"

"Nymmril!" Someone exclaimed quietly, and he turned to see Ori trotting towards him in a daze. The young dwarf leapt at him, dragging the skin changer into an embrace. Confused, Nymmril wrapped his arms around him. Oin trotted past, rolling his eyes as he scurried to find his weapons. Nori crept up behind them, dragging his little brother from the shifter and pressing an axe into the other dwarf's hand.

"There's no time for that now, boy," he said sternly, if not slightly amused. There was a crash in the branches above and a shrill screech echoed through the dim wood. "There are more of the things coming, I'll bet."

Nymmril's fingers flexed, ears pricking as he picked up on the scuttling of the spider's limbs as they made their way towards the company. Kili had just sliced through his brother's cocoon, thereby freeing the last dwarf from their webby confines, and was helping to peel the stuff from where it was tangled around Fili's legs. The dark-haired prince looked up to the skin changer with a grin that could've only come from the adrenalin:

"Hey, Kitty," he said, throwing a balled up piece of web at the young man's face. "Fetch."

Nymmril batted it away as he walked past, grimacing as wisps of it clung to his fingers as he rubbed them together.

"You have me confused with a dog, Kili."

The dwarf shrugged nonchalantly, before helping his sibling to his feet. Thorin staring up into the treetops, fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, and his gaze darted to Nymmril as the shifter approached.

"We need to-" the shifter was silenced by the dwarf holding up his hand, eyes darting to and fro at the trees surrounding them. The scent of decay stormed Nymmril's nose, staining his nostrils, as he caught sight of what Thorin was staring at; a strand of web strung between two great trunks. The silvery string bounced up and down, vibrating at an impact sourcing from further in the forest and coming ever closer. The skin changer's breath hitched in his throat, just as the King under the Mountain let out a bellowing cry.

"Run!" the dwarf ordered, sprinting out into the trees and away from the spider's nests. Nymmril followed suit, trailed by the rest of the company. His heart was beating in his ears, excitement pumping through his veins as he ran from the danger. Oh, how he'd missed this. The dwarrow were eager to get away from their place of near demise, surprisingly swift for such short, stout people, and they made what seemed to be great strides away from the creatures, even with the sparse leeway that the trees afforded them. Nymmril almost rushed past Thorin's side as the leader of the company came to a swift halt, throwing an arm out to stop the movement of the group. They had come to a clearing of sorts, and the shifter watched closely as the regal dwarf's eyes darted back and forth before he relaxed somewhat.

"It's clea-" Thorin began, making to go forward, before a hiss came from above and one of the eight-legged friends descended condescendingly from above, waving its legs grotesquely as it maneuvered down to the ground. The dwarf scowled, raising Orcist, and the other dwarrow did the same. Nymmril's eyes shone brilliantly as he allowed a wave of euphoria to take him, and suddenly a golden fur appeared to begin sprouting from his pores. However just as the spider reared up, mandibles clashing together in a series of clicks, it stopped moving and let out a high squeal as it fell dead to the ground with an arrow protruding from the back of its head.

Nymmril looked up, along with the rest of the company, to see the bowman who had shot the beast down: It was an elf.