5.

Darkness reigned in the great cavern of a hall. The air was thick with foul vapors, the shadows pressing from both sides moved and peered at him with a multitude of malicious eyes.

The dim path of sunlight was like a bridge over an abyss, almost too weak to provide support for one who dared walk its length. He walked softly, praying in his heart, for he had no illusions - there, in this place he had no weapon other than his words and wits.

The pure radiance of the Silmarilli led him towards his destination. It reminded him of the days of his childhood, when he'd played under the divine trees. It almost made him forget, for the briefest of moments, where he was and what he was about to face. He almost forgot the unnumbered vile beasts and people serving the Dark Ainu.

Melkor looked similar to what Ingwion had glimpsed in passing when he had been still in Valinor. Tall, terrible and fair in his own way. He merely stood there, resting his begloved hands on... what had to be Grond. Was it a thinly veiled threat? A reminder of what had befallen Nolofinwë? Next to him stood a being of power not many Maiar had. Dark and with a quite muscular frame, befitting a smith. Sauron was like Melkor's shadow. Foreboding in his unreadable demeanor while Melkor openly expressed his cool interest.

A female herald spoke their titles - an unnecessary feat, for there was no possibility of mistaking the two. Ingwion had no aide nor herald. He regretted not the choice to step into the lair of the Enemy alone. That was his duty, to strive to ease the hardships of his kin. Even if the aforementioned kin was hasty and stubborn Noldor. Besides, he hardly needed titles. His name was the greatest one he cared for.

He didn't miss the look exchanged between Sauron and his herald. His eyes widened marginally when she spoke his titles. The Dark Ones knew the hierarchy of the Eldar and where he fit in it. This would have been an interesting mission, if it wasn't in Angband where a mistake could warrant more than just death.

He inclined his head at the formal welcome from the Dark Lord. He was a Minya and he bowed only to the Chief and the Valar. His gaze never met the eyes of Melkor for he was not foolish enough to think that he could keep his sanity intact. As it was now, he was doing his best to remain calm and hide all the emotions he felt deep within his mind. He could sense thousands of eyes observing his every move and dared not to make any sudden motion. There was nowhere to hide and without his spear he had little of the means to defend himself in battle. Far under his feet, in the forever dark bowels of the fortress many of his kin were imprisoned, tortured and forced to work for the enemy.

All hope he had was born from the words of Airë Tári, promising him that she would watch over him and that his courage and skills may yield a good outcome. He longed to help his unlucky kin.

"You shall be led to your chambers to rest and refresh yourself before the feast," Sauron informed him coolly. "Ukurza will be your guide and see to your needs."

As he motioned with his hand, a female stepped out from behind the line of the bulky guards. Ingwion's heart skipped a beat and he barely kept the calm mask on his face when he saw her approach.

Clad in a brown tunic reaching her knees, a pair of loose black breeches visible from under it, she walked with purpose to stand a few paces away from him. Her black hair was neatly braided away from her face, a crimson ribbon twined in her locks. Red eyes looked at him from a serious face…

An orc.

As she bowed to him shallowly, he could see a shadow of what she could have been, an Elda of a lesser clan.

"Follow me, Prince Ingwion," she said in a pleasant voice. "I will lead you to your cel- I mean your chamber."

She bowed deeply to her lords and turned to lead the pale, feeble creature sent by the South to discuss the terms of the peace up to his rooms.