The Dungeons of Dol Guldur
A fan-fiction piece on the Lord of the Rings by Charis Loke
All characters and places by J.R.R.Tolkien
The trees of the forest were no longer green and tall, but stunted and choked with weeds and brambles of all kinds. The air had changed too. It was heavy, and there was a hint of evil about it. Few travelers had passed this way of late, and none headed this way of their own free will, so for the few creeping creatures that made the southern borders of Mirkwood their home the grey figure walking purposefully into the heart of the darkness that dwelt there was a sight to behold. But then again, he was never an ordinary wanderer. Travellers fade and pass away after seven score or so years; the Grey Pilgrim had seen ten times that and two thousand years more at the least, and with years come wisdom, or so it is said.
He had long considered and planned this perilous journey, knowing that the power that corrupted the forests was not to be trifled with. His preparations had been aided greatly by the knowledge of a secret entrance discovered by the animals sent hither as spies to the dark fortress by Aiwendil. Yet for all his wisdom he knew he could not foresee what might happen next.
He slipped past the sentries in the forest easily and came at last to a portion of the wall where the moss and thorny creepers grew to a lesser extent than the others. Gandalf paused, at a loss for a moment, running his aged palms over the large slab of weathered rock, ignoring the thorns that sought to dissuade him from going any further. He threw his weight on the slab and it budged a little; but that was all it would go. Where physical strength fails, he thought wryly, others may suffice.
He spoke a single word, and the slab gave way – but none too silently, judging by the cries and shouts of the sentries. He plunged into the musty darkness of the partially revealed tunnel and it took him a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light, but he kept moving blindly until the tunnel turned sharply. The sunlight streaming in from the entrance was faint now to his eyes.
Gandalf decided to leave it open.
He went on for a long time, finding his way by keeping one hand on the tunnel wall until out of the endless darkness he perceived a speck of red light which grew brighter as he drew closer to it. The tunnel ended and opened into a small room from which countless other passages came and went. The red flickering light came from one of the corridors; and it was fire.
The goblin guards in the room were asleep, posing no immediate danger to the wizard; he did not wish to harm anyone anyway, so he left them there. His staff he left leaning against the tunnel leading to the secret entrance. And he had come not to kill, but to learn. He took the corridor illuminated by the red flames.
It opened up into a huge cavern, where all kinds of forging and crafting were being carried out by hordes of Orcs and other foul creatures. There Gandalf realized that under walls and battlements of Dol Guldur there were hundreds of other caverns like this, maybe larger and greater, all ruled by a power that was no mere lieutenant or captain of a fallen master, but the master himself, growing in strength daily, amassing his armies. Above the din and clang of hammers on iron and the creak of machinery he heard a single pitiful cry, and he started from his thoughts.
It had come faint and weak from one of the passageways he had passed earlier. He retraced his steps till he stood once more in the small room, pondering which direction the cry had come from. Once more it came, but this time it was more anguished and pained; and the goblin guards slept on, long accustomed to such cries.
Gandalf did no hesitate any longer and entered the corridor to his left, which was lower than the others, and filled with a foul air. The floor was strewn with bones and skulls of long dead men and Elves and Dwarves, maybe, who would never see the light of day again. This time the corridor ended in a dead end, with many doors on either side, behind them many forgotten souls in torment. Fire burned bright behind many of the doors, but this time it was the fire used to torture. He stopped, holding in check his wrath and anger. It would not do to be discovered so soon.
A thin and frail voice started talking, in a language tat few knew, but the listener knew it to be Dwarvish.
He hastened to the last room, passing the others, and found the heavy wooden door unlocked. Sauron must have regarded this prisoner as too delusioned to do any harm except t himself, the wizard thought. He entered.
Cowering at the opposite end was a pitiful creature. Once a Dwarf, descendant of kings, now a shadow of his former self deep in the dungeons of Dol Guldur.
"Go away", he cackled, and drew from under his filthy rags two object. "The map and key are mine. Your foul hands will never touch them."
Gandalf said nothing, having heard much worse insults before, but he closed the door quietly and approached the dwarf, who merely sat where he was. The wizard seated himself next to the prisoner, and taking a good look at him he said kindly, "Foul hands or not, I think we are both in the same predicament."
The dwarf grinned; a hideous, cracked smile.
"What is your name?" he asked. "What did they call you in the lands above the darkness?" And he laughed again.
"Many are my names in many countries, but I think the only one that will matter to you is Tharkun."
The dwarf did not appear to have heard anything. "The map", he said, "and the key-"
"What of them?" Gandalf asked more urgently now, for he had heard the rush of heavy feet and guessed that news of his arrival had spread.
"They should be with my son," the dwarf managed, and after that he lapsed into a stream of unintelligible words, muttering to himself, letting the piece of parchment and the heavy iron key fall to the ground.
Getting up Gandalf said: "Come with me. I will lead you where you wish to go – back to the Mountains, or wherever you last dwelt in peace." He took the map and key, and extended a hand to the dwarf.
Outside, the first few Orcs leaped down the corridor, kicking aside the bones in their haste.
"Come!" the wizard repeated, but the dwarf let out a wail and scrambled away. "Fool!" he cackled, "none have ever come into this place and escaped! They took my Ring from me, and now they will take you!"
"We shall see," the other replied, and he sprang out into the corridor to meet the Orcs who had come this way, but they fled before him and he reached the small guard room unhindered save for the many arrows the Orcs loosed after him. There he found a host of goblins armed with scimitars fresh from forging; behind him more Orcs poured bearing spears and clubs, and barring the way to the secret exit were a dozen or so trolls.
Undeterred Gandalf drew his sword and held it up high, and the spears and shield of his attackers kindled and burst into flame. He had gained the tunnel entrance when he heard a voice he recognized cry out:
"Wait!"
And turning he saw the nameless dwarf come tottering behind the Orcs and goblins, but at the same moment a troll bore down upon him with its club, and the wizard was hurled against the tunnel wall. And when he had struggled to his feet and regained his staff the dwarf was no longer to be seen by any from outside Sauron's indomitable fortress.
He swept past the trolls, smiting those in his way, but in truth he was making desperately for the secret exit, knowing well that he as outnumbered and outmatched in the Enemy's stronghold. Finally the warm afternoon sun greeted him, and, pausing only to shout and seal the door with a word of command, he was off like a wind before the sentries could pursue him on their wolves and beasts, but those are no match for a wizard on horse and in haste.
It was late the next day when he reached the abode of the Galadhrim, and by then he was as weary of his evil tidings as his wounds, but he continued up the paths that led to Caras Galadhon and to the Lady of Lothlorien.
Charis Loke