2

She'd always loved the cool, bookish smell of the Royal library. It wasn't just a place for her, but a living creature. With each step on the thickly-set fur carpet or marble tiles, the entire cavernous space seemed to breath, like the dragon Smaug itself resettling to a more comfortable position amongst it's hordes of gold. But the treasure in here wasn't coin, it was books, thousands upon thousands of books, many of them scrolls or clay tablets written millennia ago in an alien language, though those were more often than not in the Royal Archives, safely behind three dozen layers of Dwarven-forged lock and key.

But still, Eofeld mused, there was plenty to explore, what with the great cavern itself branching off into hundreds of smaller bisecting tunnels, many of the older one's sadly waterlogged, burrowed deep into the mountain. But it wasn't for pleasure or simply the thrill of exploration that she found her way down into the depths this day. Every word of the nearly indecipherable Elven transcript she held in her trembling hands were wracked with tears. She was bleeding.

Keep your mind calm, Eofeld, you've seen worse, she thought, breathing hard to ride over another great swell of tears. A shield maiden of Rohan doesn't sob, a part of her, engrained from the first day she'd mounted Nelafeil, her stallion, told her, a shield maiden acts.

But I'm not a Shield maiden any longer, she thought, the bitter taste of that memory scouring a breach through her reconciliation. Daventel was a red-blooded lad, they'd told her, but he'll calm as he grew up, at least that's what her father had said. No, it wasn't as if she'd expected to marry for love, those usually turned out worse for both the couple and their families than those unions made by even the most inept matchmaker. But Daventel, Prince of Gondor, son Aragorn? There was the stench of evil.

She shuddered, a weary smile spreading across her bruised and bloodied face. Evil. Daven. She sighed. Though he had an affinity for expensive sparring matches, Daventel Ellesar was no warrior, and their fights had always been mutual. Well, one-sided in the instigation, two-sided in the damage. Taming wild Roharrim Stallions did have its upsides.

There we go Eorie, she thought, a couple of smacks from that bastard can't break you. Ah, she mused, the pressure of producing an heir, what a motivation for a boy with no taste for women. She let out a tight, cynical laugh. Damn the fine dresses and expensive jewelry, when was the last time she'd ridden a horse?

Another sigh escaped. It wasn't so much for the scrolls themselves that brought her to the library, but rather the sheer enormity of the place. Miles upon miles of seemingly Claustrophic caverns, endless passages to simply wander, alone. Away from Daven. She wasn't even sure the High Archivist knew of these tunnels.

"Imhrail Belethor, you are the most idiotic writer I've ever heard of," she muttered, setting down the rolled-up parchment carefully so that it didn't touch the lapping pools of standing water that now saturated the lower part of her oh-so-bloody-expensive gown, the front part of which was tenderly held closed by her battered hand. Delicate womanish fingers my ass, she thought.

She picked herself up off the sodden ground, cracking her bruised knuckles gingerly; bastard really did a number this time, godsdamned Master Landovis. The tunnel in which she now stood was one of the oldest, stretching deep into half-cleaved mountain of Minas Tirith. The ground was soaked in a layer of standing water six inches deep, easily ruining the precious scrolls on the bottom shelves. No one besides her had visited this place for a hundred years, let alone bothered to take care of it. The place was pitch-black, but in her right hand, Eofeld carried a gently-rotating orb of light. It apparently "concentrated weak fragments of light" from an area and then refracted them visibly. All the vendor had had to say was that it was great for enclosed spaces before she'd grabbed a dozen of them.

Suddenly, she whipped around, the hem of her dress pooling up ripples in the frigid, brackish brew swirling around her feet. What was that? She thought, peering dimly into the gloom. The light-orb was great for illuminating scrolls, but beyond its ten foot or so range, everything seemed even darker than before.

"Probably my own bloody dress," she cursed, sneering in disgust. It was so quiet down in the caverns that even the slightest rustle of a sound seemed like the roar of a great dragon.

There it was again! She turned, more careful now, the sound seeming to come from farther down the tunnel, farther than she'd ever explored. The orb held gingerly above her bobbing head, she crept forward down the tunnel. The sound seemed to magnify in response, turning from what could've been the scurry of cavern roaches to a great booming echo that bombarded the sense from all sides. Eofeld spun hopelessly. The sound seemed to reverberate from the walls, bashing up against her confused body, beating down on her, coming for her, readying now, ready to strike the final…

And stopping. Utter silence. More so than before, if that was possible. Not even the slightest drip of moisture dared show itself in the face of such terrifying stillness. It had enveloped the cramped atmosphere of the enclosed tunnel, crushing all resistance before its utter lifelessness. Eofeld felt a chill creep up her spine, not from the inherent cavern damp, but from something else. Something darker that lurked amongst the rows of rotting shelves.

She started, a small yelp slipping embarrassingly free from her tightly-clamped lips. There, down towards the end of the tunnel, was a light. She frowned, taking a step backwards. A search party? The lower caverns were strictly forbidden to all inhabitants, except perhaps the Chief Archivist himself, who spent more time with his wine and whoring than with his job. So no, no one would care if she'd slipped down here on the guard's off-shift. So who would it be then? Daven? Did he know of her clandestine outings? Was he here to bare his brawn, assert his dominance over her once and for all with his guards? She took another fearful step backwards, the memory of her husband's cruelty seared into her mind from the day they'd met.

Seventeen years old and I'm cowering in corners like a door maid who thinks she's cursed, Eofeld spat, rubbing the her cracked and bloody hands on her soiled dress, what has he done to me?

No, Daven, wouldn't care where Eofeld went after he'd had his way with her. But then what could the light be? An adventurous Archivist coming back up from a journey through the tunnels? Possible, but Eofeld knew all the librarians enough to figure that none of them would voluntarily take a waterlogged plunge into the unmapped menaces of the Lower Holds.

Her mind suddenly hit a dilemma. Some primal instinct, just beyond the reach of conscious thought, told her to be afraid. To turn tale and run as fast as her legs could possibly take her all the way back up the excruciating loops of passages to the Royal Palace. But strangely, she wasn't afraid. It was a light, that's all. An inexplicable light, true, but only superstitious idiots were afraid of something simply because it was unknown. Maybe she'd discovered something down there, some sort of glowing subterranean beetle, or a natural source of glow-orbs, damn the scamming bastards who'd sold them to her in the first place. But whatever it was, that curious something, overriding instantly the something that told her to run, grabbed control of her legs and urged her forward, careful to step on the drier spots as to remain silent.

But the light only flickered out of view, reappearing instantly about a hundred yards down the passage. Curiosity driving her on, she approached faster, only to be met with the same results, the light flickering away more speedily now, as if it could sense her presence better, drawing her along corners, through tight spots, around bends, but always down. Always, in the end, down.

She began to jog as the lights disappeared faster, desperate to keep up with the thing she'd followed so far. What the hell could it possibly be? She thought, some sort of spirit?

Before long, she was running full tilt, sprinting after the ever-allusive ball, slavering and panting in her addictive quest to get at it. She was totally lost now, her halo of orb-light only illuminating the flickering shimmer ahead and the ground beneath her, her focused eyes passing right over any intersections or turns she'd taken.

Suddenly, the walls disappeared. She blinked, shaking her head side to side, her chest heaving and her heart pounding from the unexpected exertion. The light was gone, and it hadn't reemerged, seemingly swallowed up by the all-inclusive shadows of what must've been an enormous chamber.

"I'm an idiot," she gasped, her hands on her hips. She was totally lost beneath the ground, with only a single orb-light and no food, stuck at a depth no one had ever traversed within… gods only knew how long.

Then suddenly, the light drew itself back into view, congealing together to form a single hollow ring of golden luminescence.

"Well that's helpful," She muttered, her breathing still a little ragged.

Then suddenly, her light went out.