4
Darkness. Utter, complete blackness that smothered all things in its icy embrace. The golden light had faded out barely thirty seconds after showing itself. There were no walls, no reference points, not even the faintest trickle of the visible radiance that guided travelers through even the blackest of nights. This was pitch black, and the only sense of direction Eofeld had were how many times she tripped over protruding rocks.
"I hate my life," she muttered, cursing as her bruised legs found themselves tangling with a stubborn hunk of granite that quite plainly thought that its millennia-long resting place was bloody comfortable. Her string of newly-formed curses rang out across the seemingly endless chamber as she went down yet again, blundering around in the dark like a helpless imbecile. Well, not like a helpless imbecile.
"Feeling lost?" a voice slithered. Now, it's obvious that voices can't slither, but this particular sound hadn't behaved like any others. It didn't walk up politely and tap on Eofeld's eardrums to create noise, or even barge in so the inward canals hurt like hell, but rather planted itself in the inner core of her very mind, found some nerves, and began playing them like a badly-tuned Elvish harpsichord.
Quite frankly, she didn't even have the nerve to scream.
"No? Because the last time I checked the door was that way," the voice sneered. The harpsichord player had obviously had too much to drink.
"W-who… are you?" Eofeld finally breathed, her heartbeat beginning to quicken. She crouched closer to the ground on instinct, as if it would save her from an enemy who was everywhere and yet nowhere.
"I'm someone who doesn't like questions," the voice seemed to chuckle, the whispered notes rolling across the fragmented soundboards of Eofeld's metaphorical harpsichord so that they echoed and replayed in different keys, rising and falling, rising and falling.
"Oh… sorry," she said, backing up towards the nearest boulder, eyes wild as she scanned the wall of darkness.
"No," the invisible musician breathed, "don't be. Manners aren't exactly at the forefront of one's mind when you're stuck a mile beneath any recognizable surface, wouldn't you agree? By the way, this cavern is one of the largest ever recorded by man, well, disregarding Erebor of course, but you get the point."
Eofeld did, in fact, get the point. Very, very clearly. She could wander for miles through the forlorn hills of underground blackness, and still never come near a wall. She'd probably been going the wrong way the whole time.
"Then I take it you have a bit of a problem," the voice continued, its rasping melody sending shivers down Eofeld's spine.
She nodded, not sure how to respond, still cowering next to the rock. Stand up, for the Valar's sake. You're a Rider of Rohan, well, for all practical purposes anyway. Face you're foe.
But that was the problem. There was no one to face, just a wall of impenetrable invisibility. It could conceal anything, she thought, her mind racing. Who knew what beings dwelt beneath these mountains?
"Goblins? Cave Trolls? Spiders?" There was a harsh cackle that reverberated about the great space, but sounded within her own mental instrument as well, making Eofeld hold her head in her hands, her entire skull buzzing with electric pain.
"You know," the voice continued, "I'd never taken you for one to be afraid of Spiders but… as I've always said, size does matter."
Suddenly, there was a great thunderous roar from within the depths. The chill stemming from Eofeld's back suddenly multiplied, her body ridged, her breathing harsh, wild eyes darting about the murky depths like a rabbit in search of the inevitable fox.
"Illusion? Magic Trick? Hard to be sure," the voice cackled, the thudding sounds of a menacing eight-legged trot drawing closer.
I'm hallucinating, she thought, her head covered in her chest, just a dream, maybe I hit my head on a rock or something, maybe…
The warm wafting of an unknown gust shattered all illusions of hallucination. Please let me be dreaming, Eofeld prayed, oh great Valar above please let this be a dream!
She turned, slowly at first, her eyes blinking rapid- fire, willing herself to wake up from her subterranean horror. But this was no product of her imagination. Looming in front of her, blasts of putrid breath streaming from its six nostrils, stood a spider. Nearly ten feet tall, it's great hairy legs wrapped around a massive boulder that dwarfed the cowering figure shadowed by it, it's bulging abdomen held high above the hind legs, manipeled mouth slurping with carnivorous delight, it was poised to strike at a moment's notice.
"Now that we're on more… suitable terms, we can get down to business," the voice said. Eofeld was frozen, mouth forced wide, a silent scream stuck somewhere down her throat, her ridged limbs malfunctioning between running like mad, and collapsing right then and there.
"There's really no need to fear me, little princess," her unseen attacker said, the spider slowly dissolving into a swirling cloud of obsidian dust, spiraling out into the hulking blackness, where once again a golden pinprick of light was visible.
"I…" Eofeld choked, shutting her gaping mouth and jerking her limbs into a more comfortable position.
"That's it," the voice said, "relax, I have a proposition for you." A smile seemed to curve up from the shadows, the golden light drawing closer, so that she could make it out to be the piercing reflection of a single eye.
"I… I need to…" She stuttered, taking a forced step backwards.
"Please, don't speak, you're obviously quite distressed." Around the pinprick, a visible form began to show. It was that of a slender humanoid, a leather trench coat wrapped around its tall body, its face shrouded in what seemed to be a mask and hood, the only distinguishable point being the glowing eye of gold.
Eofeld spat, an almost automatic gesture, the established sign against evil back home in Rohan. She'd had enough of shadows and illusions. First the light, then, presumably, the spider. And what the hell was this!? "You think!?" she said, the sarcastic comment somehow comforting against the oppressive fear.
"Quick on the uptake, aren't we?" the approaching figure said, "Here, I suppose you'd like some light." From its outstretched palm shot a net of sparkling webs, glowing white against the stark background, perfectly illuminating Eofeld and her companion, but still shrouding the rest of her surroundings in darkness.
The light now drew completely about the figure, showing that he, if it was, in all logic and based off its build, a he, was indeed wearing an expensive double-breasted trench coat of the finest dark leather that extended all that way down to his knees where it met a pair of equally fine cavener's boots. Around the head, a leather hood was pulled down low to bathe the strange character's features in shadow, a dark mask of some sort drawn across his face, obscuring all but the ever-present eye. One hand, if there was a hand attached to the end of the creature's arm, was stuck in its pocket, the other arm held out, a small, slightly curved dagger blade protruding from its elongated sleeves.
The figure took a step forward and the light seemed to recede about it, the darkness pouring in through the protective glowing net so that it safely shrouded the figure once more, only its outline, the eye, and the faint steel glow of the dagger being visible.
"W-who…" Eofeld cleared her throat, a step outside the ring of light impossible, "Who are you?" she finally said, more forceful this time.
"My Name is Morgoth," the creature replied solemnly.
"What?" Eofeld asked, "Like the city?"
"No," Morgoth said, a wisp of a smile appearing somehow on top of the dark mask, "more like the person they named the city after."
"You mean…" she proceeded, the fear rising inside her once more, "the god?"
Another quick grin from the cloaked figure, "In a sense."
Am I going mad? Eofeld thought, visions of heretical gods? Tomorrow I'll probably wake up screaming prophesies from my bedside.
Then, the menacing question surfaced, if there is a tomorrow.
"I see you have a bit of a… problem." It breathed, the sound no longer rumbling about inside of her head, but rather emanating from where the creature's mouth should have been.
Eofeld gave a quick look around, "I agree," she said, her eyebrow raised in a noblewomen's favorite expression.
"Ah, rather touching," it replied, "but I was talking about a bigger issue. I, of course, can get you to the surface, but you could probably find a way out on your own, given the necessary time and hardship," it paused, the dagger disappearing into its pocket, "I'm talking about Daven."
"You want me to kill him!?" She exclaimed, the shocked expression almost coming out as a laugh.
"No, no," the figure smiled, "you mistake me; though I'm not entirely sure you'd object if I did. I was simply making a statement. I've heard things aren't exactly happy," he pointed, "up top."
Eofeld's head hung; the memories of the beatings and the brutality etched into her very core. Daven was a monster in the form of a man even more so than this hideous example.
"I see. I can't blame you for coming down here. I only wish to help you," it said, taking a quick step closer, "I can get rid of him."
"For what?" she laughed, a strange thought flitting across her mind, "for you?"
The creature laughed, or what sounded approximately like a human equivalent of a laugh when spoken with those alien lips, "I'm hardly in the state for romantic activity," it said, the grin flashing once more.
Her eyes hardened; the subject suddenly serious. Delusional or not, there was a hope. Even the cautioning thoughts that bombarded her mind could not break through her fiery hate for the tyrant of her living hell. But even that hatred had its weaknesses, "will you hurt him?" She whispered; the fine line of fear and hope too delicate for anything more than the softest of utterances.
"Not unless you ask me too," Morgoth said.
"How do you know?" she asked, "do you really have the reach of the gods?"
"Some might say so. But I have my ways," the eye flashed a quick moment of blissful remembrance, and she almost felt a pang of sympathy for this poor creature, suffering from some unknown ailment that it would skulk beneath the Earth.
She raised her head once more, steeling herself to gaze at it eye to eye, "what will it cost?"
"Always practical, aren't we? Truth be told, I'm not doing this simply out of the kindness of my heart," it paused, fingering the curious dagger.
"What do I have to do?" Eofeld said, committed now, whatever the price.
"Just gather a little information," Morgoth replied, "nothing particularly devious, of course, just a quick jaunt into the Royal archives. You've probably wanted to get in there anyway."
"The Royal Archives!?" She explained.
It laughed, tossing the silvery knife high into the air and catching it, stuffing the whole thing back into its pocket with a casual flick of the wrist. So, hands, then. That was a good sign.
"You sound like I want you to plant a dagger in Aragorn Elessar's backside! Anyway, there's more tax records in there than anything else," it paused, staring not at her eyes but through them, "The Chief Archivist's got the key. A little… persuasion, and he'll hand it over easily enough. Will you do it?"
She nodded, her heart set, "what am I looking for?"
Morgoth smiled broadly this time, "I knew you'd take the opportunity. It's a prospecting claim, section B, header: Plains of Gorgoroth, you're looking for a scroll dated at the last day of the third age. And no, it's not going to be on the shelf, you'll have to move that via a trip switch on the left-hand side. The shelf'll move for you, and the rest is yours for the taking."
She nodded in affirmative, not caring why, only knowing that to be free of Daven; the job had to be done.
"There's your way out," he pointed towards a column of purplish light suddenly stretching across the length of a winding staircase, "It isn't often when an abused women gets a chance to remove a Royal husband."
She nodded, not surprised this time when her companion disappeared into a swirl of grey-black smoke particles, and not bothering to ask what remove meant.
Author's Note:
Yes, I know trenchcoats didn't exist back in the 1400's. But hey, this is Middle Earth, give me a break.
Also: REMEMBER TO WRITE THAT REVIEW! Thank's to the person that answered the religion question, but I'm still short on critique (yes, I know, I might as well be shouting "BUY WAR BONDS!" but what the hell, it's worth a try).
P.S. Any specific names of the Valar or are those up to me to decide?
Thanks for reading,
Neohtan the Wise (slayer of all those various demonic species mentioned in chapter four).