Lost Tales of Gondolin by darthfingon

Isolation

Maeglin preferred to work alone.  The others chattered and laughed, filling the mine with their incessant noise like a pack of excited dogs.  It grated in his ears and set his teeth on edge, fraying every last thread of his patience and disrupting his concentration.  Useless oafs, all of them.  Not a one was good for anything.

But here, in the farthest reaches of Anghabar, down secret winding tunnels unknown to all but him, Maeglin found peace.  The distant drip drip of water leaking through hidden cracks in the stone served as all the company he needed.  A single blue lamp was as good as any friend.  In soothing solitude, he searched for the thrill of precious ores.  His hammer and chisel tapped out his own reckoning of seconds, minutes, and hours.  What time passed in truth, he did not know, and nor did he care.  He worked until he was finished.  Without the others and their pointless interruptions, he made good progress.

Thus satisfied with the day's work, he wiped down his tools and packed them away, ready to begin anew in the morning.  He picked up his lamp and made his way back through the cramped tunnel to the main work site.  Less than halfway there, his foot slipped in a wide crack in the stone.  He lost his balance, falling forward and losing hold of his lamp, which smashed and died.  The dark closed in as thoroughly as if he had been stricken blind.

Swearing to himself, he tried to stand.  And failed.  His boot had become wedged into the crack, and when he tried to shake it free, a sickening pain radiated from his ankle.  He fumbled in the dark and managed to position himself so that he could tug at his boot with his hands, but to no avail.  He was stuck fast, and could not free himself.

"Friends?" he called into the blackness of the tunnel.  "Anyone?"

No answer came.  There was no sound at all, save for the drip drip drip of trickling water.

"Little help here?"