No Dreams In Darkness by cuarthol

Thangorodrim

Prompt: It comes in threes.

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Drip-drip-drip.

Kurn felt the droplets creep along her skin and run into her eyes.  She squirmed a little, blinking it away, and shifted half a step to the right. 

Drip-drip-drip.

The overhang of rock beneath which she stood was still damp from the earlier rains.  She shifted back to the left again, not willing to move any further out of her place lest she feel the whip for it.  It was dangerous to show any little hints of having a free mind, of having a preference or even a thought.

Drip-drip-drip.

This time it got into her mouth, and she was surprised to find it was a little salty but otherwise rather pleasant.  Glancing around to ensure nobody was watching, she tentatively lolled her tongue out to catch the next series of drips. 

They never came.

Angband

Prompt: Under_____
A Starless Sky

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It would be useless to even notice that nothing fit quite right.  Nothing was meant to fit, exactly.  Oh, it wasn’t designed not to fit, but it wasn’t designed to, either.  It was churned out in droves, with little thought, less care, and absolutely no intention of being comfortable.

Kurn was, on the whole, glad to have gear that was too large rather than too small.  She pointedly ignored the black stains on the inside of the leather jerkin as she pulled it on over her head.  Situating a threadbare linen cap, she set the likewise ill-fitting metal helm on her head.  It fell over her eyes.

When the mountains belched forth smoke and fire and death, she was very glad not to be standing on it.  From the scattered, strangled screams that rose around the edge of their number, not everyone was lucky enough to escape the destruction that the Lord of Darkness sent.

The smoke blotted out everything but the fires that went before them as they poured out of Angband like a great black flood, following the dragons and balrogs and other creatures that made even the Orcs tremble and cower.  But the whips at their backs were worse than the bright-eyed creatures before them, and so onward they went.

Anfauglith

Prompt: Splendor lost

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Being near the back meant she had little to do but be another body, following the heels that marched before her.  It also meant she felt the whips harder, but she reasoned a lash at the back was better than a sword at the front.

The metal shoes at least kept the soles of her feet from trampling directly over the steaming hot ash of the plain, but it did not prevent the slow warmth from growing in the metal until she wondered if it would not have been better to go without.

Still, she could stamp over coals and twisted bodies with little difficulty but to have slightly too-hot feet.  In Kurn’s estimation that was better than could be reasonably expected.

She was still nowhere near the actual fighting when the accursed sun began to rise.  The smoke still blocked out much of its hurtful light but not all of it, and she was glad for the helm that covered her eyes.

By the time she had nearly reached the front - meaning by the time that most of those in front had already fallen - there were few left to fight them.  Scattered pockets of resistance were quickly falling, and she was suddenly standing at the tall stone walls that had been built by their enemies.

At the base of the wall, among all the other crumpled and broken bodies, was a mass of golden hair matted red and black with blood and mire.  The armor was pierced through with many black-fletched arrows; the helm split; the eyes left open and unseeing, now dark.

Something deep inside stirred at the sight of it.  A feeling she could not identify because she had no frame of reference to understand it.  She stooped and cut a lock that seemed least fouled and shoved it into the pouch at her side before anyone noticed.

Taur-nu-Fuin

Prompt: Never laugh at live dragons

(warning for somewhat gruesome references in this chapter)

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The great trees burned for far longer than the plain had, and it was as important to be wary of one falling on you as to mind the spears and arrows of the enemy.  Sparks flew and branches fell and the sound of battle drifted from far away.

She kept tramping toward it but never quite seemed to reach it, and the masses of her kin spread out over greater and greater areas, growing thinner, dividing into pockets and driving into the bright-eyed Elves and the fierce Men who fell before their onslaught not because of weakness but out of sheer overwhelming numbers.

One benefit - or perhaps downside, she was not quite certain yet - was the fires had cooked some of them nicely and when no whips drove them from behind, some stopped and feasted on the dead.

It was better eating than they had ever enjoyed - fresh, clean meat that they could savor, and plenty to go around.  Not that it stopped fights from breaking out regardless.

As bellies filled and care waned, some began to chat lowly among their little groups.  There was speculation on how long this feast might last, others grumbling that no matter how much there was soon they would be driven from it again. 

One laughed about whether Glaurung’s belly would be so full he wouldn’t be able to slither himself back into the gates of Angband.  Another warned him against being too flippant, as he’d likely be in Glaurung's belly himself if not careful.

Kurn had managed to get hold of a chunk of leg and shuffle off into a hollow where she listened to their conversation, chuckling a little at the images it conjured and glad she was not where the dragon was.  Away east, it seemed, in the hills which led further south.

With her own hunger quenched, she settled further into her little hollow, thinking perhaps she might not be noticed or missed for a few hours of sleep.

When she woke the sun had gone down again and the smoke was settled thick over all the land, burning her lungs and eyes.  She crawled out of the little nest she had managed and looked around, but everything was quiet and dark but for the glow of the fire that continued to burn in the trees.

A gurgled little laugh escaped her lips before she bit it back.

She crept carefully through the burning landscape, wanting to neither run into an enemy nor into her own.  It was inevitable that she would find one, she felt, and began to wonder if a lash at the back was truly preferable to a sword at the front.

She scrambled up, up, up the rising smoke-darkened hills until a misplaced step sent her tumbling into the ravine, bumped and scraped all the way down.

Nan Dungortheb

Prompt: Weaving a tangled web

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There was no easy way to climb back up to where she had started, and less reason to want to.  Instead she followed the trickle of water that wound its way through dense brush and moss-covered rocks - things she had barely ever seen before - following the slope of land down the far side of the hills.

Likely this was a path she would regret, if not for the lashing she’d take for being gone, then for the possibility of running into more enemies that had been pushed south by the assault.  But the land all around seemed silent, as if it swallowed up sounds.  It was not, however, empty.  She felt the dark things lurking about, and as she pushed further on her instinct to go back was growing.

By the time she had wandered deep into the valley she knew she had made a mistake.  Surely a fatal mistake.  Even her eyes, bred for the darkness, could barely discern the path ahead, and the dark - a tangible, pulsating thing - filled her with dread.

The eerie silence meant that the few sounds that did reach her ears were even more terrifying for it - a low, prolonged creak from the nearby trees, a strange skittering-clicking sound, and something she could only describe as a salivating exhale that felt far too close.  She whirled around, her blade swinging wildly, but it sliced only through air.

Kurn stumbled on, not even certain she was even going the same way now, for direction no longer seemed distinct and meaningful.

When she felt her feet plod into more than a mere puddle of water, she realized how very dry her mouth felt.  Stooping where she stood, she sucked up great handfuls of it before she sensed the foulness that ran in it.

She sloshed to the far side of the water and retched up as much as she could, but already she felt her stomach churning and her head spinning.  Onward she stumbled, knowing that to stop was to die here, but no longer fully aware of even herself let alone her surroundings.

The next thing she seemed aware of was being caught up in something strong and sticky, though struggling against it seemed to only make it bind her faster.  That was when a presence unseen but deeply felt descended upon her, the hair on her body standing on end and her senses suddenly sharpening.

Though unable to move properly, she managed to leverage her sword somewhat in the right direction - she hoped - and waited until she could almost feel hot breath on her skin before forcing the blade up with as much strength as she had left.

The scream that followed proved her aim was true, but as the thing retreated it took her blade with it.

She grumbled and cursed and flailed and pulled and managed to free one hand enough to grasp around on the ground for something - anything - that might render aid.

When her hands curled around a rock, sharp on one edge, she began to frantically slash at the webs holding her, cutting away the bindings.  Wiggling out of the too-large jerkin, she was free at last.

Pass of Aglon

Prompt: Not a lot of options

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By the time she reached the eastern edge of the valley she had lost all sense of how much time had passed.  She had lost her sword and her armor, her helm and somewhere her shoes had gone missing as well.

Now she only wore her tattered and threadbare shirt that hung half way down her thighs and the rough spun breeches that were singed in spots and all along the bottom cuff.

But she did still have the small pouch at her belt.  She clutched it, not willing to look inside to see if that golden treasure she had stolen was still within.  If she did not look she could pretend it was.

Sloshing along the riverbank, she sniffed at the water, taking a tentative sip first before gorging herself on it.  Then she plodded along until she reached the ford and continued east with little idea of where she was going or where her path might lead.

Part of her knew she needed to go north again, and when she crossed the second river she could feel the pull of that terrible will that consumed their minds, but it felt distant here, divided among too many.  She gazed at the cold hills that flanked the pass north, then turned and looked south into the dark, twisting forest.

Back and forth she looked: north or south, back to her master or… 

A shudder ran through her at the thought of going back.  For the moment she did not think of what other option she had, she only knew she did not want to go back.  She did not want to feel the vicious lashes of the taskmasters upon her, fight over scraps of rotten meat - if they were lucky - she did not want to have her thoughts driven out by His will again.  

She crouched like an animal and ran nearly on all fours south along the river until it turned sharply to the east.  There she ran on until she was within the dark expanse of the forest.

Nan Elmoth

Prompt: An unexpected visitor

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The very trees around her seemed to shudder at her presence, but what enchantments had once lain on this land had long been left to fade, the master of it fallen in a far distant place.

Kurn felt the malice of it, but then, she was used to feeling such things.  She crept through the shadows wary but determined.  But she was an unexpected - nay, an unwelcome - visitor here.  Roots curled up and hindered her path, branches grasped at her, tearing what little remained of her shirt.  The branches shuddered in anger at her passing, but still she pushed on.

The shadows of the trees kept out the cursed sun, and so she would risk the wrath of these woods to be free of both it and - she hoped - unfriendly eyes.

It was not long enough, she felt, before she had reached the far edge of the wood, narrower than she had hoped.  Now she looked out over a wide open plain to where the mountains rose sharply against the sky.

That was where she wanted to be.  High in the mountains she might find a place to burrow down into the darkness.  She only had to cross the leagues in between, filled with the bright spears and sharp arrows of her foes.

She licked her lips and swallowed.  It was death either way, but at least death at the hands of her enemy might be quick.  At her master’s hands, death may well become a mercy withheld.  She at last let her hand dig into her pouch, clutching around the bit of hair, still inside.  It still shimmered in the faint light, stirring something in her that she could not name.

She might yet die, but some small part of her at least knew she would die free, even if that meant almost nothing to her reality.  When the sky was dark again except for the stars, she slipped from the forest, making for that dark line of the mountains ahead.