As they set up camp, Fingil moved purposefully. He had shown himself as the warrior he truly was, and no longer looked like silent baggage. He was content.
As the moon came high, many of them were asleep. Fingil lay, looking up at the stars, thinking of what lay ahead.
Moria, the ancient Kingdom of the Dwarves. Now bereft of dwarves and packed full of orc dens.
The darkness of his thoughts disturbed him but he was resigned to follow whatever course the group took.
The Lamps of the Noldor would be a help, but they could not light the entire kingdom, and there would always be more shadows than light.
The awesome difficulty of their task swamped him but he battled through it, Celebrian was in there and she would come out, alive!
He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, but dreams of darkness and terrible dens haunted him throughout the night.
He was running down many dark tunnels and the image of a Noldorin Lamp was always ahead of him, growing dimmer and dimmer, until it was gone. He was alone and fear gripped him, but was he? Suddenly the screech of orcs echoed around him in the tunnel and he knew that he was trapped. Breathing touched his neck, dark foul breath and he almost choked on the stench. As he felt harsh metal slice into him, his legs gave way and he fell...
and woke. He was sweating and in the still dark night Fingil thought, with a sudden dread, that he had seen his future. Was that what would happen to him, or was it a mere dream? He did not know, but he would not give up. As he fell back into uneasy dreams, the feeling of dread stayed with him and he did not sleep easily.
[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]
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