1. Dreams In The Deep
Somewhere, deep in the darkest, deepest shadows, I stir.
I can feel It moving again.
It is far, far away, granted…
…but still I can feel It.
It sings to me in my slumber- sings the same old sweet siren nothings It has sung to me since It's creation, begs me to wake, whispers that the time of my return is now, that the time of my triumph is at hand, that I must rise from my abyssal sleep and return roaring to the land of the living...
But I do not- I cannot.
It has been too long- my dreams are black and bloody, savage and sweet…
…and I am loathe to leave them.
Dreams of slaughter, they are- dreams of sorrow, dreams of death and destruction…
…yet still, though the screams of a people incinerated echo through my brain, though a kingdom become furnace drowns out everything with it's tumult…
…still I can hear It.
It calls to me through the miles as It has called to me throughout the ages.
It demands my attention; It pleads my presence; It begs for my aid.
It has been too long, though- too long was It's song drowned under rock, imprisoned under water, trapped and tortured and tormented, separated from It's Master by cruel fate and crueller fingers.
Somewhere out there in the dark, It stirs.
It is far, far away, granted…
…but still I feel It.
It sings to me in my slumber- sings low and lovely of vengeance, lustful and long of mangling and murder and mayhem.
It sings, and I listen, and one day soon I shall rise in all my majesty, shall rise in all my malevolence, shall rise in fire and blood and shadow and tear It from It's captors, tear It from their cold, lifeless fingers and rise like the most dreadful star imaginable, rise in horror and might and rage, rise like a burning, blackened, boiling mountain of monstrous, molten anger and return It to where It belongs…
…with It's Master.
On that day none shall stand before me.
On that day the very Heavens themselves shall split asunder, and all of creation shall echo with the sound of my victory.
On that day all the world shall kneel before It, It whispers to me, on that day all the world shall abase themselves before It and It's Master, and they shall cry and beg and weep for mercy, for pity, for salvation…
…but It knows not those words.
It has never known them.
It can never know them.
On that day, all the world- the skies, the seas, even the very stones themselves…
…they shall all weep bloody tears at our magnificence, our vengeance, our victory.
One day, It whispers to me, one day…
…but It is far, far away, and my sleep too, too deep.
I dream of a kingdom destroyed, and I sleep a little deeper, and I dream of a people dying and damned and diminished, and I dream a little longer, and I dream of the World as it was before the coming of the Sun or of the Moon, before the coming of the Trees or even of the Lamps, and It's voice grows a little quieter.
It does not care.
I do not care.
It cannot care.
I cannot care.
It has waited an Age.
I have waited an Age.
It can wait a little longer.
THAT IS NOT DEAD
WHICH CAN ETERNAL LIE
AND WITH STRANGE AEONS
EVEN DEATH MAY DIE
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.