crawl (aeotha)
One long step beyond the jagged mouth of the cave planted his feet firmly in the Underdark. A part of Ilúvatar felt as though there should be more than that to mark the barrier. Only a sudden chill gave him notice that could not be seen. What could be seen, of course, was incredible. Ilúvatar did not think such a collection of simultaneous horror and wonder existed anywhere else in the world. Rock caverns twisted downward in a never-ending spiral that vanished bleakly into total darkness. The only thing that kept the darkness from reaching them here, now, was a spiderweb of dark blue veins that clung to the sides of the walls. Ilúvatar took a hesitant step forward, the double-headed beast of an axe in his hand. Ready to strike. Only there was nothing there to strike, nothing at all save a vague ethereal blue that coated his skin and his clothing. Armor. He truly should have invested in armor. It was the only thing that made sense.
Armor only slowed you down.
Those dark blue veins cast off enough light to walk by, and perhaps enough to see by. Therefore he started out, ahead of the group, with a rattle of armor and mail behind him to give him comfort. Eibhear was behind him, of that he was certain, and not far behind the priestess who was so valuable to them. Nothing spread a disease of unease quite so well as the unknown. They were in that now, a murk through which none of them could see. Ilúvatar was suddenly glad for the mail he'd accepted, heavy beneath his coat, and what had been hot in the mines of the dwarves was suddenly the only thinking keeping a chill from invading his bones. This shaft had led nowhere - a dead end in the wall which had been uncovered by the dwarves. How long before they sent an army to reclaim this place? And how long before that army rode over them in its pursuit of total war? Ilúvatar did not want to find out. They most likely were going to find out. And sooner rather than later, he thought.
"Roots," Eibhear said into the quiet; his voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Roots?" repeated Ilúvatar dumbly, at the same volume.
"The Underdark is a strange place, my friend. There trees grow into the sides of the caverns. Into the rock above you. And these blue veins," he tapped one with his naked blade. "Are the roots of that growth."
"Trees?" Ilúvatar was surprised. "How can something grow in this darkness?"
"Not trees as we know them, I suppose," Eibhear seemed amused. "You'll see soon enough. We are not in the Underdark itself, not yet. But soon."
If this was not the Underdark, Ilúvatar was suddenly keenly aware of his lack of desire to see the rest of it. His thoughts were on the illithids they'd faced. On the priestess who stared at him, eyes full of sadness, feeling what he felt. Knowing what he knew. If you'd asked a younger Ilúvatar what would never happen to him in the course of his life that younger Ilúvatar would have responded easily. He never would have found religion. And he never would have expected that a priestess would feel what he felt, share an emotion with him that no one should ever feel. Aeotha Easaahae was not the priestess he had expected. Or in particular the priestess she would have wanted. Compassion instead of diffidence. A struggle instead of a calling. No one ever wrestled with morality when they were born into their position of administration, when they were born into their position as shepherd of the flock. Yet she did.
More than that, she yearned for the same life that he did. More than that - she knew it would never find her, and she knew she would never find it. She was trying desperately to make her peace with that. Just as he was. And somehow she went on, just as a knight would. Just as a soldier would. Yes, he could see why Eibhear had such a high opinion of her now. He could also see why Eibhear had invited her along. Right now she was the only thing that made him feel hope. He despised the goddess that would make one brother spill the blood of another. He loathed the goddess who pretended to care but used elves for her own selfish whims. Yet Aeotha somehow seemed apart from that. She could have ministered to him, if she'd wanted to, if there were time. He would have believed everything and anything that she told him. And he would have chained himself to the temple to hear her speak. No wonder Eibhear enjoyed her company so. Yes, he could see it very clearly now.
In more ways than one.
"Perhaps a song?" Talmus asked calmly.
"Don't be stupid," Fenrir growled from nowhere. "Their hearing is excellent. Do you want to draw them down on us?"
"What if I did?" Talmus was entirely too glib. "Are you afraid, Master Archer?"
Fenrir's only answer was a growl from the back of his throat.
Well, it was good to know that the children were getting along.
Another step brought an echo. This time, Ilúvatar did stop at the sound, holding up his closed fist. The axe felt heavy in one hand. Heavier than he could lift, but light enough to swing if he needed to. There was hardly enough room to stand upright in this corridor - what could the sound possibly be? With the twisting narrows that comprised this tunnel - no more than five feet were laid out evenly before them. He had learned by now not to take any chances.