Dungeons Deep

A Nightmare Come True

Hey, everyone! Can you believe it? I've finally finished The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey! This chapter isn't the best but I still like it, and think I've described the painful events quite well. I'm going to get started on The Desolation Of Smaug as soon as possible, and it will be on the same story because I'm going to make the three Hobbit movie's all combine into Dungeons Deep, and when I, hopefully, do The Lord Of The Rings I will make that the sequel. I really hope you all like it! And thanks to all the people who have followed my story since the beginning! Please review, it means a lot to me!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or any of the characters, only Amariel and some insignificant others.

Chapter Eight: A Nightmare Come True

APOV

Shock gripped Amariel's heart as she landed, back-down, on the some hard dirt ground; and to make it even worse Bombur had fallen right on top of her. She groaned in pain and pushed him off, but before she had time to do anything else, she was sliding, along with the rest of the company, down the open chute in front of them at a rapid speed. Rocks scratched at her back as Amariel fell onto different layers of the chute, making the top back of her dress to snag and blood to crawl out like crimson rivers. The chute dropped and the impact of landing with a thud on the next level caused the upper-half of her body to bruise. She heard the dwarves groaning and screaming behind her, and her world started to turn upside-down and do loop-the-loops as the chute made sharp turns and odd spins. Her eyes caught glances of mounds of light that appeared to be flames in random corners. Soon, and what she supposed to be lucky at that, the chute narrowed and spat them all out into a big, but not big enough, cage that looked like a giant claw made of cogs, chains, and stripped pieces of wood. Slowly, Amariel sat up and rubbed her forehead carefully so she wouldn't irritate any cuts or bruises, and there seemed to be a lot of those. Suddenly, quick, scampering footsteps were heard, and the company's head's turned to see a huge mob of ugly, wart-infested, goblins running straight at them, making weird sounds. Before any of them had time to act, the goblins were upon them, and were stealing and snatching all of their weapons. One particular wart-infested goblin pounced onto Amariel and felt around for her weapon. The She-elf made a grunt of protest as the goblin stole away her simple but well-looked after sword and small knife she always kept tucked down her boot in case of emergencies. The vile creatures then began to usher them out of the cage and onto the narrow, goblin-made path. Amariel slapped a few away, but their were too many of them to make much of a difference. Goblins were crawling out of every hole and crevice, yellow-eyed and vicious. One creature bit her on the right arm to get her to move quicker. Her head snapped to where the bite was, and saw that it was quickly swelling. Annoyance filled her and she spun around and punched the goblin in the face. Amariel wasn't actually sure if it was the same goblin that bit her but she didn't really care as long as she punched something. As they crossed onto a dodge bridge, she noticed how far up they were and gulped. She didn't like heights at all. The feeling it gave her when she stared down into the dark depths. Her legs turned into jelly and her hands began to shake uncontrollably. Some of her kin teased her about it as elves were supposed to be elegant and used to heights. She tried to keep her eyes focused on what was ahead of her not below her. They soon entered the centre of 'goblin town' and saw many near-broken paths lit by lamps and hundreds of goblins scurrying around. It was far from a beautiful sight. She heard a horn blow and a cymbal continually clang, and it was driving her crazy. A goblin who had been sitting on a throne came into view. He was at least twice as tall as the common goblin and at least four times as wide. The 'Great Goblin' was not only larger but uglier than the rest, even by goblin standards. On his head was a pathetic crown and he held a mace with a skull on top of it. But what stood out most was his wart-covered chin that fell like a well-worn sack filled with pebbles. The Great Goblin started to chant some lyrics while tramping on his kin, but she could hardly hear a word he said; but obviously about something horrendous.