“Do not creep about, Maeglin, I know you’re there." Said a voice within that growled like thunder. Throat dry and hands shaking, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves before approaching the glowing archway, the massive stone entrance to Angband’s primary forge. He had not considered how he would get back up, once he had done what he came to do. He had not realized that all steps and furnishings in a maia’s smithy would be so enormous in scale. In his mind this had seemed much easier he had not made allowance for the shaking floors, the constant volcanic rumble, the grinding of titan machinery, nor the grunts and screeches of creatures in the depths. Hours later he found the solid floor again, panting. He picked his way downwards, sweating, holding a carefully bound book to his chest and trying not to imagine if he slipped, how long he would fall before he found the bottom of the Iron Hells. The heat in the belly of the fortress was incredible. The way was winding and perilous- made for things with gripping toes and claws, not soft-shod boots. Nevertheless, after much searching and several near-falls, he discovered a stair that would take him down into the forges.
There was no real harm he could do on his own, and the deeper pits of Angband were not readily accessible except on wing or by stride much greater than that of a elfin boy’s. Maeglin had been given leave to wander anywhere his feet could take him in the fortress- provided he did not make himself a nuisance. My knowledge of Sindarin construction is exactly three hours old so I make no claims as to accuracy. (( This one was a puzzler! Also, it turned into a fic.
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