Drysanos Arda
I glided a fair way; eight-hundred odd meters I estimated. Maybe nine if I was going quite well, which I was for that moment. I was quite enjoying flying actually, despite the incredibly urgent mission I was on. It was amazing just to feel the air go around with me and holding me aloft. Yet of course it could not last, as I needed maximum speed and endurance, which of course, involved flapping. Gliding seemed to be all very well but it was not going to get me anywhere.
So I gritted my teeth and thought of happy thoughts. Legolas. Fangorn. My friends. Flying over the ocean. Anything to keep my mind off the pain that would come the immediate second I stroked my wings back and forth.
And the pain was worse than excruciating. It was mind numbing, making the darkness of my sight flash white for a moment. Yes, the pain was that bad that it made my sightless eyes be stimulated to work for but a moment. I hated it- or more along the lines of I hated white.
But the medicine did do something. The flash of pain I had just gone through, the brief stimulation of my eyes, was nothing compared to the utter horror that was a full out attack. And where the breath used to be completely expelled from my lungs now I just had to take these great massive gulps of air instead. Air did leave my lungs, yes- and the pain was terrible, yes- but the difference between this and all the other times is that it was bearable. With all the other attacks it was impossible to do anything but lie there like a starfish, waiting for the pain to throb away and until enough air could get into my lungs for me to actually move. Compared to that this was- well it was like comparing chocolate to rotten cabbage. Go figure.
So that was how I got one flap to raise me around a foot higher in the air. Or in other words, no-where near the optimum flying height. So I repeated over and over again. Something in my subconscious counted it, and thirty-six times I flapped to get to a proper speed and proper height. That was, if I wanted to go on a nice leisurely flight around wherever. So I kept on gritting my teeth and attempting through the utter brain-numbing pain to focus on happy memories. I will not lie that it was painstaking, and the second most difficult thing I had ever been through; the first most being the ghosts. I kept all thoughts of those at the very deeps of my mind. But something in me was proud of what I was doing and kept me sane enough to keep going, stuffing the complete agony. So eighty-four times in total, I flapped and endured to get up to an alright height that would allow me to get to a height where the air was thin enough to fly through at great speed.
I will spare you any more detail of great agony, for it is hard to describe and quite pointless. But once I went through the pain of getting high I of course, now needed to go down. But now I had a plan to get to my goal faster than should be possible with minimal pain. It would still cause it though. The brilliant plan was- fly as high as possible(otherwise it would be impossible to breathe, and I would freeze to death), then angle myself on a shallow decline. I would basically gain momentum from a series of fast flaps at the beginning then shoot downward for several miles, hopefully leagues if it could be managed. A massive super-powered dive downward.
Angling myself downward from my initial position was harder than I had figured out it would be. It seemed my left wing would not angle far enough to do the manoeuvre the way I had always done, so I had to put extra pressure on my right. It was painful, and slower than I had wished it to be by far, but it worked. Then came the quick successive flapping to gain momentum once I was angling downwards, which was possibly so painful that I lost consciousness for a few moments. Fortunately for me and the fate of Middle-earth, if I planned on gliding my wings would lock in place, similar to that of a vultures or a bird of prey. I suddenly found myself going faster than I ever thought possible though, and that was the most important thing of all. Speed and time where of essence. Although despite the incredible seriousness of what I was attempting- I was already growing exhausted- and the extreme pain and difficulty, of which there was in abundance- I had the urge to grin.
Speed at last! The feeling of wind rushing past me at many miles an hour, the damp smell of the cloud to the left- beautiful! Amazing, exciting, invigorating! Despite the odds, the pure negativity I was currently going through to do this, it felt like my first flight all over again. Yet I did not grin- a lesson learnt from my first flight, is that it would cause extreme pain and felt as it the skin and muscle of the face would come off the bone. I had my share of pain already, and did not need it to become on the unbearable side thank-you-very-much.
Of course that thought was cursed as soon as it came of essence, because I barrelled headlong into a cloud. Possibly the most idiotic thing any normal flier could ever do, because you got utterly soaked. This time was no exception. I could feel the droplets of water freezing onto the skin of my arms, literal bits of ice sticking to my hair and hands. The cold was antagonizing, and the only part of me that did not get goose-bumps was my wings and back- they were producing enough heat to keep the ice from sticking to them. Then of course I was out of the cloud, and where as the sun was shining it was still cold and without the heaviness of the cloud (which one got used to after a few minutes) pressing down. In fact, the difference in air caused me to rise upward a little, causing me to have to angle back downward.
I wasn't in Gondor any longer, I was in Rohan. No time for detours or even cloud avoidance- those things stretched for miles- I was on a direct path for the Barrows and the Old Forest, in which Tom's abode lay. Following a similar path to that of the old south road, I thought, all except I was going north and I was much more direct. Night had fallen, and it was cold. I had not thought of what the cold may do to me, and was now heart-fully regretting leaving my boots and shirt behind. My hands and feet were completely numb. Unfortunately the cold of night did not numb the pain of my lungs, and I continued to gasp for breath. It was a horrible night.
As I felt the warmth of sun seep into me I had just finished crossing the Misty Mountains and was in Dunland. The caws of Crebian were a prominent sound, but of course there was no time for caution. It hit me that I was not going fast enough. I needed to be there just after noon at latest, and had about the same distance to cover as I had already covered. So I did what I thought was even more impossible than what I was already doing- I climbed even higher into the sky, skimming the tops of the clouds, and dived harder and faster than ever before. And the speed neared twice as fast as that of its many preceding dives.
However there is always a downside to such things. One day had passed. The medicine was wearing off and I could not afford to stop and take another dose, nor could I in the air. The agonising pain of my lungs grew more and more, making me grit my teeth harder and take larger more frequent gulps of air. The pain was on the verge of becoming unbearable. To be on the (slightly) safer side I went high and dived for what must have been the thousandth time.
As I flapped to gain momentum though- oh forget ghosts, that was emotional pain. It was so incredibly painful that my vision began to flicker white on and off, that tears were streaming through my eye ribbon and wetting my face, only to immediately dry or be flung off due to the wind. It was as if Ulmo had taken abode in my eyes. There was hardly any breath left in me, and I could only make tiny breaths of air in and out. Just crossing the Hornwell River now, only a little way to go. You can do this Darke. You must get through this. For Legolas. For Middle-earth. My energy was draining at an alarming rate. My eyes had been stimulated to a semi-permanent grey. I could feel myself losing speed as well- that would not do. Could not do. I flapped again, letting out a little whimper-scream as I did so, trying to keep my mouth closed so it wouldn't get stuck open. Quite unlike me, but the situation was dire. The largest and most well-made swear paragraph in existence would not cut what this pain felt like. Almost there Darke. You passed the Greenway Hills, only four more miles to go. Three and a half. Three and a quarter. No, I wasn't going to make it. No, positives. I was not going to make this. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't breathe. Two and a half. Sorry Arda. Sorry Legolas. My vision flickered from grey, to black, to grey, to black, and stayed black. My body was shutting itself down. I had taxed myself. I would not make it. Hoping my locked wings would keep me in a glide, and would hopefully prevent me from dying- actually, forget that, the shame I would face about living and failing would be too great. I would go into hiding as I had always been, but cut off all contact with everyone I knew. I would be dead. I felt my arms and legs fall limp just as the 'map' in my brain thought One and a half miles.
I felt at peace. Death; maybe not such a daunting prospect after all. I wouldn't have to face the shame. I had lived my years anyway- Six-thousand seven-hundred and eighty-three was a big number. I had met my love, made friends, lived a life. "Drysanos Arda."(Fare-thee-well world) I dared to part my lips a little as I sank into the abyss.
A/N- I did NOT do the maths for Darke's age, I just thought of a number she might be around. You know what to do people, it's on the last post. Sorry the vote turned out to be useless, there's been a change in plans(obviously). Please tell me what you thought of me killing my character off.