Chapter Seven
Laire
Freedom isn't a song. It isn't something you can see, but by gods, you can feel it. It feels warm and cold at the same time, warm because you've left your pain behind you, and cold because you don't know what's ahead of you. And you can taste it, salty and sweet. It slips through your fingers one moment, until you tighten your grip. It laughs at you, because you took so long getting to it. It welcomes you, because you're finally here. Freedom is many things, but it isn't a song.
Freedom is a voice. One quavering voice, cracking as it rises in desperation, that turns into a strong voice, proud and resonating. I wish I could add my own feeble voice to its song, but I don't have the breath. I can't believe I'm finally free. I'm out of the dragon's lair and onto the battlefield.
But this time I'm alone, and that scares me. There are orcs everywhere. I can feel their foul eyes burning into my back, despite the fact that they cannot see me nor hear me. I can still hear them. I can still feel them; they have a dark, thick aura that covers the forest like a polluted blanket.
The trees reach out their black, twisted fingers, brushing my face and tearing at my clothing. Within minutes, there are scratches all over my arms and cheeks. The wind howls past my ears, singing her eerie, sad songs. I close my eyes for a moment and let tears run down my face. The tears could be brought on by cold, or by loneliness, or even perhaps, though I loathe to say it, fear. I can't deny what I've so long thought I was invincible from. Now, without Legolas, or even my father, I am afraid.
I am afraid of Sauron. I'm afraid of the Orcs. But most of all, I'm afraid of myself. I don't trust myself out here. I can't defend myself, I can't take care of myself. I close my eyes and let the horse trot silently into the tunnel of loneliness up ahead of me.
Laire
Freedom isn't a song. It isn't something you can see, but by gods, you can feel it. It feels warm and cold at the same time, warm because you've left your pain behind you, and cold because you don't know what's ahead of you. And you can taste it, salty and sweet. It slips through your fingers one moment, until you tighten your grip. It laughs at you, because you took so long getting to it. It welcomes you, because you're finally here. Freedom is many things, but it isn't a song.
Freedom is a voice. One quavering voice, cracking as it rises in desperation, that turns into a strong voice, proud and resonating. I wish I could add my own feeble voice to its song, but I don't have the breath. I can't believe I'm finally free. I'm out of the dragon's lair and onto the battlefield.
But this time I'm alone, and that scares me. There are orcs everywhere. I can feel their foul eyes burning into my back, despite the fact that they cannot see me nor hear me. I can still hear them. I can still feel them; they have a dark, thick aura that covers the forest like a polluted blanket.
The trees reach out their black, twisted fingers, brushing my face and tearing at my clothing. Within minutes, there are scratches all over my arms and cheeks. The wind howls past my ears, singing her eerie, sad songs. I close my eyes for a moment and let tears run down my face. The tears could be brought on by cold, or by loneliness, or even perhaps, though I loathe to say it, fear. I can't deny what I've so long thought I was invincible from. Now, without Legolas, or even my father, I am afraid.
I am afraid of Sauron. I'm afraid of the Orcs. But most of all, I'm afraid of myself. I don't trust myself out here. I can't defend myself, I can't take care of myself. I close my eyes and let the horse trot silently into the tunnel of loneliness up ahead of me.
