Galdorion

The leather grip is wearing away under my hand. I shift my grip slightly, making a note to see about getting the wrap replaced before we leave. I stand motionless for a moment, closing my eyes and recalling darkness and stone, shouts, and learned responses. Then I begin to move.

 The rain on my face feels like tears. Drops splash onto the surface of the lake, making the ripples dance, and patter through the leaves of the trees. I pull my legs up to my chest and sit huddled in my cloak, heedless of the wet ground, or of the mud staining my bare feet. Even now the words of Lord Anglachelm ring in my mind as though etched there permanently. The view is beautiful – shading in grey, the rain gives the lake a bleak, haunted look. It is a fitting setting for the ghosts I bring with me.

 The second time we met, we spoke of freedom. In the grand halls of his kin, once most of the guests had left, he showed me the wonders they'd collected. Among the treasures there was a small songbird in a cage – something meant to lighten a room I suppose, or bring joy to those within. I wondered how they could bear to confine something so sweet – to deprive it of room to fly and yet still expect it to bring them joy.

The road stretches out before me, dipping between high sides of rocks before it turns the corner and peters out in the open moors. The sun warms the earth under my feet, and a soft breeze blows, shaking the tops of the firs as it passes, although the trees of the valley at my back remain still – sheltered by the mountains that surround. I tilt my face up to the sky for a moment, shutting my eyes and relishing the touch of the sun.

 Far above, the stars shine – tiny pinpricks of light in the silent night. I take a deep breath, savouring the freshness of the air. The silence is broken only by a soft breeze that stirs the leaves above me, whispering through the trees. It is a welcome moment of peace – I am overjoyed to be among my friends once more, but still I find myself seeking moments of solitude and quiet: moments in which to reflect on all that has happened.

 "Freedom. What is it worth when faced with the the possibility of losing the one you love? Would you risk your life to save your hearts desires?" Tingruviel takes a deep breath, shading her eyes from the stark sun. The garden is still, not a flower moving. Music can be heard nearby, as everyone is celebrating the coming of spring. The ink bottle almost topples over as she realigns her position on the blanket. Even though Uthaer made his best efforts to level the ground, the grass underneath the blanket bends it into hillls, making it perilous to leave anything on top of it.

 I shudder slightly as I put my hand to the wall, leaning on it for the briefest moment. There are thick, clinging cobwebs everywhere in this part of the caves, and what little rock is free of them is often covered in lurid growths of fungus. I stand completely still, listening to the ominous sounds of movement echoing in the caves around me, taking in my surroundings. I have been here before, I am sure of that now. Despair wells up again, but I force it down, force myself to start moving once more, walking forwards in what appears to be a never-ending circle.

 It is dark here. Though the caves seem tall enough to encompass a world, there is no sun in this world. There are no stars. The only light comes from the flickering torches of the dwarves, the eerie glow of some strange crystal, or the fires that scorch the rocks in the depths. In the dark, terrible things lurk, and the glow of torches cannot push back the shadows entirely.