His are the songs whose gentle winds stir the stillness within and breathe upon a spark to coax it to flame. Lyrics tumbling from the lips of most talented of minstrels beneath the trees of Lórien have failed to move the stone that he has managed to soften until it melts into nothing. What magic dwells within the twin rivers' end? What spells does he weave in rhyme and verse that ensorcells my heart and vexes my thoughts?
If only the bite of my sword were able to slice the threads that bind me...if that were my desire... And yet, I am drawn ever closer as a moth to flame, knowing the danger while hungering for its warm embrace. The siren has enthralled me. Only my eyes remain vigilant shields that hide the depths of my hopelessness, yet I fear the day is yet to come when what is buried will be hidden no more.
