She dreams of Golden Hope

Your eyes look like coming home

"And this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me." -Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

Her eyes opened gingerly and with heavy lids she looked at the flickering flame of the candle beside her. She furrowed her brow and shuffled her shoulders trying to find comfort in the soft covers beneath her. Her head pounded and she soon had to let go off her expression, because it tortured her face. Her eyes averted themselves from the dancing flame and she looked up at the high wooden ceiling above her.

She was confused.

The last thing she could remember was letting herself fall off the cliff. The last thing she could recall was making that decision. Was letting go and then the air rushing by her and the sensation of utter nothingness beneath her back, beneath her feet, beneath her everything. The feeling of blissful liberation after that period of horror she experienced in the Orcs' fortress. She was supposed to be dead. That had been the price for her freedom. She had paid for her escape from Azog's clutches with her life and at the thought of the utter fear and torment she had experienced in his dungeon, she had thought that it had been a small price to pay for she could not bear to be imprisoned, to be at his mercy. She had died and she had been content to go as long as it had meant that she could have died free and true to herself.

But she was confused.

It did not feel as if she was dead. She felt pain and discomfort from the injuries she felt on her face. She felt the heaviness of her form weighing her down. She had expected that as soon as she had died, she would have left her earthly form and perhaps, if she was lucky, she would have flown to the stars. Yet that had not happened. Because she still felt weighed down to the ground. She felt everything around her, the warmth of the soft covers over her form, the warmth of the candle beside her cheek, the smell of musk and herbs and the sound of her quiet but steady breathing. She had expected that as soon as she had died she would not have felt anything any more. She could feel her heart beat in her chest. She was supposed to be dead, but it felt as if to her as if she was painfully, blissfully alive.

And that confused her.

How could she have ever survived that fall from the cliff? As she had fallen, it had been as if it was never ending, as if the abyss she had jumped into was infinite. Surely, as soon as she had impacted with something, with anything the fall would have killed her, but she was still alive and that confused her greatly. She could not recall how she had arrived where she was now. She did not know where she was. She could not recall anything after having lost consciousness during her fall. Perhaps she should have worried. She should have worried that she was in an unkown known location and that she had somehow been brought here without her recollection. Perhaps she should have worried over who exactly had dressed her wounds and their intent. But she could not. Because she was grateful. She was grateful that someone had taken pity on her and had effectively saved her. She was grateful that someone had been compassionate enough. And she was too tired and confused to care for the fact that there may have been hidden intentions behind the kind gesture shown to her. She was too tired to manage any suspicion toward her saviour.

Her right ear twitched as she perceived the low sound of a door opening to her right and in response she turned her head and was met with the sight of a woman entering her room. She watched the woman as she gingerly closed the door behind her, intent on not making sounds too loud and the woman the turning towards her. She smiled as she saw Laurel conscious and awake and quickly made her way towards her. Laurel studied the woman. She was tall, perhaps even taller than Gandalf who had been one of the tallest individuals Laurel ever had the pleasure of knowing. She had hair the colour of the wheat that grew on the fields surrounding Hobbiton during the warm months of the year. And as she approached, Laurel looked into her kind brown eyes and immediately her posture relaxed and the young girl let go off a tension she had not realized she was holding. Her wariness and suspicion towards the woman were dispelled as Laurel looked into her warm and concerned eyes that did not hold a hint of malevolence and as the woman's features softened and the wrinkles on her face became more pronounced as she smiled warmly down at the half-elf, Laurel could not help but smile back at her, even if it hurt her face.