#bregadir

@a-lonely-dunedain

26. Helpless/Motionless/Paralyzed what do we consider recently...... hmm......

One moment, his boots had been dodging fallen foes and allies alike. He'd found that melancholy man of Rohan, Horn, and joined in his search for allies. Aragorn had been moving steadily through the ranks of foes, and the rest of the Grey Company with him. Bregadir had been separated from the fighting, and that had proved a costly mistake.

Now, his boots were lodged as if in amber. Like an insect held suspended in sap. Or, maybe- the idea flashed across his mind as the man of Mordor stepped into view- a trophy fish. Taxidermy bird.

His weapons were lowered and he was without defense. Horn, too, seemed unable to move, but he couldn't really see. The sounds of battle had to pierce through a layer of the enchantment like a fog. All his senses were dulled, and with man and sword looming above him, he wasn't sure that was a kindness.

The fighting was far from over but here, in what were likely his last moments, he could practically see the birds descend. Neither good nor evil, acting only from what master or nature had instructed, thinking not of war but only of their next meal. Well, maybe not wholly neutral. He thought of Rockbeak, answerable to mischief matching with his own intelligence, and the almost shamefaced look when he was caught stealing jacks from Bree children.

He thought of Wastrel and stolen scones. Not wholly neutral.

Bregadir was slapped back into the present as the sword came up over the man's head. To cleave him in two, presumably. The end was here and he couldn't blink.

But then a gauntlet of gold burst from the side of the road. Helmeted heads rocked and the enchantment that held him frozen wavered. Bregadir was able to dive and roll to relative safety while the blur of red and gold and grey pummeled with the might of long learning.