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The eyelids of sound sleepers flying open, the shouting of distraught escapees, the fumbling for some sort of weaponry; the movements seemed so effortless and graceful, as if they were meant to happen and that the actions had already been planned out for play. The fading scent of suverah floated gently through the thick air as the company fought their enemy. Beings became blurred figures in Jeren's foggy vision; shouts of defiance and rage morphed into simple sounds of restlessness in his ears; events and occurrances became slight replays in his weary mind.
The scene moved too quickly almost, and Jeren basked in the glory of a battle that felt like the last. The Southron learned more than he wanted from the little group, more than he thought he would, and more than he cared to admit. Lessons had been indirectly taught to him by the actions and the strange ways of the former prisoners that he had escaped with. Trustworthiness, caring, responsibility...all traits that Jeren knew existed in the depths of his mind and soul, but never needed in battle until now. For now, he finally had a cause worth dying for, and a company worth caring for, and a reason that he understood all too well.
Jeren would have been content to die where he stood as he fought those that would impede on his freedom and the freedom of his companions. They had all gone so far, faced so many dangers, and grieved so many losses. The Southron man did not know where he would go if...when he got his freedom, but freedom most certainly was the only ideal and hope that Jeren would not mind dying for. Perhaps that is what kept him alive so long, fighting the battles of others and not wishing to die for that which he did not believe in. Perhaps that is why Jeren never fought harder than during that one battle.
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It was not until he felt the grass beneath his feet and the air brush against his face that he began to truly remember what he had lost. Though his days in Cirith Ungol were fewer than the others', Jeren had long forgotten the smell and sight of freedom. The hope seemed akin to flame within a closed space: quick to flicker, die out, and be forgotten. Jeren had never felt so wonderful.
Colors shone brighter, scents seemed sharper, and sounds came clearer than they ever had before. Cirith Ungol, or more specifically, getting out of Cirith Ungol had at the very least taught Jeren to appreciate what he had always taken for granted before his imprisonment.
Still unsure of where he would go and what he would do with his newly reacquired freedom, Jeren pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind and chose instead to revel in the simple beauty of Ithilien. The lovely atmosphere kept his mind off of the future, but there was nothing that could erase his mind of the past.
Jeren refused to erase the events of the company's escape.
Erasing meant forgetting, and Jeren did not want to forget all that he had learned from his new companions.
From my new friends...Jeren corrected himself.
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