Nothing but the touch of a wyrm burrowing its way through layers of deadened sensation to accompany his long, slow sleep, some small, flickering part of him remembers.Lost in neverending corridors of memory, those first, vibrant fumblings stand out like a brand. The smell of freshly cut hay, the softness of leather gloves and tunic and warm skin
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And how does it feel to sleep in the dark earth, little king? To have failed your people and lost the fight? Do you seek to redress your failings here, where you are offered a second chance at life?
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Where once I was trapped by lies and deceit -- poison from another's lips as heavy as dirt and rocks -- I have now been made anew, and Theoden-King will not go into that last darkness having failed his people.
I do wonder, Wyrm, what it must be like to be the last of your kin and have no one but yourself to live for. It strikes me as a lonely existence. Do they wait, just out of reach, for you to tire of life?
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But I admire the pluck of one who would defy death itself! There are not many mortals such as you, if you can achieve such a resurrection. Tell me, how did you come by this reward?
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I make up that fault now with a pledge to use every breath defending and cherishing what I hold dear. I will go down fighting for them or not go down at all.
But if Edoras called me back from the true darkness, I would claw my way through earth and fire -- even your fire, that I know burns deep in your belly -- to answer that call.
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