“Did you love him?”
“I do love him.”
*
Mallossel lightly draws her finger along the rim of the teacup. "It is... easy to define love by what one sees as binding in marriage. But I have sworn no such bonds; not in love, not in betrothal. There is one whom I love, not as a spouse, but a partner irreplaceable all the same. Love is, to me, reserved for the one whom I know will always be there when I need him; I know that it will always be us, for it always has been. But - marriage is too fickle a thing in the work of the Host. And I know not where he stands on such things.”
A brief pause. A beat of her heart.
“So, I am unmarried, a maiden, with a deep love for my closest friend. Is that not enough? What more could I ask? There is little more, I think, that I could ever ask for, but to know and be known in return. I have that.”
There is silence from the others. A beat of their hearts.
Ithilwe then tilts his head, confused, bemused, perhaps unsure of her meaning.
“I think you would not know what you are missing until you are in love. I, too, thought that it was enough.”
Silence, again. Another beat. A swell of indignation follows it.
“I must beg the question. Ithilwe,” Mallossel says, her eyes falling to the elf sat across from her. “If it is not so romantic in nature, is it any less love?”
Ithilwe shakes his head. "It is no less love, but they are not the other half of your soul."
Mallossel forces a low sigh past her lips. “I assure you, Ithilwe; I know love, and love knows me. I hope you and Amathlan are forever fulfilled in it.”
It was much easier to wish that for them; much easier than explaining that she and Cardanith would always be “Them” against the Rest and that if there were ever anything romantic between them, to acknowledge it would be to ruin the integrity of their ranks and positions - of their lives.
Ithilwe nods. "If you say you know love, then I will believe you."
Mallossel, as she thinks back on the past thousands of years, finally says, “I just do not know it as you know it. Perhaps in another life, we would have wed. Perhaps if our knuckles were not bloodied and bruised, swelled too large for rings.”
Ithilwe says, 'Then perhaps in another life, you will.'
“That is a hopeful thought, is it not?” She sighs, her gaze falling to the table. 'I do not think so, though. That is only wishful thinking. There is no rebirth without death, and we are still living, and will likely live on.”
The other elf, Teahesto, frowns. “That is not love...that is mourning.”
Mallossel thinks back to the conversation she had a fortnight prior with Galtharian, with words left unsaid. She speaks again. “Grief is simply love left unspent. I am always mourning, and I am always loving.”
Teahesto says, “Then let go of the grief and love.”
A final beat. Like a drum.
“...Not in this life.
Maybe in the next one.
For now, I will be satisfied following him to whatever end.”
