windswept

Egfor sat down at a table in the Hammer and the Harp, bringing a candle with him. He sets the candle on the table, close enough to read from. He opens the little chest of artifacts and documents he received from his sister.

The first thing he lifts out of the box was an amulet carved from bone of a stag's head. He lifts it up, running his fingers over the carved surface. He holds it in his hand, closing his fingers around it, closing his eyes for a moment. He grabbed the leather cord attached to it, sliding it around his neck and tucking it under his shirt. 

I kneel before you and you call me by the name given in days that shone.
I answer but it feels foreign from your lips.
I would ask what that name is to you had I not known;
Had I no fear.

I kneel before you and you steal the words that bind me to the ground before us:
My oath to you once stood as a badge of honor,
Now it lies dying in this tall grass.
A fiddle string has no worth alone, let me not cling to your dying word.

Forest spiders take my tongue so words that sound out do not pain.

There was nothing in Mirkwood.

A name is earned, not given, not chosen for yourself on will alone.

Let it die, there was no past in Mirkwood.

Pray that the deafening silence swallows me before I ask who to blame.

Nothing has ever happened in Mirkwood.

Let me cry out that accursed name with venom on my tongue in lands of home.

Nothing to remind me of days in Mirkwood.

I lay my purpose at your feet, pray one shall take me to lands that grow.

“Did you love him?”

“I do love him.”

*

“I’m… sorry, hiril. I don’t understand,” Ithilwe says as he looks to her with eyes lost in confusion and grief. “You did not die. You are in front of me here, alive, breathing.”

“Regret is a most powerful motivator indeed.”

“Regret for some, resolve for others. Hope for the rest.”

The fire was lit without much difficulty. He had watched others do it so many times in recent days that his movements started forming somewhat of a routine. He knew he was being helpful, and he relished in that feeling.

Two figures sat in the flower-covered yard of the empty house. A hastily scribbled sign at the entrance signified the home had no one to call its master, but the two seemed comfortable enough, or perhaps, one of them did.