I find myself writing once again from horseback, so many apologies if my scrawl is intelligible.
I am two days south of Rivendell and, though it seems like only a heartbeat since I've seen Cuileth, I already miss her dearly. I understand that this journey is for the best, and I plod on away from her for her sake, but I cannot know what to expect as a result. I am young indeed (and no warrior, to be sure) and it unnerves me to travel straight to the heart of Mirkwood where so many tales of evil trickle out. Cuileth is certainly not the first refugee of the goings-on there, and I can only imagine what unsavory things are occuring under the rule of Thranduil. However, the one that I love has asked this of me, and so I ride on.
I strike south at the moment for the Redhorn Pass, which is perhaps the safest route. Being no swordsman, it leaves me no choice. I cannot hope to strike farther south around the Isen without having some sort of conflict, and so I face the cold of the Pass instead. From there, I hope to have reached Lothlorien where I can find a vessel to cross the Anduin to Mirkwood. I am optimistic.
Ah, but my mind always returns to Cuileth. We parted ways at the stable two days past, and it was heartbreaking to say the least. Heartbreaking, but also dear to me. She... she told me that she loves me. Those three words, 'I love you'; they can tear a soul in two, but they can be sustainable beyond any sort of food or drink. She loves me... Me, such a dark and helpless soul. She loves me. She loves me.
And I dearly love her, as I admited as well. I... love her and have loved her more than I can possibly write down with any combination of words. I love her such that she calls me Thoron, now, the name I call myself in hopes that someday I shall fly far above this world without a care, free from the darkness that seeks to claim me. If she, the one that I love, places hope in this, then I can as well.
Before I left, I found and left for her an old portrait of myself that I sketched some years ago when I was younger and finding my many artistic hobbies within myself. I recall I left it in her quarters on her table next to a stack of drawings she made of plans for armor. I spoke also to some of the smiths of Rivendell that knew me through my father and they agreed to allow her free access to the forges to do as she wished with her craft. I hope and pray that will keep her busy and contented. Perhaps when I stop to rest tonight, I shall try my hand at portraying her from memory as best I can. We shall see.
I look now at the silver ring around my first finger and wonder if she does not do the same as often as I. Truth be told, I went to a close friend of my father's before he left and he crafted the two for me. He is an exquisite smith of fine jewelry, and I shall have to remember to thank him profusely when I return for Cuileth, to wed her finally.
I dream of the day seemingly every night as I stop for rest. That and the fact that I love her, and she loves me back.
For Eru's sake, she loves me.
