Baradar came back today.
I had planned to leave as soon as I had been able to say goodbye to him, but something stopped me from doing so. He seemed so sad knowing that I was to go. We sat in the garden talking for a while. The way he looked at me was strange, as was the tone of his voice. He was so apprehensive, as if he feared what he knew was to come or what he thinks is to happen.
It probably did not help that our conversation turned to love. He wished to know if I still thought of Davick, to which I admitted that I did but that I try not to. Better to push it aside, my feelings and throughts for that man, than let them linger. He disagreed with me, of course. He also tried to convince me that love is worth the pain of rejection, but his negative words concerning the pain when a relationship ends did nothing to convince me of the worth of it. The price is too high.
Eventually we went indoors. Once inside his laughter seemed more forced, his cheerfulness more false. He could barely look at me as we stood near the fire, our conversation having once again turned to my imminent departure. He tried to give me another dagger then; something to remember him by.
How could I forget him? Of all the people I have met, Baradar has been the most constant. He has given me food, advice, lent a willing and sympathetic ear to my troubles. He has protected me from a distance as well as in close proximity. He has tracked me down when I have fled, encouraged me to speak, given me a home and company. Not once has he demanded anything in return, raised his voice or caused me harm.
How could I possibly forget all that he has taught me? How could I forget all that he has given to me? How could I ever forget the wonderful, kind, caring, generous and gentle man that I have come to know? The simple answer is that I could never do so. Alas, I fear my attempts to reassure him of that have fallen upon deaf ears.
I had planned to leave that night, but after all that with Baradar, I found that I could not. Instead, I went out to sit on the doorstep to think. It is a good job I stayed, I think, for come the first light of morning Daigan came strolling up the garden path along with a woman.
Blodwynn is the one he has told me so much about, the one who makes him go all misty-eyed when he speaks of her. I can see why. She is not too observant or quick on the uptake, so to speak, but she is very nice. She is pretty, well-mannered, friendly, exuberant and rather funny. I like her very much, although obviously not quite as much as Daigan does, or in the same manner for that matter!
They looked so happy together. It was a joy to see. Naturally, I had to drop a few comments about cake which almost caused Daigan to choke, but it was worth it.
Alas, he did not take kindly to my saying that I planned to go on a journey. Blodwynn was more understanding and supportive of it, at one point cutting Daigan off mid-sarcasm in defense of me, for which I was truly grateful. I do not like arguments and it seemed that Daigan wanted one until his lovely lady intervened.
I am finding it so difficult to defend myself against it. Baradar's sadness, Daigan's worry manifesting as anger. It is all too much to bear and makes me have no wish to tell the others. It is strange, I think, that those who have been the most supportive are those who know me the least: Blodwynn and Saelran. A few more days, I think, to reassure Baradar of my intent to return, and then I shall go. I do not think I should risk the reactions of any other visitor I may have.
