I find that, in the absence of madness, my mind has a chance to quiet itself, and return to simply thinking about things. It's been some time since I could simply sit and think, without having to worry about folk around me screaming bloody murder or having knives thrown at me, or any other number of chaotic occurrences that seem to have overtaken Bree-town recently.
The sun is shining again today, though rather weakly through the thin, winter air. My first northern season has proved to be quite challenging. Though I haven't quailed under the oppressive cold, I do find that it seems to tire me somehow, the constant quest to keep warm and stay awake during the long, dark evenings. And I am already counting the weeks till springtime. A northern spring should prove just as exciting and enchanting, and I cannot wait! Now that I have a little house, I intend to fill my yard with flower beds and fruit trees and every other pleasant thing, and I long to hear the buzzing of bees and the serenade of the birds in the morning.
But let us return to the present. Dreaming is something I do far too often and too easily.
I will have to perform the sad duty of taking my leave of Conrob's home today. I am well enough, and though I'm sure he would be happy to let me act otherwise and stay an extra day or two, I can't impose upon him further. We have agreed not to visit each others' homes, to avoid the appearance of imprudence, and this promise was only broken because my life was in danger, and I had nowhere else to go. I am torn between longing to get outside and back into the fresh air and find my friends to let them all know I'm alive and still kicking, and wanting to retreat further into the cozy cocoon that is his care. I cannot. I cannot, and I must go home today. My only reminder of this sad affair will be a large scar on my leg, I think. The wound is much better, but must remain bandaged for a little while.
I wonder what Aallan has been doing with himself during the past several days. Aside from his letter, I've not heard from him or seen him. I can understand why he'd stay away, I suppose. Once he knew my life wasn't in danger, I'm sure he wanted to spare himself the...the sorrow of being around me. I can't help wondering, and fearing, if he will reconsider his promise to remain friends. I worry that time away from me will only show him how well he can do without me around. It feels selfish, somehow, to still love him. As if I have no right to. And perhaps I don't.
Gloomy, childish thoughts! Go away.
I've been thinking about Alfmaer, too. I did see her again, after that evening when she was quite upset (though she had been at the mead, and I hope that's the only culprit), and she seemed better, though still a bit reserved. She's a mysterious thing, tall and beautiful and graceful; everything I am not. Yet her manner is childlike at times, and it takes me by surprise.
And I puzzle and amuse myself to be thinking about none other than Master Belodin. I do pray he is safe, wherever he may be. I hope he met up with the Rangers that he hoped to find, and that they have made a success of wherever they needed to go. I have always had a subtle admiration for the dwarves among all the other races of our world, though I know shamefully little of their ways or history. They seem such proud, stout-hearted, fearless things. But having met Master Belodin, as well as Aallan's friend, Master Dufr, I have found them to also be charming, congenial, entertaining company. Master Belodin would be pleased, I hope, to learn that I have visited the library at the Scholar's Stair in Bree, and begun a bit of reading about his people. His songs about Durin have piqued my curiosity, and when he returns to Bree-town someday, I'd like to be able to know the names of the people and places he speaks of. Perhaps, the next time I am ill, I can prevail upon him to visit me and sing some of those songs in his deep, old voice, which I find most enchanting.
There is a certain humility to be found, when one is ill or bedridden, in the realization that the world has quite gone on its merry way without you.
