Found:
The will to go on.
I feel like I haven't slept in days. I have, but every time I close my eyes I see him. I see his broken face, his missing arm, his twisted, crushed corpse. So I walk. It shouldn't be so hard, should it? It shouldn't feel like my legs are clad in lead. I've done it so much and for so long that walking is akin to breathing for me. I usually feel suffocated whenever I stop in one place for long, but now I'm having difficulty forcing my feet to obey me. True, my left ankle is swollen and the sole is torn from the lack of protective covering, but even that shouldn't slow my steps the way it has.
I'm nearing the southern border of Eregion now. There are so many ruins here. One or two look like they might hold more elves, as Gwingris did, but several more appear ripe for the picking. Not a single one of them captured my interest. Why?
That is the question though, isn't it?
Why?
Why did that thing attack us? Why did he have to be a hero? Why couldn't he have been a coward? Why did he die? Why didn't I?
They were right. They were always right, my half-siblings and their witch of a mother. Everything about me is anathema. The manner of my birth, my heritage, it was wrong. I am wrong. My very existence is without value. I can't be loved - Eordion proved that. I'm worthless. So why did a decent man give up his life to save someone that should never have been born in the first place?
I found myself at a river's edge sometime after noon. I stank, I was filthy and still covered in blood. His and mine. I shed my clothes and lowered myself into the rushing water. I needed to be clean. I could never wash away the last few days. I could never cleanse myself of the truth, the life that my decisions took, but I could at least get rid of the filth that clung to me courtesy of that thing.
Catching my reflection in the water, I came to see that the bruises all over my body, my broken arm and my lacerated foot were not the only injuries I sustained. I've now a rather large gash along my cheek, just below the left eye socket. Even when memory fades, I'll always have a reminder of that horrible day.
I stood there for so long, freezing inside and out, just staring at my own reflection. I felt it churning inside me, rising to the surface like a geyser. I can't accurately describe the mixture of emotions - despair, guilt, anger, loathing - but by the time I realised that I was screaming myself hoarse, I came to the conclusion that I had never before hated myself as much as I did in that single moment.
Snatching up my kukri from the river bank, I ignored the pain in my broken arm as I roughly gathered up my hair and applied my sharp blade to it. Red strands fell down into the water, floating away like so many empty promises. I cut again and again and again until I barely recognised myself anymore. It was me staring back from the depths, grey eyes shimmering with angry tears, and yet it wasn't. Between the new haircut and the soon-to-be scar, I look far less innocent.
That's for the best. Innocent is not something I have ever been.
It may only be symbolic, this visual change in me, but I think it may help.
Silver, Sairona, Rajana... whoever I am tomorrow, I'll never forget the man who gave his life for mine.
