Bitter Discussion

"Your help in this matter is appreciated, Hravanis. I know you have no obligation to me and mine."

She only grunted. Her face was expressionless, as unreadable as ever as she turned from the Elf Lord and started towards the door. No, she was not obligated, but serving the house of Felagund still left a sour taste, even after all this time. 

"Hravanis," Gildor called, just as she was leaving. Of course, he could not simply let her go. And of course she turned, he was still a lord after all. 

"Lord Gildor?" The required respect was in her tone, even if it also held her frustration with it. 

"My apologies, I am only curious... it seems as though you have yet more you would say."

Damnit. She did truly hate him. Such self satisfaction, the kind of casual nobility that allowed him to only concern himself with those troubles he cared about. So completely detached from this land of theirs, though he had ruled a part of it for centuries of time. It mattered not. He was happy and eager to run back to Valinor's shores. Coward. 

She ground her jaw as she gazed upon him, deciding whether or not she wished to shirk this obvious command masquerading as a friendly inquiry. In the end she surprised herself. She wanted to know his answer.

"Your decision baffles me, My Lord." 

Gildor shifted, his head cocking in that infuriating manner as Hravanis stepped back before him, facing him like an enemy to be fought.

"My decision... Our journey to the Havens?" She nodded, sharply, how was it not obvious? "What confuses you about it?"

It took a moment to gather her thoughts, to turn the furious roaring of her soul into calm, neutral and spoken word. He held the intensity of her gaze, to his credit.

"The young sail," she began, "because they do not know any better. But you, and I, we ran from that place. Now you turn and happily sling the yoke back around your neck?" She could not keep the poison from her tongue, ancient venom that had only grown in potency for the years it had sat in her throat. Her lips grimaced. 

Gildor Inglorion was obviously startled by her accusation. Perhaps because this was the most she had spoken to him in all their years of acquaintance? That sounded likely. Still, he recovered quickly and all of a sudden his genial and lofty demeanor darkened into a heady mask of disapproval, disappointment. 

"We were wrong, Hravanis. How have all the ages of this Middle Earth not taught you this lesson? You, whom should have felt the consequences of our folly most keenly, for much of it was wrought by your own hands."

Disgust registered upon her expression, hatred too. There were no words in her tongue nor others to describe the depths of her loathing, nor the breadth. 

"Folly?" She spat, arching over him like a growing storm. "Do not speak as though the losses we suffered were wrought of some fated justice!"

His expression darkened further and, though his tone was steady, a bitterness and perhaps accusation entered his voice. "And what would you call this doom of ours? The centuries of agony and sorrow that we have borne and brought to other's doors, chance? Ill fortune?!"

"I call it War! We sailed to find vengeance for our murdered King, against a foe none of us could have defeated, whilst our keepers did nothing! And you were warned Gildor Inglorion! If hardship was so untenable you were free to remain with the rest of the cravens we left behind!"

Silence. She had shocked him. The weight in the room seemed crushing, the thrum of two ancient beings merely crossing words enough to thicken the air with their potency. He still tasted of the undying lands, but her force was lower, deeper, an earthen note. There was no mistaking which of them belonged there.

Finally, even as he pulled back slightly, the full strength of her presence, of her years and all that she had done pressing him back. Finally he spoke. 

"If the alternative is to count myself amongst your black hearted and fated company, then the brand of craven I happily bear. You will leave, and not darken my audience again."

Powerful were his words but she seemed uncowed, she could remember only one quendë with voice enough to move her. "Not only craven, today I name you faithless as well. I assume you will bear it just as proudly." 

She did not mourn this parting, nor regret a word. As she strode from his presence and his company she was glad, at least, to know his answer.