[Maddoct’s handwriting is the worst it’s ever been; this entry is very intimate with illegibility.]
Nov. 18
Back to Bree I am. I’ve enjoyed a fine meal, seen some familiar faces, and had some fine conversation. Despite my gladness to be home, I’ve only become more feverish and ashamedly jealous. I've made some tea to hopefully help that, though I doubt that it will.
I’m in love.
Not with the mountains, nor with life itself, but with a Dwarf.
I’m in love with a heartbreaking smile, a terribly lovely voice, a gentle touch, a personality that shines. I’m in love with a most beautiful face, most beautiful disposition, a most beautiful individual.
I’m also in terror.
Never have I been submerged in such profound turmoil! I want to cry, I want to laugh, I want to hide, I want to sing. I want to tell everyone and yet tell no one.
I’m mostly in pain.
Always did I hope and entertain the comfortable concept of marrying my craft. Always did I believe that I was resigned to simply admire others from afar and hope for nothing more. Always have I feared the concept of being in love. I thought of loving craft, loving stone, loving home, but nay. I am in love with a Dwarf, and will always be in love, forever fated to one who shall never feel the same.
Who would love in return the son of Haddoct? He who cries easily, won’t swing an axe, blushes often, eats too much, drinks too little! He who has been sordid, who is cowardly, who is entirely un-Dwarflike.
I’m cursed and wretched! What would this person’s family think? What shall my friends say if I were to make this admittance! My mind ails me. I’m ill over the revelation. Love-sickness is real and there shall never be a cure!
I shan’t write the name, for the embarrassment of this love far outweighs reasons to live; if prying eyes were to learn this secret, I would thusly cast myself into the farthest sea and drown. And when I reached the Halls, my first task would be seeking dear Mahal and questioning — with much tears I’m sure — why he forced me to have such an abhorrent fate!
That we’ve known each other for such a little amount of time worries me further; I fear my own hastiness. But it feels as though we’ve been acquainted for years, all the same. And I was told I can’t choose who I love, but I have also been told that love is a choice. Which am I supposed to believe?
Oh, the Dwarf knows not what horrible and scandalous thoughts I’ve unintentionally entertained! Of private walks and hand-holding. And forgive me, worse yet, entirely worse yet, kissing. I cannot even make eye contact any more, half the time we’re near each other. I’ve always been raised to be ashamed, and always have been shameful, but this feeling of shame is absolutely gut-rending.
The individual knows not. Thinks my blushing is of my usual kind, thinks I’m innocent, thinks I deserve the best road to happiness. That they hope my heart is never broken and could never forgive if someone did break it — that pains me more than anything. I wished to say, “My heart is in your hands! You’re the only one who could shatter it! Could you forgive yourself?”
It hurts so immensely. I long so deeply. My heart strings have been plucked raw.
Perhaps I must become a patient, to be coddled and treated as I bemoan my fate. Nay! I will suffer silently; not a soul shall I tell as I pray this malady is fleeting. I’ll return to my crafts and hope life returns to normality after being askew such as this.
I also hope Elias returns soon. His absence lies another worry atop my chest; I fear he’ll encounter danger and won’t be able to protect himself.
Mad Doc I’ve indeed become.
