I can hear Ithilwe mumble to himself in his sleep. It is cold in Forochel. Uncomfortably so, even inside the tent. Even with all the furs I have bundled around myself. Even with the fire burning nearby. I decide I don't like to sleep alone. It's not as though Ithilwe and I oft share a bed; it is usually accidental. Still, there was deliberation in the decision I made to sleep apart from him, just as he stayed far from me. He would not even look at me as he made his bed.
I keep my back turned to the rest of those asleep in the tent; Ithilwe, Celossiel, Ioranir, Dalbran, and Galtharian. I face the wall. Even though they slumber, and I know the moon is crawling high into the sky, I myself do not sleep. Shame has turned to nausea in my stomach, and it keeps me awake, lingering in my guilt. I regret everything I have said. Shrewd carrion-bird. How could I call a friend that?
Though I try to will myself not to fall asleep, it claims me all the same.
Crashing waves; but I know these shores. It has been long since I stood upon them so closely. Lake Nenuial; Evendim. The sun shines down upon the water, and it glimmers in a dazzling array, like glass. For a moment, I am calm. For a moment, I am content. I am home.
“Were you not warned what would be wrought by your temper?” I hear a voice ask me. My heart is pained; though not afraid like it has been before. I know Mallossel is not really here. Not like Cuvallorn appears in dreams. I turn slightly to face her as she steps up beside me on the shoreline. She is beautiful. Serene. She wears a long dress of white, and her dark hair falls down upon her shoulders. A golden circlet is nestled perfectly upon her head. I wish Cardanith could have seen her like this - as she could have been. As I wish she was.
“Pride, Amathlan,” I hear Cuvallorn continue in a steady tone as he approaches on my other side. I knew it was too good to be true. “Pride is not inherently wrong. But you have bound your pride too tightly to the idea of being the savior. You cannot always be the savior. You will not always be the savior.” He pauses for a moment; I am unsure if it is to allow me a moment to reflect. I don't want to, but then he speaks again.
“You were selfless when you saved me at Dagorlad,” he says. “You acted from a place of humility, not pride. You put my life above your own, and made sure we both returned alive. What happened to Mallossel was tragic, but it was not your fault. You are vain to assume that your presence could have saved her. You are proud to choose for your friends when they can and cannot act for themselves. It is their decision, just as it is yours. Yet you are reckless with your own life. Fool. Consider how you felt with Mallossel's death; do you truly wish that on your friends?! On Ithilwe?! You plan to marry him, do you not?! WILL YOU BE WED AT YOUR FUNERAL AND WAKE, AMATHLAN?!”
Cuvallorn grew steadily louder until he was shouting, and I winced harshly at his tone. I hated everything he was saying, though I knew he was right. His words were ringing loudly in my ears until I forced myself awake with a gasp.
Foolish, spiteful, son of Fëanor indeed. It is not about you.
I turn over on my side with a wince; the injury on my torso is still tender, especially after being reopened on our trip this far north. My eyes adjust to the flickering of the flames in the darkness, and I notice Ithilwe is gone from the tent. I lurch into a sitting position, but the tent flap flies open at the same moment and he returns. He stumbles in, notably exhausted, and lays back down. Was he sleepwalking?
I keep an eye on him for a time, and make sure he is still and safe before I lay back down. My eyes remain open and trained on my blade; Gilith, starlight. It is a comfort from a home long lost; forged anew by dear friends - elf and dwarf. It should serve as a guide to me going forward. One must be entirely broken in order to be made whole.
