“You could do more than just watch with your judgemental eyes,” I say as I swing Gilith, the sword of starlight, towards the tree. I had not had a chance to practice swordplay often in Imladris, and since we were resting in Gwingris for a time, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. The blade only grazed the bark slightly before I pulled back, not wanting to do any true damage to the tree. I kept a note of my footwork, though as I had told Ithilwë before, after so long practicing combat, it becomes second nature in the heat of battle. It becomes an instinct, one that keeps you from freezing up or running away. There is no room for hesitation when you stare down the blade of the Enemy.
“Truly,” I say again. “The ire in your eyes will burn a hole in me,” I offer as I pause in my practice to look to Tinnuroch. The speckled elf-horse snorted loudly at me, stamping his hooves on the ground.
“I am not apologizing to him,” I insist, raising my sword again to run through another circuit of stances. Tinnuroch whinnies loudly, breaking my concentration. I lower the sword and glare at him - but he does not actually speak any words. We had been traveling together since we left Imladris, and I care deeply for all of my steeds (my thoughts linger briefly on Thalawest, whom I left behind in Imladris). I know why he is upset nonetheless.
“Stay your forked tongue, you unruly cur, least I tear it from your fanged maw!”
Cardanith's anger and words towards Ithilwë and I was, I felt, undeserved. We did him a generous favor by telling him of the union we held in secret. Yet he said he needed us to help him understand. There was nothing to understand! Ithilwë and I were wed now. It was not traditional, no, but we chose to do it because we do not know what this journey has in store for us, and we did not wish to part with unsaid regrets. But he could not see through his deep-rooted beliefs even for a moment to be happy for me - for us! Whom he said were as blood to him! I knew Cardanith’s disappointment in me ran deep, but Ithilwë did not deserve to be treated in such a manner. I will not stand for it again. Cardanith said he was finished, and so am I. The blood between us is run cold.
“You do not deserve that title that you wear. You bring shame to it!”
I would never forgive him for that. How dare he say that I bring shame to Mallossel's name? He, the one who led her on his fool’s quest that resulted in her death? The same quest he still had the audacity to attempt again! A cruel, bitter, foolish old soldier!
It is then I realize how heavily I am breathing, and how deeply my blade has scoured the bark of the tree. Tinnuroch steps forward and puts his muzzle to my hand, and I lower the blade. I drop it entirely and raise my hand to hold the steed's head.
“You feel the tension between Ithilwë and me,” I murmur to him. He snorts softly in what I take as an agreement. We had not spoken until the previous night, since upon leaving Imladris we were cross with each other over the dispute with Cardanith. We had finally worked it out, but the tension had sat for too long and it did not bode entirely well for our recent union. I said harsh words to Cardanith that I was not ready to apologize for - but I did apologize for putting Ithilwë in the midst of our bitterness. He didn't expect me to apologize to him. I could tell.
That stung.
What sort of temper have I that the one I love most is surprised when I apologize to them for hurting them with my behavior? What sort of husband does that make me? It was not a precedent I wanted to set in light of our marriage. I should not be so stubborn and withholding towards my own partner.
Cedmon was the only one who had not commented on our union and I choose to believe that it is because his mind is focused on the task at hand, where I wish mine was. I am still locked in ages past. Locked in ruinous words and grudges turned to bitterness. Celossiel had been truly happy for us, teasing Ithilwë and me, and she declared that we must have a public ceremony after the fact and that she was going to be there. I have no qualms with this plan. Celossiel and I are becoming, I hope, closer friends, as I care for her greatly. I see how the ruins of Eregion bring pain to her eyes. I see her yearning glances and the way she hesitates to put a hand on the stone ruins.
Grudges turned to bitterness.
Tinnuroch snorts against my ear and brings me out of my thoughts.
“Hey! Gross!” I exclaim, wiping down my ear. The steed pulls away from me and tosses his head as if he is laughing. I am less than pleased with the horse snot. As I watch Tinnuroch wave his tail and return to Aegelir (and Celossiel’s horse, whom she received from Ioranir, and whose name I know not), I felt a sharp pang in my heart. Tinnuroch was a good horse, but we were to journey to Moria and the Pass of Khazad-Dum, and he would return to Imladris - and that would be the end of our time together. It brings my thoughts back to Thalawest, and how he is not an elf-horse and is terribly frightened of the dark, but how he is unwaveringly loyal. He would have followed us into Moria.
I cannot help but fear for what we shall find in those dark passageways. Dalbran says as long as we keep out wits about us, we shall be safe. Cedmon says Durin's Bane has not been seen for many moons. Yet there is still a great shadow on my heart at the thought of delving into the deep dark and leaving the west behind. That unwavering loyalty may yet be what we need.
