Found.
I returned to Trestlebridge. I smiled. I taught. Ethan knows naught of my inner conflicts, my anger, my fear. He won't know. He can't. To him I am the teacher, the mentor, the one who guides his hand in letters, the one who emboldens his independent thoughts and questions. To him I am the gentle voice of encouragement, the delighted laugh for his accomplishments, the unjudging eyes to correct his rare mistakes. This cannot change. He is far too young to be burdened with the sorrows of another. This hut, this riverbank, must remain a safe and peaceful place for him to learn and grow for as long as I am here.
Once his lessons are over for the day, I am free to feel as I must. But not there. Not in Trestlebridge where my sudden shift in mood may be seen and remarked upon, where word might filter back to ears best kept deaf.
And so I ride.
And so I come again to Minas Vrun.
I rest here at the far edge. Behind me sits what was once the dais of a great hall. Around me stands the last of the columns to once hold the long since reappropriated roof. Before me lie the Fields for which I have found such affection. The darkness. The denizens. The promise of the mist's caress.
How I miss them.
How I miss the silence, the sense of belonging, the feel of the pickaxe in my hands, how the earth so neatly parted beneath my onslaught. I miss the discovery, the juxtaposition of finding something so very old that was yet new to so many. I miss the freedom, the satisfaction of activity, the weightlessness of caring about no one, nothing, not even myself.
But what once was shall never be again. Not for me at least.
Forward, Silver. Always forward.
Put it behind you. Leave it where it belongs.
Do what he won't. This man who thinks himself so much better. This man who dares judge what he can never understand. This man on his mountain so carefully cultivating piles. Do what he can't.
But not today. Today I am still too upset. Today I need to clear my own mind. Today is for me.
