I stole these clothes from Angmarim men along the pass of the Jä-rannit. I decided to go south to Aughaire than north to follow them to Carn Dûm. Dalbran told me that the elf, Cedmon, a sylvan elf with whom I am briefly acquainted, could act as my guide through the halls of the Witch-King. I only hoped that was true. When I arrived, he was plastered. Drunk. He looked awful, which I understood considering where he seemed to have made his home.
We shared only the briefest of niceties while discussing getting to Carn Dûm. He has a grudge with an Orc that holds a pendant of his. Fine. We kill the Orc and retrieve his pendant. He would take me into Carn Dûm until we locate the Sons. He asked me what I would do once I found them. I didn't give him a committed answer. I told him we were to part ways then, and he was to tell none save the Company where he had taken me. He didn't press, and agreed to the terms. Good. He would not have taken me if he knew what I was to do.
He told me to prepare to leave tonight. I thought it was nighttime. It's so constantly dark here that I have lost track of time already. Cedmon left me alone in the tent to rest, but I am restless. I want to be there already - but recklessness would get me killed. I felt it once the sky darkened. I felt it the second I crossed the borders to Angmar; the suffocating stench of hopelessness, of despair - of the kin who had perished here before me. If there was light in me, it has dulled. If there was courage in me, it has failed. There is nothing left but duty. That is what Cardanith said to me. Listen not to instinct and emotion, but to duty. The stars are watching.
Only then are my thoughts drawn to those whom I left behind; not only in Súri-Kylä, but to all who I've ever left behind. I think of Mallossel, and how stupid and vain I was to let an argument sunder us for an Age. To sunder us unto her death. I think of Cardanith, of his warning; how he told me I must temper that wrath and fury and make myself its master, and not the master of me. How we were sundered as long as we were for my vanity. For my pride.
The list goes on in my head as the fire in the tent begins to smolder. Thanuliel, a dear friend, whom I did not speak to out of fear - not of her ire, but of fear of her correction. Would I have brought Doom upon Gisuna and Seregrian in the Weather Hills had they continued to follow me? How long would it be before I wrought the ire of Dalbran trying to hypocritically temper his own brashness? How long until I drove even the kind Galtharian away with the spitfire between my teeth? Would Ioranir ever be able to forgive me for the curses I spat at him at Kauppa-kohta? Had he ever forgiven me, even during our journey to Sùri-Kylä?
I wince at the memory of the words I spoke to Celossiel that same day. How could I have treated a friend in such a way? I deserved her anger and her wrath. The scar on my cheek will serve to me a grim reminder of what I reap if I cannot control myself - wrath and ruin, and scorn from those who once considered themselves my friends. I deserve it.
My thoughts lead then to Ithilwe - or rather, it is then I choose to focus on those thoughts. He is so woven into my very soul that I would be a liar if I said I did not oft find my thoughts drawn upon him. I may be vain, and foolish, and spiteful - but I am no liar. Could he truly forgive me for all that I have done? To others? To him? If he could, then he was greater an elf than any could dream to be, and I was not worthy to even look him in the eye.
In my hands I clutch a blue ribbon. Though I had tied it around my wrist, I would put it up in my hair beneath my hood ere we left for Carn Dûm. It was all I had of Ithilwe in these forsaken lands. Lands he wanted to follow me through, and I bid him to stay away. I clutch the satin strip closer to me, wincing my eyes shut at the thought of what was to come.
And as Cedmon and I stared out at the trail to Carn Dûm, I felt no courage. I felt hopeless, and desolate, with only resolution to see myself through to the bitter end. Here was my stand to make it known that I was most just a foolish, spiteful son of Fëanor; that I was not destined only to the doom within my blood. This was my chance to be something more than I could have before. Yet, as I stared at the distant lights of the fortress, only one thought resonated in my head above all of the rest.
You will meet your end here, son of Gondolin.
