mockery

I took him into the goblin encampment. He did well; attentive, alert, swift acting but not impatient. His lack of training in true discipline is obvious, but not a great encumberance - I warrant it is because he acts so often alone. His skill is with the bow, would that I had the strength to draw such a one as he carries. Without a shield he is forced to defend himself with a second blade. Admirable. We killed what we could find around their fires and unwholesome blood-totems. It is likely there are more infesting the foothills. Not my primary concern, however, though the words from my informant at least held true in this. I will trust the rest of her admission. And so ... what a fool I was to expect anything different from him, that northern men should be in any way different to their southern brothers. If the praise I gave him for his valour had come from the mouth of a man he would have been proud of the words. But to accept them as he deserved he would have need to acknowledge my leadership - and how preciously men hold their masculinity ... and so, the familiar litany of mockery. Unable to accept a woman's praise straightforwardly they must reduce and belittle it, the words and the speaker. And I... must take it. Either endure it, or instill discipline - and what works on Godric will not work on him, that is clear. And in truth, I have no wish to try my hand against him. Better then to do as I did, to walk away. I do not hold his oath, there is no bond between us. How proud these northerners are though, for all they are at the cold forgotton edge of the world. If only they could be brought to bring such tenacity and dedication to a worthy cause - to Gondor. But they seem tied to their land - nothing outside their lonely hills seems to exist - in truth I wonder if fear of the world prevents them being part of the world. A strange entrenched folk with the narrow parochialness of smallfolk but the words and pride of lords.