It is two turns of the hour glass until dawn, and I have yet to find the sanctuary of sleep, peace from the endless questions that tap upon my skull. Questions, I doubt I shall ever glean the answers to. Why do I trouble myself with this? Why do I even care? It is because I cannot help but care, he is my friend, he is tormented and troubled, convinced that he is cursed on account of dreadful deeds he has confessed he has done and in confessing them to me, I am now also burdened with them. I have reached the conclusion, that these deeds he bludgeons himself with are wrought from the schemes of others and when I have looked into the heart of it all, there has been no evil intent. Should one be judged for wrong doings? Or be judged for how they atone for them? Have we not all been guilty of sin at least once in our lives?
I am disheartened, that is why I pace my floor, or sit by candlelight and write in the hope that I may unburden myself and find the sleep and peace I crave.
Despite my best efforts, have I not proved my friendship to him? Have I not at least earned enough trust that he may be honest with me? Did he leave because I did something wrong? Have I not demonstrated that I have no desire to cage this man? I have asked naught of him, nor did I scold nor complain, even when he knocked at my door with a bottle or rum, after six long months, no letter in between. I was beside myself with worry, mercifully I have much to occupy myself with, the running of my horse farm and caring for my son. My thoughts have also been distracted by the birth of Aanya’s child. The father has refused to acknowledge the child is his, a man of questionable morals, ironically employed by the former man I speak of.
I did not turn him away from my door. Nay, I know he is one to run, and in truth, the relief of seeing him again, safe and well quelled any anger I may have felt. It did serve, however to prove to me, that I have been fooling myself, that I have made any progress in my earnest attempts to help this man see all is not bleak in the world. He confuses me, I have tried, oh how I have tried, but I can take down only one brick at a time from the wall he has built around himself, shutting himself in and all others out. I had thought, I had made at the very least, just a small hole in which to look into the heart and soul of this man, but I have not it seems, for he remains as cold and aloof as ever. It must be the loneliest of places locked in that prison he has condemned himself to. I blame myself for turning him cold again towards me, I made the foolhardy step beyond only friendship, and therein I believe I lost that friendship, for now I am just one on an endless list. It did not have to be this way, for I always took our nights together, for what they were, I did not weave a love story into it, nor crave one, I am more worldly than that after all, I am well aware a man oft loses interest once he has bedded you, yet I refuse to believe he is so shallow, mayhaps I am wrong about that as I appear to have been wrong about many things.
We talked, pleasantly however, why would we not? I learned of his reasons for leaving, to compensate a woman for yet another bastard he has sired in Gondor, or so he has been led to believe, men of means such as he are oft taken advantage of. And why did he return? I would not even think I played any part in it, from what he said he was home quite some time before knocking on my door. Nay, I believe it was on account of another women who may have born him a child, yet she denies it most vehemently that her babe is his.
Have I any pride? That I should trot behind this man like a dutiful dog, follow him home and be met by the smirking face of his guard, the man who sired Aanya’s child? And there again, inside that house of his, pristine, the only thing in it out of place was me, there was an awkwardness that I simply could not bear any longer. So I left, and as I fled from the mocking jeers of that man he employs, a red mist arose, and afore I knew it, the stone I cast towards that dreadful man, my aim poor on account of my anguish, had cracked the window of the house from which I had bolted. And I doubt I can ever return, If he cannot reach within himself, and even contemplate that he has caused me such anguish, then can we ever truly even return to just being friends? There is more, to confess, but I cannot bring myself to do that, not yet at least.
