Found:
The performance went well, I think. The denizens of the White Wolf certainly seemed to enjoy themselves, and though hampered by my leg and a bar stool, so did I. I did not see Kestrea or Rowan in the crowd, which is a pity. Perhaps they saw how busy the place was and decided against coming in, or perhaps they simply changed their minds about hearing me sing. It doesn't much matter either way.
I did this for me, not for them. I needed this for my own sake. I needed the release of tension, the catharsis that it brings. I needed to expel some of my pent up energy and, given that I cannot currently do the things I usually would at such a time, this was a good way to achieve my ends.
Now, I sit here by the firelight in the house I so frequently despise and I think...
I am not really a woman given to introspection or giving matters "due" consideration. In childhood, taking a moment to ponder things would result in another beating. In youth, and as a nomadic treasure hunter, the time it would take to consider the situation, to devise a plan, could mean the difference between life and death, success and failure. I am, through one thing and another, conditioned to decide quickly and deal with whatever consequences may arise as and when they do.
Some may see this as reckless, and perhaps it is. Some may say that it leads to naught but trouble, but that's not always so. True, sometimes it does. I cannot deny that. Sometimes I exit that trouble unscathed. Sometimes I do not. Skilled and experienced though I am, I am not infallible. No one can win them all. Mistakes get made, missteps along the way or the situation is beyond our control. We deal with it as best we can and we move on, having learned something of value.
Rowan does not understand this. Rowan spends altogether too much time in his thoughts, running circles inside his own head until his conclusion is so thoroughly reinforced by his own perception of events that he can no longer see any other possibility. In so doing, he places me in an untenable position, for which then I am blamed.
If a mistake is made, if something occurs beyond my control, if I confide in him – at the time or later - then I am “attention-seeking,” as if my every thought, my every action, is about him. As if I have no autonomy, no will or desire beyond that man. As if my life began when I met him and ceases to be when he is absent.
If I do not, if I keep my mouth closed or conceal the matter, choosing instead to deal with it in my own way, I am guilty of the grave sin of trying to go it alone. There is no middle ground, no third option. Either way, I am wrong.
Meanwhile, the man confides nothing in me. He demands my thoughts, my truths, my feelings, but offers none of his own in return. When pressed, he might extend a word or two, an uncomfortable look away to the side, indications that he has no wish to speak to me of these matters.
This isn't working together. This isn't being together. This is... I don't really know what this is, but it is not a partnership. It is not equal. It is not right.
Speaking to Woad the other day, I found myself wondering if part of my problem lies in having a foot in each world; my past one, and what I would hope for the future. I have retired from the hunting and that will not change. But I still partially exist within that realm. I have the house in Evendim, the contacts I have made over the decades, the side business that involves acting as a mediator in artifact sales and the collection I have amassed. They are all things that tie me to the woman I used to be and the life I used to lead.
Perhaps this is holding me back. Perhaps it leaves me torn; a part of both but fully committed to neither. Perhaps it is time to pick a side.
Which one, then, should I choose?
What was, though dangerous, is comfortable and familiar to me. I know that world. I know what to expect and how to behave. I know how to maneuver and shimmy my way through it. I also know that my ending within it would be a brutal one and that little happiness is found within. The title bestowed upon me by Toth does not improve the outlook. Rather, it makes it bleaker. Jealous eyes and grasping hands seeking to claim from me something that doesn't actually exist.
But this new world, this shining beacon of hopes and dreams is blinding to me. I do not really understand it, though I try. It confounds and confuses me. It brings me such joy, and yet not a heartbeat later will seek to crush my mind, my spirit and throw me back into the dark, leaving me disoriented in a pit of vexation and bewilderment.
And these walls, these soul-sucking walls! How many times a day do I resist the urge to take a torch to this building? To stand back and smile as the flames consume it all?
I need to get out of here, even if only for a few days. Erebor may be denied me now, a promise made to abide by someone else's' paranoia - I really have to stop making promises. – but there are other places I can go to.
He will misconstrue it, I'm sure. At least to begin with. Perhaps he will decide that I do this to punish him, to make a point, to encourage him to chase after me, to make him worry, to... goodness knows! But the simple fact of the matter is that my life, whilst entwined with his, is not all about him. He is a part of it. He is not all of it. Though committed to the man, I am still my own woman with my own needs and it is not in me to simply sit indoors like a good little girl, my thumbs up my arse, taking care of the house whilst he gallivants off to the East or spends half a week sulking in an abandoned shed somewhere. It is not in me to sit here and just stare at this dressed stone, this pretty prison, and wait until he decides that he's ready to see me.
I need... I need to be occupied. I need something to do with my time. I need to indulge the wild side of myself, to feel free, to laugh, to dance, to fly!
I know that he knows this. I know that he knows that I do not think of him as my guard. I know that he knows, deep down, I would not take these days away as a way to hurt him. Just as I know that he has not been gone this past week as a way to punish me for a simple mistake. It may feel that way, but I know it's not.
So, I'll find someone to take care of the mare until my return and then I shall ride.
A pathetic last hurrah.
