Lounging beside the baths of the House of Three Graces, I am trying to condense all that has happened over the last few days into my journal with limited success. The soft scent of aromatic oils yet soothing my mind and soul.
Gazing down at my left shoulder, the skill of my beloved Cyndwin impresses me again. The stitches securing my healing wound are tiny and even, as regular as any I ever gained in the Houses of Healing in Imladris or Minas Tirith. As she said with justified pride while she tended to me, "In Rohan, girls learn to sew wounds not party gowns." Could I adore my Golden one any more than I do?
Looking down further as I recline across the cool marble, I am gratified to see the bruises along my side now near fully faded. I will be pleased to have these reminders of dark days gone once and for all.
Through the open window, a soft breeze causes the steam to billow in clouds as the muscular sound of Hawke training in the garden below drifts to me. His hard work and resolve are reshaping his body and spirit day by day. Soon he will be ready to set forth on the road, but we are delayed as Fille tends the bedside of poor Haywood her mentor. Hopefully soon, Imladris awaits as I do not wish to risk Cyndwin much longer, however slim that risk may be, until we understand the nature of her disappearance and that jewel better.
However, there have been more than enough matters to keep me occupied for the time being, and indeed we may be seeing a new dawn arising, bringing hope but also bringing more work to do. Such is my lot.
In the aftermath of the defeat of the foul Bounty Hunters, both friend Addie and dear Nethrida were safely ensconced in the Prancing Pony, and an excellent healer called Karlie did much to ease their hurts. Masin the Paramour and dear Taphreille also had their many hurts bathed and bound as I saw to making the space secure for them all and sought to ensure the Lady Ahmo's comfort. The august lady fills my soul with the same awe and peace as does my Lady Arahen, no matter that my sister would view that as weakness for I owe no more debts to the elders. Still....my heart yearns for their pleasure and I pray to Elbereth that my Lady Arahen is safe and happy in the Golden Wood. I have so much to tell her, and miss her counsel most acutely. Perhaps in serving the Lady Ahmo I will speed my reunion with her.
As I saw to what petty tasks I could to aid the healer, I reflected on my failures in the battle previous. I underestimated the leadership of the bandits, nearly disastrously. My error nearly killed the paramour and Taphreille, caused the Lady Ahmo to be wounded and perhaps most dire of all, meant that we could not preserve any of our foes alive to be bled dry of useful knowledge. Fortunately the day was still ours, but easily could have escaped us, resulting in greater injury or death to we the rescuers and consigning our friends to horror and degradation far from any further aid. Unacceptable. I shall not make the same mistakes again.
My mind turned as well to the scrap of a letter from Mans of Kheledul. Clearly the Dourhand were busy again, I had seen that myself in the Gladden Field, their reach was indeed lengthening. However, it seemed that Mans was specifically concerned with Forochel, or some project that touched upon it. I had never traveled those frozen wastes but I knew my sister had in search of Angmar blood. What new deviltry was this?
As most of the injured lapsed into sleep or gently drugged solace and the Lady Ahmo departed to see to her own affairs, Addie's companion, the woman called Nethrida suddenly woke in bitter despair. Before any concern for herself, she asked in a dreadfully weakened voice after the health of her friend Addie. This moved me deeply and I of course assured her that friend Addie was, just as she was, grievously harmed but safe and recovering. This did little to soothe her spirit for she clearly carried a heavy weight upon her soul, and continued to insist that what had befallen friend Addie had been her fault.
I understood the meaning of her self-recriminations, having seen that dreadful bounty list. Clearly she was aware that the bounty hunters had come after her specifically, and felt therefore friend Addie was swept into chaos along with her. Indeed, Addie seemed to have been viewed as a bonus chance for profit...however then her mistreatment made no sense whatsoever. She would have a long journey ahead of her if she was to be of any use to her erstwhile Masters. They would need her hardy and unspoiled. Her wounds seemed...personal. Her captors wished to break her, to break them both.
Looking into Nethrida's haunted eyes, I felt clearly that with her at least, they came very close to success. Caressing the edges of her deepest fears I nearly recoiled, for I saw that she had been slowly breaking for many years. I caught flashes of battle and blood, rising fear and desperation and horror as a life she loved as dearly as her own, if not more so, slipped away. Waves of icy grief and an abiding sense of failure and isolation consumed her until, like an overburdened rope, her world snapped, leaving her past and her future dangling loose in a screaming wind.
I could not bear to see more and tried to look away yet could not, as even that glimpse reminded me of that night long ago...the screams of the Cargil mingling with sweet Gem's agony as I laid both to rest. At that moment, the bond of blood I felt to both Addie and Nethrida from the battle at the Cottage swelled. For a moment the line where Nethrida's memories touched my own fluttered and cracked like a sail in a strong wind. I knew then destiny had wrapped strands of my future around those of Nethrida and those of Addie as well. Sisters in pain.
I sat by Nethrida's bedside all that long night as friend Addie slept, speaking with her in soft tones and stroking her fevered forehead, willing her with all my might back from the brink the bounty hunters had hurled her towards. I tried my best to unfold my own past to her to make her understand. My guilt and madness when Gemniphred fell to my bow and my duty. My sorrow and hopelessness as Cyndwin disappeared into thin air. I still do not know how much she heard, but I spoke and listened until dawn when she finally fell into a listless sleep.
Then I staggered out into the main room of the Pony, resting my hands on the mantle and staring deep into the flames to collect my scattered thoughts, clawing my way back to the present by main force of will. As I did so, I felt my sisters voice gather me in and shake me like a doll, her personality always so much stronger then mine as our minds touch. "Now what have you done, stupid Monk..."
Scattered images of a shabby inn and drunken song, orcs fighting and dying as SilverWand echoed through time and space, my sister's scorn and love and rage and concern like a wave of fire and ice around me. She had gone ahead of us to prepare the road to the Forsaken Inn and had clearly done so in her own way. "Banshee...Xandilif. Come back..we are delayed, and I need you here. I need your help, Addie, the horsegirl and Nethrida, a lost soul of Gondor need your help. The Dourhand are on the move...and I have a lead on where Mans may be hiding."
A long silence, then my sister spoke. "Await me." and she was gone.
Now I bathe and heal and wait. I will not make those mistakes again, underestimating my foes and failing to understand the true meaning of events until too late.
When next I nock a shaft, it shall be as nemesis and nemesis alone.
