As I sat down to open this old tome, I could not recall when I last wrote of my life. A brief glance revealed that it has been two months. Many things have happened, and changed. And other things remain exactly as they were.
I am still conflicted within my heart towards him. I care for him, deeply. Perhaps more than any other of my acquaintance. I know I long for closeness, connection, and love. But every day, I still do battle inside my soul, with my own ghosts, and my expectations. Does he love me? He has never said so. I have come close to saying it more than once. Sometimes I think it is a child’s game, this waiting for him to say it first. Will it prove something real? He holds his feelings very close, and I respect that about him. I know, if he ever confesses this particular sentiment, it will be sincere, for he doesn’t speak his heart freely. Still, I am waiting for something. Some unnameable thing. He speaks of courtship and even marriage, often in jest; but never love. Would he be crushed if I were gone? Would he be devastated? Or would he carry on with that heavy, frowning brow and gruff, brusque manner, and hold my memory as an irksome bother that he must simply get over? Is this what I wait for? Some glimpse of real, true passion? A sense that I am needed, that his heart cannot beat without me, that we belong together, that it must be that we are side by side, else the world will just be wrong in some way? But what if this is simply not who he is? What if he cannot be that? The thought of living a life without him does not terrify me. Nor do I feel a sense that he would crumble without me. And that is what troubles me so. I do not doubt at all that he cares for me. And of course, there is no question of desire on either part. But where is his heart? I have yet to feel that I have touched it, unless perhaps it was just a fleeting moment, here and then gone again. I can feel myself on the precipice of giving my heart, baring my soul, opening myself and giving him the power to handle me with care or with recklessness. And if he does the latter, I will not survive it. I have found a new strength and will to live, yes. But my heart is ever my guide, and if it is shattered again, that will be the end of me. And I would not rally against it. I have not the will.
And yet, he dares show me bits and pieces of himself that touch me so! I shared with him my concerns about my kin-sister, and whatever troubling involvement she has with the dark shadow. A man who cannot give his right name is a coward and unworthy of respect. All the moreso that he would spill crude and hasty words towards a widow who has done him no harm. My heart twists at the memory of that evening. A pleasant beginning, diverted and thrust into something dark and bitter. What is it that he holds over her? I care not for his fate any longer, though I would have defended him resolutely against the charges laid against him. I now care only for hers. Saexwyrd listened to my worries and gave them due weight, and his response was that of a man of honor and courage. Words to comfort and still my mind. It was beyond anything I expected, and my heart was moved, and my affection and admiration solidified.
But all is not sorrow and uncertainty and fear. Spring has arrived in its fullness in the Mark, and it is impossible not to feel some measure of hope beneath the warm sunlight and the sweet scent of blossoming clover. Many of the mares are round with foal, and soon the pastures will be blessed with fuzzy manes and gangling legs. One of the keenest pleasures for me is opening the cottage windows, for I love to feel the wind coming over the plains, and hear the birds singing in the heather. Of course, spring is the season where...I tasted the keenest happiness I am likely to ever know. It is difficult to separate the two in my mind. Will I ever see a daisy growing along the fence row, and not think of it? No. I will not. Even now...I would give up the rest of my years on this earth to simply hear him sing that song again… just once more.
Come, Brynleigh. Pull yourself out of this. No tears.
A new friend has been made, and for that, I should and will be thankful. Though I should correct myself and say it is a very old acquaintance, being remade into something new. Orduin remembered me from Bree, though my memory of him is rather foggy. He was quite understanding, given that we apparently met when my life was at its lowest and most bleak. I believe he is now under the Lady's leadership, and will be a boon to the defense of the western border. I encountered him upon a journey to Aldburg, and then again during my last visit to Edoras. ‘Twas he that witnessed the uncomfortable scene with my kin-sister and the other. I am sad to say that he, too, was the target of much sarcasm and insult, so much so that I saw his mood shift from jovial to wounded. I will not repeat the words spoken that wounded me especially. I left in a tempest of hurt and anger, and would have made my way back to Snowbourn alone, but for him making his own escape from the tavern. We talked for a time and walked amongst the burial mounds beyond the city gate. He showed me where his grandfather lay, and offered the warmest consolation to me there. I daresay he wears his heart on his sleeve, and it is a heart of great kindness and empathy for others. He asked if he could see me safely back to Snowbourn, and I was glad to say yes, and not be on the road alone with my dark and burdensome thoughts.
I will have to be wary of visiting the capitol for some time. While I long for the tender company of friends, such as Waelden and Ingberth, I wish no further part in whatever intrigue has sunk its claws in. Only for my beloved kin-sister would I fly back again.
