An ever changing path

He returned to me. He thinks me foolish for ever doubting it, yet he came back to me as promised. I never noticed the black blood ingrained on his leather armour, nor the dirt or taste of sweat upon his face as I kissed him. Yet his eyes. His bow may bring down a party of Orcs, but those eyes weaken me like no arrow ever could. Their blue as bright as the clear summer sky and his voice as warm as its sun. Tis the voice that has enchanted me most. It speaks words of kindness, protection and love. Making me feel more desired than mithril is to the Dwarves All I cared at that moment was he safe and in my arms. I have always seen myself as a woman who needed no man. I have my own home, kept my own horses, made my own coin. My mother raised me to never need any other than myself, taught me to ride, encouraged me to defend myself. Her encouragement felt like a gift to me, one that I was so blessed to have in recent days. Yet now I know I was incomplete, it is hard to explain, yet I cannot imagine feeling whole without him. Times have been difficult…Hunted down of late, by a past which wishes to catch up with him. They made it to Bree, ransacked his home, watched us closely…though with all our precautions, one found me..the sister of the sibling pair. Perhaps I was complacent as the sun shone so brightly that day I found my cares easing. I headed to Bree, after all, I had been nursing my love for many days now and supplies were low. Of course he did not wish me to leave the house, and he was wise to think that way. I had just approached the small lake when I was thrown from my horse. I fell hard to the ground, stumbling to my feet to quickly see what had troubled my normally timid creature, thinking possibly a wolf or the like, then the woman came at me. The fight was bloody, both mine and hers soiling the dirt. A confused violent flurry of limbs and metal. The anger in her voice, more bitter and imposing than I have heard before. She spoke of hurting him..then killing him…after that, I remember only fragments. The blood running down a dagger held in my hand, soaking my glove crimson…her leaning over me, more blood, from her mouth. My horse trampling toward her skull as she lay… just vivid images as if paintings, stagnant, horrific. He tended to me at home, a deep wound to my left thigh where the tainted dagger hit. Passing the poison from my body to his own, taking my suffering, temporarily taking his sight. Never once questioning what he was doing. Several days later he left me again…but he returned, significantly changing the path of my life once more…