This war costs more than lives.
Dieudonnae's actions are far more painful than any wound, and it scares me. I once thought of her as a friend, and killing a friend is something I will never be able to do.
So, to soar away from the horns of this dilemma I found myself perched on, I decided I needed to speak to her, to see whether any remnant (excuse the pun) of my old friend remained, and to do this, I would have to be arrested.
It wasn't difficult. Showing my face outside the Prancing Pony brought the Watchers running, and I soon found myself in jail. My plan was in motion.
Of course, Dieudonnae couldn't resist the opportunity. Her enemy in shackles, kneeling at her feet. I could feel her condescending presence long before she arrived, celebrating her falsified victory.
We talked for some time, debating the finer points of ethics such as "How could you kill a man who loved you?" and "Were you always hiding such a foul personality under a calm and friendly charade?"
It didn't take long for my questions to anger her, but, in her anger, I saw some small amount of hope. She truly believed she was in the right, and that I had betrayed her. She truly believed what she was doing was just; that maiming my niece was fair.
I think that scared me more than anything else.
What also scared me was that there was a small part of the old Dieudonnae, the one I had been proud to call a friend, buried deep down inside the monster. All I had to do was appeal to it.
And I knew that while that small part existed, I would never be able to kill her.
She then took me to her new estates south of Bree-land, preparing me for torture and interrogation, but in a moment of foolishness on her part, I managed to escape and flee the estate.
But then Hector appeared in the doorway as I made for the hill near the Winter Mansions, bow in-hand, strung and knocked. I turned, intending to dive flat on the grass as he let an arrow loose, but I was too slow.
A blinding white flash sliced through my vision, overloading my senses with pain as the arrow slit my eye. I knew then that Dieudonnae had done what she had been intending to do.
She had made me like her.
One hand clamped over my now-useless eye, I ran from the estate, back to Bree-town and to Glathronir, who worked his Elven healing magic and stopped the bleeding.
And then I pulled on my new piece of apparel.
And I knew Dieudonnae was too far gone down the road of insanity to ever be redeemed, and even if I looked on her as a friend and could not kill her, someone else would have to.
For Dieudonnae Hughes is lost to the world of men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits.
Dieudonnae Hughes is lost forever.
