((Companion piece to Danel's Innocent by Default? - ICly, this was written after Norliriel met Ráolor (obviously), yet before her Oathtaking.))
This entry is written in the rune-script of Gondolin, which is known to but a few of those who still abide in Middle Earth. Apparently, Norliriel felt the need to keep it even more private than the rest of her diary. Some words are written in slightly bolder strokes, as if she had firmly pressed down on the pen to keep her hand from shaking.
My thoughts dwell upon Raolor the sculptor. I know now that he was once a follower of Maglor Fëanorion, yet I do not know for certain whether he followed him all the bitter way. To Doriath, to the Havens of Sirion.
I can never ask him about this. The way he flinches from my gaze at times is keenly inscribed upon my mind, and thereby I know that these questions would cause him more pain than I could bear to witness. Thus, they will remain burning inside my heart, alike a thorn that I cannot pull out. I will bear this, for Ráolor's sake, for I could not remain unaware of his noble spirit, nor his great grief. Alas! Had he been born in fair Gondolin, instead of Lothlann, we might have grown up in unshadowed friendship.
How different he seems to me in this, from Makanare! Harsh she is, hot and sharp like the blades she forges, ever-ready to utter words of contempt. There is a sense of bitter defiance about her, and I wonder in secret how much of that is born from pain, yet I do not know her well enough to discern this. Nor would I ever speak of it to her, for she would not take it well - she seems like the kind of Elf who would forge even her grief and shame into spikes to stab at the world.
Yet there is one matter in which I must be grateful for her sharp words, much as they aggrieved me. For it was in responding to her that Lady Danel revealed that she was not in Menegroth when her prince fell there, nor had she any part in the assault upon us who had found shelter at the Havens of Sirion.
Danel was not there.
I have not the words to say what this means to me - not to her, nor even on this page. But now I know that, even had I been a better defender, it would not have been her blood on my hands, nor mine on hers. At least not this.
