What a strange and intoxicating way to wake up in the morning...not quite dressed, and with a man beside me. One might think that something salacious had taken place overnight, though it hasn't. Even in our most amorous moments, he is always and forever a gentleman, tender and thoughtful and ever concerned for my comfort and happiness. A person could argue that my torn dress is evidence to the contrary, but I wouldn't agree. I don't mistake passion for vulgarity. I am hardly an angel of self-control when in his arms.
I've always held the belief that a marriage should never be rushed into. But I've also never known what it's like to literally burn with desire this way. How many promises have he and I made, to not touch each other, to not kiss, to not enter each other's homes, to this and that, anything to try and dampen the flame that seems impossible to put out? We fail time and time again. I don't believe that we are both weak souls, though we constantly say we are. Rather, I believe that Love is just that much stronger than any mere mortal can ever hope to be. I loved Lainric, well and truly, but it was nothing like this. I believe I now understand the cliché phrase "madly in love", for it is nothing short of madness that I feel towards this man. How else can we explain the wild, fervent way we continually clash and collide around each other? The intensity of desire constantly battling with the need for propriety and politeness and decorum. Every time we draw close, we know - we know - that we can't fall off the precipice and drown in the maelstrom of consummation that we both so long for. Which leaves one or both of us having to halt the frantic descent. Which often means frustration and even hurt feelings for one or both of us. And while we always find quick reconciliation and comfort with each other (and fresh promises that will inevitably fail), it is now that I understand why some couples hurry to the marriage altar.
I return to writing after stepping away to clear my head a bit.
Speaking of marriage...I received an invitation to the wedding of Brywulf and Arelie! I was surprised, as I don't know them very well, but absolutely delighted. I very much look forward to going, not only to share in their joy, but perhaps to gain some ideas for my own future wedding, as I've never been to one and have little clue of what I'm doing!
I had the pleasure of finding Baldmar at the inn again yesterday. Always standing alone, never sitting down. I wonder that no one ever seems to approach him, greet him, speak to him. Is he that intimidating to the people of Bree? I remember the first time I spoke to him. I simply smiled at him and said hello. Nothing complicated about it. Ah well. The common room was quite crowded, so he and I retired to the back, but not before I'd glimpsed Seaver standing somewhat apart from the crowd, which I knew included some of his acquaintances. Always a bottle in his hands, is it any wonder that I worry for him? I caught his eye briefly, and offered him a friendly grin, and he returned the smile, to my happy relief. It seems my ever-clumsy mouth hasn't completely wrecked our friendship, if friendship I may call it.
My mountain of a friend and I sat pleasantly by the fire and chatted for what must have been an hour, at least. How I endlessly appreciate his plain, simple manner! If only all people spoke their minds and dispensed with flattery and word games and innuendos. He spoke of visiting his home in "the Vales" (I need to find some maps and discover where this mysterious place is) for Yuletide, and of course, fighting orcs and wargs and other horrors I'd rather not think about. In turn, I told him a bit of my own life, the disappearance of Lainric, my new home and family among the knights, and the recent attacks about Bree-town. His brow darkened when I mentioned that I'd been stabbed and taken ill, and he growled to know the name of the hobbit who'd attacked me, though I had to answer truthfully that I never knew his name, nor what became of him. He also told me that - and this is going to sound fantastical - the tales of the sons of the Beorn are true. That is, that they are shape-shifters, and can take on the literal appearance and form of a bear at will. I still find it hard to believe, but Baldmar is no liar, nor a spinner of exaggerated stories. The idea is shocking, and rather frightening, and I think, if it were any other man speaking of such things, I would've been very uncomfortable. But I know with all the certainty of the sun rising in the east, that this man would never hurt me, nor pose any threat to me. And so, I find myself eager to witness this display of old magic, if magic it be. I didn't want to ask him if he'd be willing to show me one day, for it would've seemed childishly selfish, but he openly offered. I hope he might keep that promise before he departs from Bree-land again.
I saw Aallan sitting with Cesistya again. I overhear him paying her endless compliments, some of them nearly identical to ones he's paid to me. I see him touching her shoulder, her hand, brushing hair from her eyes, as he's done to me. And while I don't think what I feel is jealousy (though maybe there is a hint of it somewhere), there is a sadness that comes over me. Perhaps because I feel that she is some sort replacement for me, in his mind. And that makes me think that his affections towards me were disingenuous somehow. It's not that I want him for myself...not now...but I'd like to believe that what we shared was sincere, at least. And I want him to be happy, and loved. And shifting one's affection from one person to another so quickly...I can't see a happy ending in that. I adore Ces, she is perhaps the sweetest and gentlest creature I've ever met. And I think she truly is fond of Aallan; who wouldn't be? He is friendly and charming and attentive. But I don't want disappointment, for either of them. My hope would be that they would find some sort of commonality together, where feelings might mutually be nurtured and grown.
I still have his letters, the dried simbelmyne blossoms, and the emerald.
