It was foolhardy to think that I could spend time with this woman and not grow attached, I knew it the night I questioned our attachment and asked what it is that we are doing here.
I knew that we could not remain friends and simply stay that way indefinitely whilst we shared one another's beds. A decision had to be made one way or another. A decision I did not want to make, a decision I knew I had to take.
It feels as natural to me now as the very air in which I breathe that sustains life, whiling away the hours in her company. Whether the setting be my own home or hers, the farm, the inn. On a day out in the countryside. I truly meant it when I said to her this is the happiest summer I have had in a long time.
And yet, there is a problem. The Captain's boy. He should not be a problem but he is, he is as much a part of her life as I am and I would never seek to sunder that connection. There is nothing stronger than a parent's love for his or her child.
She has made much of letting me know that she does not wish nor require a father for her boy. And I should respect that, I can understand that. It is something she has reiterated more than once and the subject has moved on swiftly to other matters in spite of my quiet misgivings on the matter. It is easy to forget that she has a son at times as he bask in the warm glow of embrace. She is so fun-loving and downright mischievous at times, motherhood has done little to dampen that spirit. She is still the same woman I knew before she fell pregnant. The very same woman I once laid eyes upon in a crowded Inn once and thought to myself were I not with the Rat, she'd be a damned good time.
But I cannot help but think of what was said to me some time ago by another. Even if you do not wish to be a father to the boy. And she does not wish it. In practice if this love is to be and grow regardless we may both have no choice in the matter.
Swiftly I have dismissed these concerns out of my mind. After all, it is better to focus on the present and not the future. I have been so torn with fears of what might or might not be in the past I will not allow them to ruin this for me.
I could not help but dwell upon the matter last night following my return from my business trip West. Fortunately the boy did not come home with his nanny as predicted but the words of my childhood friend linger with today.
She would not blame me if I chose to retire to her chambers rather than come face-to-face with the boy and his nanny. Whilst I agree I was tempted. The last encounter drudged up painful memories as the little lad reminded me so much of my younger brother before our parting so many years ago.
I could not help but ponder the implications of doing so, am I so cowardly that I would hide in a side room rather than talk to a four year old child? What am I supposed to say to him, how much should he know? Am I to keep the love I feel for his mother a secret and feign merely friendship not long after embarking upon forthright honesty with the Captain's daughter. To a degree. Am I over-thinking this?
No, I would not hide from a small boy. Even as she insisted that she would not think less of me for doing so.
If ever I was to become as a father to him by default of being by his mother's side, what would the implications of that be?
I, the man who took a conscious decision to forsake being an active presence in the lives of my own children. To protect them from myself. The monster which she believes me not to be. The wanderer who cannot guarantee his presence or that he will be around to provide enough stability, a nurturing presence so they can grow and learn. The sort of man I am as she so tactfully put it. The source of her own misgivings over the mutual love and desire which grips us both.
A complicated man.
What would it say about me, having abandoned my own. Co-inhabiting with another, raising another man's child. Would it not make a mockery of all decisions past?
My mind be cursed. Damn these strands of thought, weaving from one into another. What happened to not putting a label on this? To living in the moment. To not spending every waking hour questioning. What if this, what if that. I feel a sickness in my stomach.
What of my own daughter who must be around her son's age now, what of my little brother soon to reach his second decade, the cheery mischievous boy whom I sighted on the road a while ago now with his mother? An encounter I have spoken to no one. One I have tried to forget. He had my eyes but her flame coloured hair.
What of the dark-haired lad not much younger I left in Gondor? Assuming it was mine.
How can I look at her son and not be reminded of them. Particularly my little brother.
It is all well and good for my childhood friend to tell me she has no expectations.
I must cease these painful musings.
