Nov. 11
Yurri has passed. In addition to guarding him I also directed the funeral. Both were wearying tasks, but nothing I’ve not performed before, and I am honored to have given these final services to him. The loss aches, but I hurt more for those alive and still in pain than I do for the fact he’s gone; he passed surrounded by friends and song, and he’s surely more comfortable now in the Halls, no more weighted by age. My heart weeps especially for Master Zurri; so broken he is over not being present in time for the loss of his father. I dearly hope he finds peace soon.
A common sentiment among all of us mourning is that we wish we had more time with Yurri. His decline was so rapid, but — After all, he’s lived many long years. When it’s time, it’s time; only Mahal can decide and dictate such things. The loss will ease as the days pass, this I know. We must fill our hearts with good things during situations such as these.
I think I should write my mother. I’ve been considering doing so for a handful of months now, and after this I think it necessary. I’ll try not to use the excuse that I know not what to write, for I’m sure as soon as I put ink to the page, I’ll have trouble not writing overmuch.
Now, I wish no more to dwell on this business of mourning and parents, for I’ve been surrounded by it this past week.
I’ll cast aside sorrow and substitute it for bewilderment! I crafted a letter to Elias with hopes for a reasonable diagnosis to my ailment, and he replied I may be love-sick. Yes, Love-Sick! Ridiculous, I thought so as well. For whom could I be love-sick for? For what?
I’ve not had time to take notes like he requested.
After the funeral, a return to the Halls of Bóurr, and a hot bath (and a long cry in that bath, I admit), I spoke with Maurr over a meal.
We mused somewhat over plans: writing folk, when to travel to Bree, if Bíld shall go ahead or we. I had no decision. All I have here remaining is to visit at least once with Kithri and Master Zurri, then arrive at a good place to pause on the project I’ve begun spontaneously (which neither Maurr nor anybody else knows of).
Whenever we shall leave, I told Maurr he needn’t wait on me. But, he’s insisted that he’ll stay by my side. O, my heart.
I now realize I’m awful for doing so, but I told him that I’m worried about being sick. Of course what horrid timing I have, the night after dear Yurri was laid to his final rest. But it has been such a weight on me too, and I had to tell some Dwarf, so the words spilled.
To say Maurr was worried is an understatement. I didn’t realize how terribly concerned he would be — panicked, even, he was. How distraught he looked and sounded! I’m so touched by it that my eyes threaten to well now. O, my heart! He and I discussed, and I reassured him many a time that I was all right. Of course the cause isn't a fever, and of course the cause isn’t peppers, so I admitted to Elias’ suspicion of love-sickness.
His relief was palpable. My poor, dearest Maurr; I wouldn’t, couldn't, and shouldn't ever bear making him so fearful again. Next I feel ill, I certainly won’t tell him! ‘Zest for life’, we decided the ailment hopefully is. Or love for the mountains; he said they’re worthy of some swooning. And yet, for a fleeting moment I thought that mayhaps
All those times I’ve been jested at as ‘Mad Doc’ are catching up to me, it seems.
I saw Master Balnirar the other day. He’s devastated over the loss of Yurri as well. We spoke for a time, and he extended offer for me to return to Bree — that very moment! I had to politely decline, as I know my friends just may be upset if I left without warning them first. Maurr especially would be, I think, and in truth I wouldn’t wish to depart without him. Nor any of our party of course. M. Balnirar didn’t wish to wait, and after a little fare-thee-well he went, bagpipes blaring down the way.
They resounded well off the mountains, and the sun was setting nicely too. It was one of those moments I wish I could capture and re-see, but again I can’t, so I’ll have to just cherish it within my heart and behind my eyelids.
Perhaps I should begin painting? There are so many beautiful things I wish I could share. I know songs, I can learn music; my mother made sure I was versed among strings and winds and otherwise.
But a beautiful sky I cannot show through music. A smile I can’t describe properly, and a scene I can’t exactly look upon once more. The mountains especially have an allure, when the snow glistens on the peaks at dusk and dawn; I wish I could display the snowflakes on a canvas. Perhaps it isn’t entirely ridiculous to say I’m in love with the mountains,.but still I
I’ll be to Bree soon. Maurr has business, folk want me there: M. Balnirar said he’d see me swiftly and Jackilyn wrote that we’ll meet in the town. And I worry for Elias. There’s only a slight measure of reluctance to leave here yet, which I imagine will fade in a few days’ time, as I tie loose ends.
Maybe I'm not in love with the mountains. I feel myself willing to leave them, but my illness seems to be only worsening. What if I
* “Maddoct, compose yourself for once.”
