The second time we met, we spoke of freedom. In the grand halls of his kin, once most of the guests had left, he showed me the wonders they'd collected. Among the treasures there was a small songbird in a cage – something meant to lighten a room I suppose, or bring joy to those within. I wondered how they could bear to confine something so sweet – to deprive it of room to fly and yet still expect it to bring them joy. We spoke of freedom there, and I knew that he understood what it was to feel the loss of it, in a way that no one else truly had. As I look into Galdorion's eyes now I wonder if he remembers that conversation.
He does not believe me. He pretends to do so, and so I feign relief and we rejoin the others. Galdorion begins a discussion of his artistic pursuits, but even if I knew about such things I do not think I would have understood his meaning tonight. I feel as though a heavy weight has fallen upon my heart – if even Galdorion cannot be persuaded of my determination to stay in the valley, how can I hope that it will be strong enough? He asked instead to go with me... and fool that I am, for a moment I was tempted. Once, he wrote to me of fields and forests, and I dreamed that one day we'd see those things together. There is so much of the world I have yet to discover, so many beautiful places that I have not seen, so many paths as yet untrodden. When it seemed as though I might be lost in the darkness forever, wandering through airless caves, I would dream that one day I would be free, and could journey through the places Galdorion mentioned, by his side.
The reality of our situation punctures my dream almost instantly, even if it does not succeed in crushing that flicker of temptation I felt. Even for him to talk of such things openly in the valley is surely dangerous – Lossehelin was infuriated by the result of the trial, and I have no doubt at all that if Galdorion were to attempt to leave the valley once more, the judgement of such an attempt would be far less lenient. The fear of what would happen to him in such a situation hangs over me, and by the time the gathering has broken up, I know what I must do.
It is easy enough to arrange for someone else to exercise my horse outside the valley, although the eager greeting she gives me as I arrive causes me a sudden pang – I will miss her easy companionship, and the joy we both took in racing the wind through wide open lands. The packing up of my possessions is easier in a way. My travelling clothes and various “useful supplies” go into a chest, folded away neatly as if I will come back to them soon. I linger for a long while over my sword and staff, but eventually lay them on top too, before locking the chest. Those parts of my life must be over, for now. Looking around my chambers, I see only the accoutrements of a life of leisure and peace – the life that must be mine from now. For Galdorion's sake, I must learn to put aside all else, and enjoy only life here, in peace. If this is what it takes to keep him safe, then I will pay the price gladly.
