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Anguirel · 09-11-2005, 08:44 AM

To the others, it would probably seem that Malris was steeped in the very essence of happiness as he led the way, testing handholds, then springing up them, hare-like in motion. Every now and then he would continue to make another joyous observation, recount another memory, or point out a familiar detail of the rocks they ascended. Indeed, in the main this appearance was true. Malris was content to be back here, proud of his friends for bearing him company, putting up with his errant thoughts, and, he was inclined to think, feeling the same awe and joy, ultimately, that he was experiencing.

Yet within a crevice of his mind a doubt had been allowed to lurk. The captain's instinct of responsibility for his men is hard to take out of the blood and the spirit; and this sense of responsibility nagged at him. He remembered the gust of...of something, the night before; the intense stab, leaving the light, insubstantial, stinging injury, which had not, he knew, been caused by a rock, as he had told the others. What it actually was he could only grope after; such imprecise guessing would only lower morale, discourage the others. But by keeping his fear back, was he endangering their lives?

Not yet. He had no positive proof for the most persistent, the most gnawing, the most ghastly of his suppositions. Besides, there was no reason for trouble. The company belonged here. He had lived with his wife here, had lost dozens of friends here, defended these stones. They still owed him something, he felt. They would not turn on him. Neither he nor his friends had committed any crime. The uncovering of the Dragonhelm, it is true, could have caused certain problems, had they brought it up with them. But he had commanded it to be thrown into the sea. To be given back to Ulmo. Why, he was even being obedient to the Valar, at last, he thought, smiling. No, there was no cause for concern.

And so secrets proved self-harming to Elves, as they ever had; as Oremir and Lindir concealed the Dragonhelm of Dor-Lomin, and Malris of Forlindon did not speak of his wound's true origin. Small sins, small faults of trust between friends.

Light wounds may bleed long.

09-11-2005, 08:44 AM	#78
Anguirel Byronic Brand Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: The 1590s Posts: 2,778	To the others, it would probably seem that Malris was steeped in the very essence of happiness as he led the way, testing handholds, then springing up them, hare-like in motion. Every now and then he would continue to make another joyous observation, recount another memory, or point out a familiar detail of the rocks they ascended. Indeed, in the main this appearance was true. Malris was content to be back here, proud of his friends for bearing him company, putting up with his errant thoughts, and, he was inclined to think, feeling the same awe and joy, ultimately, that he was experiencing. Yet within a crevice of his mind a doubt had been allowed to lurk. The captain's instinct of responsibility for his men is hard to take out of the blood and the spirit; and this sense of responsibility nagged at him. He remembered the gust of...of something, the night before; the intense stab, leaving the light, insubstantial, stinging injury, which had not, he knew, been caused by a rock, as he had told the others. What it actually was he could only grope after; such imprecise guessing would only lower morale, discourage the others. But by keeping his fear back, was he endangering their lives? Not yet. He had no positive proof for the most persistent, the most gnawing, the most ghastly of his suppositions. Besides, there was no reason for trouble. The company belonged here. He had lived with his wife here, had lost dozens of friends here, defended these stones. They still owed him something, he felt. They would not turn on him. Neither he nor his friends had committed any crime. The uncovering of the Dragonhelm, it is true, could have caused certain problems, had they brought it up with them. But he had commanded it to be thrown into the sea. To be given back to Ulmo. Why, he was even being obedient to the Valar, at last, he thought, smiling. No, there was no cause for concern. And so secrets proved self-harming to Elves, as they ever had; as Oremir and Lindir concealed the Dragonhelm of Dor-Lomin, and Malris of Forlindon did not speak of his wound's true origin. Small sins, small faults of trust between friends. Light wounds may bleed long.