Chapter Thirteen: A Question Answered

I was bundled in cloth, and I heard the crackle of a fire and the

sound of a sword being sharpened.

I opened my eyes, startled, and tried to move my arms. They seemed to be

fastened to my sides. Panicked, I struggled wildly, barely noticing the

fact that I was in a dank cave; it was only after a few moments that I

noticed Eldarion seated by the fire, sharpening his sword.

I attempted to speak, but all that came out was a feeble croak. It was

enough to bring Eldarion to his feet with a start, sword up.

"Eldarion?" I managed weakly. His gazed snapped to me, and I was

startled by the fear in his eyes. Realizing that it was I who had

made the noise, he relaxed, letting his sword drop.

"I found you lying in the mud, unconscious, shivering for all you were

worth," he told me, sitting down again. "There were bandits, a gang of

them. They would have-" He looked down. I could guess the rest, and after

a few moments of effort I struggled out of my cocoon.

"Thank you, I muttered, embarrassed, as I sat up.

"'Twas nothing more than the duty of a Ranger," he replied.

I turned away, hurt, and fixed my eyes on a trickle dripping from the

cave's ceiling so as not to cry again.

I felt his hand on my shoulder and turned, looking up at him.

"Why- why did you run from me, Entling? You frightened me- you almost

died, or worse. I cannot guide you if you are beyond my aid!"

I sucked in a breath, my anger returning despite knowledge of his good

intentions.

"You overestimate yourself, son of Aragorn. My guide is not my father,

nor has he any control over my deeds." I tossed my head, flipping my hair

over my shoulder. "We are travel companions, nothing more, and for your

help I thank you."

"And that night?"

"A mistake, nothing more." I could not look at him. "You said the

same." My voice was bitter; I knew his eyes were hurt.

"Is that how you feel- truly, Entling?"

I made my voice icy, ignoring the crack in his voice, the expression in his

eyes.

"I told you of how I felt. You did not return my affections, and so I

withdrew them."

He gasped slightly. "No, you are mistaken, I did not mean-"

I turned away, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "It matters not."

His voice was angry. "The affections of a Prince of Gondor are not to be

trifled with!"

That made me turn around, angered anew by his hubris. "And neither are

the affections of a Vala's daughter!"

He was effectively subdued by this. "You said you loved me once," he

said.

"You questioned my love," I replied.

"Forgive me?" He hated himself for asking my forgiveness, I could see

it in his eyes; it was a wound to his pride.

"I did not lie when I said I loved you. I gave my heart and you rejected

it; why should I forgive you?" My pride had been wounded as well, and it

would not heal so swiftly.

He turned away slightly, his breath catching on the lump in his throat.

I sighed, for it seemed that my love, along with the night I had given it, must be consigned only to tears,

and eventual forgetfulness. How could I face the journey ahead alone?

He reached out, suddenly, and clasped my hand, his movements abrupt, almost

desperate- seeming. I met his gaze, seeing the pleading there, and the

tears that had welled up; he was too proud to release them.

"Because I love you, Entling."