A week ago, I had a little scrap of sight left high in my right eye. One window left for lenses to correct. One spot for the letters to pop in to say their farewells. I used it to drink in my last flowers. Last raindrops. Last stars.
I came here to support him, and I failed. I failed utterly. I barely knew what happened in his life for all the doubt choking me. I couldn’t. I didn’t. I knew it was selfish. I’m only losing my eyes when he’s losing his whole life’s story, made over into a lord with fortune and lands, no longer hiding from his fallen enemy. He needs me. I’m not here.
The window is gone, and I found a friendly lord knight to take me one last time to the harbor. My father left from here up the Anduin, then by road to RoyEl in Dale. I’m afraid of the stairs with their steep edges. I’m afraid of the landings and turns. I’m afraid of this stranger whose arm I’m grasping. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid they’ll notice.
It was easy to believe in the will of Creation’s Force when it made me strong and smart. I faced challenges, but they all came from the Unenlightened. I pitied them from my own throne of pride. I knew better. I was certain. I was blessed.
I thought I was ready for this. I thought my reason and faith – yes, faith, for all I congratulated myself on choosing it by rational means – but my faith would be unshaken. The Creation, in its wisdom, made me with eyes that I will outlive by many years. I have never been so furious. I have never been so guilty.
The water at my toes shifts. It pauses, swirls warmth at my bared ankles, then sucks back to sea. “The moon is full, isn’t it?” I ask the stranger whose arm will allow me to survive the trip back up the stairs.
“It is, Master Tinuvist,” he said, startled.
“It’s in the tide. It only reaches so high at the fullness of the moon.” It drained fast too. Even the moon was leaving me now. Moon, light, and soon… soon.
I have no pull on him, however many times I’ve been pulled close by his waxing apogee. There’s no good reason to be angry that my pull isn’t so strong on him. What, when the Creation made him … as he was. Not that I want him to give up his Breeland name for me. Not that I have any right to wish that he would wake up knowing how to hold me close and tell me that he won’t ever leave because, even blind, to him I am still… still…
After the tide pulled away, my feet cool in the dry Southern air. Time to stand and reach to where the Swan Knight forms a windbreak. The moon is setting somewhere over the lovely curve of Arda. Some day, I will tame this heart-sickness to the leash of prose. Tonight, I bid farewell to the moon and leave Water for steadfast Earth. The knight’s armour numbs my fingertips with cold.