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After a long talk with Damien he still felt he was missing so many pieces to the puzzle.

He walked off to the west intent on gathering wood. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions in his head.

Meditation. It would help. Maybe he could make sense of it all.
He reached the small copse in the West and settled himself. But The trance wouldn't come. Too many thoughts whirled, too loud and strong to be ignored. He felt more confused than ever. Finding only more and more questions. Riding over all were intense feelings of love and fear of loss.

He thought to lose himself in work. But the axe felt alien to his hands. With a sigh he dropped it back into his belt.

Home. Sleep. He would feel better in the morning. Maybe sleep could resolve some questions.
He turned to the West and looked past Trollsbane to the distant mountains. Memory painting in the way home. Home.

Empty. Cold. Lonely.

Lonely. Faces from his past drifted into the storm of his mind. Barely remembered parents, friends, acquintances, all long gone. A final face drifted into focus. He felt a deep and heart wrenching love well up....and he felt the sting of tears.

'You too?.....'

He tried to push the thoughts from his head. But the whats, whys and hows would not leave.
He pulled the diamond Irania had given him from his pocket and stared at it. He slumped down against a tree and gave in to the tears. Tears of love, fear and confusion.

He had spoken to her finally and gotten a few of his answers. None of them anything he had wanted to hear, but had been expecting.
Betrothed to friend, best friend?, in less than a day.
What had he done wrong. Nothing. She said so. Truth?
Loved her too much?
Every answer brought just more questions.

Feeling his heart shrink in his chest again at the memory. Her manner so casual. Was this hurting her at all?
What if she finds another. We will see. Her answer. Feeling like a blow to the gut.
The yawning chasm opened in his soul. No denial that it could, would, happen.
Cast aside so completely. Betrothed to nothing in a heartbeat.
But still best friend? How? Heart ached at the mere thought of her.
The stinging in his eyes, but no tears come. No tears left.
Yet best friend it must be for a chance to win her back.
Win her back? How? Be there for her. As always. Enough? Has to be.
If she finds another? Knife twist in the gut. Be happy for her? Try. But be ready to pick up the pieces. As always.
Who is there to pick up your pieces. No one. Alone. Again.
But still questions. Why? How? What?
Still confusion. Despair and confusion.

Time, space. Collect your thoughts. Dispel the hurt and pain. Ease the despair. Try to find new hope.
But not here. Too many memories. Too much of her.
A break. A leaving. Time to think.
Then be her friend though it aches your heart.
Watch her laugh and love though it breaks your heart.
Wait and hope. Hope to be in her heart again. In her heart to heal your own.

He sits in Varshikar and writes several notes.
Arist. Varshikar. The VMA….. Marie.
Where to go? Peace, tranquility? Greenbriar? Halflings. No. So. Vanima.
Finally. Cause? Jinx? Poisoner?….Athian. Was he to blame. Everything was fine until he stepped in. Wasn’t it?

The figure makes his way through the western woods, a wide brimmed leather hat rests upon the man's brow, tipped at such an angle it is a wonder it stays upon his head. A length of fair hair emerges from beneath the hat to rest upon his shoulders, and the clothing which he wears stands in contrast to the dark hued hat, being of light blue in colour. The garment not designed for such ventures as the accumilating stains began to show.
Though foolish in appearance the man's posture and movements gave an air of confidence. and the stricking eyes which peered from his shadowey visage spoke of deep thought, and the need to search. For any who looked upon the man could see he was searching.

' Jere, where are you my small friend. '

Batting a tree branch from his path Aristeaus continues on his way to Vanima in search of the illusive halfling Jeremy Gems Willowbrook. A bag is held over the mans shoulder. and an thin elegant blade hangs from his side.

After trying to lose himself in some work he was freshening up at the well in Trollsbane. Shandariel had just spoken to him, encouraging hope. She had spoken to Marie too.
Give her time. So things might work out?
A glimmer of hope sparkled in his heart.

Running feet?
Sound and motion intruded on his thoughts.
A motion more felt than seen. Instinct made him move.
The warhammer hit a glancing blow down his side as he span away. He was aware of another figure close by. Tall.
As he grabbed for his staff his vision settled on the skeleton as it raised the hammer to strike again. He prepared to attack but something prodded at his mind.
The warhammer swung again and was turned aside. The force of the blow pushing him back.
He readied for a strike as the warhammer raised again. Strike under the hammer your armour will take the next blow.....His side throbbed in warning.
Armour.
He was not wearing his armour.
He backed away parrying blow after blow. Other figures joined the fight. The skeleton finally succumbed.

He staggered into the shop. His side a blaze of pain.
He was aware of Shandariel and Marie talking.
He stumbled by the depot. Shandariel rushed to his aid. Checking and dressing the wound.
He looked around hoping to see Marie. Hoping to see that she was worried for him. But she was not there.
His heart sank.

He sat in Vanima. His side still hurt but not too badly.
He mulled over the events in Trollsbane.
He was so deep in thought he hardly realised someone had handed him a letter.
He recognised the writing. His heart fluttered with hope even as his guts knotted. Good news? Or bad.
He opened the letter with trembling hands.
As he read the letter his heart went cold.
He stared ahead, unseeing. The letter clenched in numb fingers.

Another. Hope died.
He sat unseeing, unfeeling. No tears.
He wished anger to dispel the pain. None came.

After a long time he stirred.
He went to write 2 letters and sent them off. Marie and Shandariel.
To Marie he poured out his heart. Writing all he would not be able to say to her.
To Shandariel simply to watch over Marie.

He walked for some time around the Isle. The soothing beauty unseen, unfelt. The healing calmness unheeded.
He ended up by the waters edge and sank to his knees.
Eyes unfocussed looked to distant horizons.
He felt like running. Anywhere. Away. Away from the hurt.
His heart knotted at the thought. Still held captive.
Hopeless and alone he knelt at the waters edge. Unthinking. Trying to find anger whilst feeling nothing.
Numbness and confusion.

Days passed.
He kept pretty much to himself. Not wanting to ruin the beauty and tranquility of the Isle for others with his poor spirits. He knew he had to do something about his life. He had responsibilities.

He would meet her. They would talk. A conversation put off that should have happened long ago.

More and more his thoughts turned inwards. He knew this was bad but blame had to lie somewhere.
She was not to blame.
She was just following her heart.
At least she had cared enough to leave him before she betrayed him.
And she had not walked away into happiness.
He imagined her suffering and alone. And he felt sad.
He should be there for her. Not wallowing in self-pity. But how. He still felt such pain.
Pain of his own making.
How could he have thought she would be his. Arrogant thinking he would be good enough for her. Stupid to think he was better than the rest, good enough to keep her. Of course she would find someone better.
So many suitors. How could a foolish hobbit hope to compete.
Anger. Hate. Emotions thought lost.
Angry at being foolish. Angry at not being strong.
Hatred at being himself.
She was not to blame. It was his own fault. He brought it on himself. His pride, his arrogance had betrayed him. Not her. She had been true to her heart. He had betrayed himself by believing he could be better than he was.
His fault. His doing. Pain and anger.