His Own Words by Tyelca

First Entry

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Putting my thoughts to paper is not something I’ve ever done before. My mind is my fortress and my hideout, private and unwelcome to others. Yet where the walls were always used defensively, now I find myself oppressed in too small chambers that press ever closer. I am left with nothing to do but circle around myself, chasing thought after thought without any hint of reprieve. So I have decided to do something I’ve never done before: I open the gate, rusty from disuse, in an attempt to set free these unnerving images.

 

I write this now as an introduction and an explanation, though for whom I know not. It is only I who will ever read these pages, only I who even knows of their existence. Perhaps I shall burn them when I am done writing and my mind is at ease again; in that case my secrets are safe. But I am even no distracting myself from my point. I am a person of a reserved nature; and therefore I cannot indulge myself with stray thoughts on various subjects. Coaxing out these words, I am my own worst enemy in this respect: the rusty gate in my mind must be teased open, little by little, before I can get what is inside out on this paper.

 

I shall begin, I think, with describing the circumstances that led to my current state of confusion. The events took place only this morning, but in truth they were set in motion many years ago, when the daughter of the previous king and sister of the current one married a captain of great statue, intelligent and pleasing to the eye. I only ever saw them from afar during public ceremonies, for this was when I was young and long before I won acclaim and access to the golden hall of Meduseld, the place I am now fortunate enough to call home. They whisper about me here, as they’ve whispered about me everywhere. It is not something that bothers me anymore.

 

I do not know if love was involved or of this marriage was purely for political reasons, but the sister-king and the captain conceived two children, a boy and then a girl; they lived far away from the capital and visited but rarely, and slowly they faded from my mind. In the meantime I worked hard at my studies and in the royal stables, where I earned my keep and learned much about the royal horses. It was not glamorous work, but it allowed me to pay for my education. I have to make a note here regarding my parents: neither of them came from a good family and the little money they possessed was spent on food and medicine, for my father suffered from an illness that sometimes abated, but was always present. If I wanted something for myself, I’d have to work for it, and that is a valuable lesson I’ve always cherished.

 

I was on the impressionable  edge between child and man when my father succumbed to the disease that for so long had pestered him. I never knew what it was; but it woke my interest in the study of medicine and at first becoming a healer seemed to be the my path in life. I am not above admitting, to myself and to these pages, that it was never about saving people for me, although I also cannot deny the sense of victory and accomplishment whenever I helped somebody. It was a challenge to me, to see how far I could go and how much death I could defy, without ever chancing my own health.

 

But my father’s fate was ever on my mind, and when a few years later, in a particularly cold and long winter, my mother contracted an illness of the lungs, my plight became even stronger. But I was too late to save her as well, and no experienced healer, who as a favor to me would look her over, could postpone the inevitable.

 

It was that moment, I think, when I first realized I was about to be alone in this world that my thoughts first turned dark. For a while I ate very little, only what my fellow students forced me and a melancholy followed me wherever and whenever I went. The arrival of the royals in the stables now filled me active loathing as I looked upon their little family; and I found no joy in healing the sick when I couldn’t save my own parents. It felt like I had personally failed them, if only I’d tried a little harder, if only I’d been a little more attentive.

 

But this was long ago and when summer was at its peak, I was more or less back to myself. I regarded my lapse in sanity as dangerous but ultimately positive, for I came out of it stronger. I had found in myself a determination to survive, to make use of this gift of life my parents had left me with. It was the only thing they left me with.

 

It soon turned my mind to both the fields of medicinal research and to the practice of mental stimulation. For many of my patients not only complained of bodily sores, but they had troubled thoughts as well, and it were those patients that I focused on. I had personal experience in that field, and though I did not boast of it - indeed, I rarely even spoke of it - it allowed me to understand their complaints that much better than my fellow classmates.

 

As my studies progressed I still worked at the royal stables. Seeing the king and queen and their young prince was not an occasion of awe anymore, as it had been in my childhood. While not daily, I saw them often enough to find it an annoyance to be forced to drop my work and stand silent in the corner, not to be seen until demanded for a service, and even then to leave as quick as possible. It also chipped minutes of my precious time, time that I needed to study. As I wrote before, a loathing developed in me, both because of their privilege and their careless disregard of it. To them I did not exist, invisible against the wall with the other stableboys. The stablemaster was the only person in that place they ever spoke to, aside from the horses themselves; and the man preened under the attention as if he’d done all the hard work himself. I trust I was not alone in my thoughts on this matter. But despite my personal misgivings, I was a man of Rohan and loyal to the throne. That had never been in doubt.

 

This is another thing I’ve always remembered - never take privilege for granted. Ever since I gained my current position I’ve made it a point to personally address servants and thank them for their service. I won’t lie and say these praises were genuine or effortless; but it fostered a goodwill that was not to be underestimated, as I’ve experienced myself.

 

Again I catch myself moving away from my subject; I have never attempted anything like this before, perhaps it is the normal course of things? The mind is an easily distractible organ; that was the entire point of my studies. I should therefore not be as surprised as I am when I find my mind doing the same. I am not so foolish as to reckon myself above my fellow humans in such matters. Although these excursions are not entirely random, as they serve to paint a bigger picture of what plagues my thoughts. Unconscious and unplanned they are, though, right up to the point I’m writing them down. Well then, I suppose there is no harm in letting the subconscious run free.

 

For now, though, I fear I am needed elsewhere. My original plan of burning these papers will have to be suspended, and I shall find a suitable place to hold my secrets, such as they are. Hidden inside these pages, I don’t think they will be at risk.