You miss that old broken man you journeyed with? How strange, they would say, if they knew.
But no. It's not strange at all. I lie in bed in the early morning and think of you, wonder stirring in my heart to think you could be thinking of me. I look at myself in the mirror, and when someone looks back at me who is beautiful, I say to myself, that person belongs to you. It is a lovely and frightening thing to know yourself given over to another, theirs if they claim you.
From almost the first instant you looked at me, I loved you. I loved you then with the love of a young innocent boy, passion and fire. I learned to love you and hate you, at the same time - strange indeed! - early in our journey.
I learned to love the way you touched me, the way your hand rested on my shoulder, when you rescued me. I learned that the fierceness in your touch was because you, in your turn, loved me, and would not let yourself show it.
And finally, I learned to love you because you needed me.
"Ged," I whisper the name, your true-name, to the winds, seeking you, wanting you. No answer from the heavens, no hawk swooping down to light upon my shoulder, dig claws in, and stay with me forever.
I have no skills in magic. All I know is ruling and loving, and I do both with everything in me. Yet there are deeper skills in those than magic workers will admit, and hearts are connected by stronger ties than those of minds.
"It's your Lebannen," I say, my voice going all through me as though it were not my own. "And I need you here, love, I need you."
Silence drowns out the vague noise of rushing folk in the streets below. I stand perfectly still, eyes open, gazing northwest. My mind goes clean white, my head spins, and I feel you, somewhere on Gont, breathing deep in healing sleep.
A moment later and I snap back into myself.
"Do you need me, love?" I ask the empty sky.
No news, they say, is a good sign.