She was in agony.
The merest thought of returning to her command in itself was unbearable. She bit her lip to stop its trembling, and angrily wiped at the tears that wouldn't stop spilling from her eyes. "Ah, Lily, if you could see me now!" she ached. "Who am I to advise on matters of the heart when mine is so torn? What am I to do? I am a warrior! An elven warrior! He is human! An outsider! How can this have happened? I cannot think! I cannot think! What am I to do?"
Looking to the north, it struck her fleetingly that the coming confrontation with the Enemy represented something like hope. But then, she realised that it could be weeks before the enemy came.
She felt the coming winter as though it were her own heart that ached for unattainable warmth. There was no escape from it. She was trapped.
That evening, girded as though for battle, she went downstairs to have her evening meal with Prince Wilkin, Damond, Gart and Brogan. Pale and withdrawn, she sat somewhat away from the others, avoiding conversation, feeling empty and sick inside. Brogan, too, said nothing, but watched her covertly, trying to mask his concern.
The others, made uncomfortable by her demeanor, spoke lightly amongst themselves of trivial matters.
Dorain, over the course of the meal, ate little, but drank a quantity of wine as though trying to numb her heart against the inner chill and hurt that gripped it with cruel fingers.