Letter for Leithian

[Nyssis]

It's unknown when the letter itself was initially sent by the time it arrives, bundled with the same correspondence as the Emporium inquiries, but the many creases lining the envelope and the dullness of the ink allude to it having been some time. While the exterior is nondescript save for the recipient's name, inspecting the contents reveals that one of the etriel's gold studded earrings accompanies the message.

In addition, the Espruar memorandum is penned by a shaky hand that had to stop and thoughtfully drum the quill against the vellum throughout its creation. The message is sloppy with broken subject matter and not very eloquent despite the image the author tends to portray.

<Leithian,

This is a difficult thing for me to convey in person, much as I tried to summon the strength the last time we spoke, so I will take the coward's route and tell you in writing. No doubt you may have noticed my abrupt absence from the valley, and by the time you receive this letter I will be well on my way towards my destination.

Long have I struggled with accepting my fate and what has happened to me, and longer still have I mulled a thousand times over situations that I want undone. It was difficult for me to learn that, even with power granted beyond my wildest imagination, I still cannot change the past. I cannot right my many wrongs.

I would reverse years of my life if only were I able to return to being doe-eyed and ignorant of the sea, the mountains, the people and their pleasures out here on the coast. Of city-dwellers and their language, and the wars waged both within and without the walls keeping them contained. I need to come to terms that this is most assuredly beyond my power.

You have just suffered a great tribulation and you need someone to help you recover from the ordeal, but I fancy myself an ill fit. I think only of my whims and my needs, even after everything everyone has done for me. I am truly my father's daughter and he raised me to be his very image in all things, most especially his selfishness and lack of empathy.

Eftsoons I will return to the place where my journey began, and there I will bury that unfulfilled dream and the grief at its realization behind me. There is no guarantee that I will come back to the valley sooner rather than later, so do not strain yourself with loyalty in my absence. Love and be loved by whomever you feel deserves you as you desire it.

Perhaps when I return, I will have let go of this burden and be better suited to at least calling you a friend. Perhaps when I return, I will have set aside my delusions that I can restore House Norreitryn to its former glory, and not let that notion continue to impede my ability to love you like it does now if you choose to accept me.

Lasvi>

[wangxiuming]

Leithian happens upon the letter as he takes stock of his current inventory. With eager hands, he tears the envelope apart upon revelation of its author, unsuspecting of its contents and glad to receive any tidings of his beloved.

He reads Lasvi's words softly to himself at first, but quickly stops as tone of correspondence becomes apparent. The rest he reads in silence, so stricken by shock that he forgets his ledgers in the folds of a suit of armor and sets a glass down into an enchanted boot.

As he finishes, his hands fall to his sides, still grasping the letter. Before he realizes it, he has crumpled it into a tight ball within one hand, its words now twisted and compressed against each other. Rage, loss, and despair wash over him in equal measure. For a second he considers flying after her, to grab hold of her, scream at her -- but to where? He has no idea what route she took or how far ahead she is. The thought of return correspondence is similarly quashed, despite all the fury in his mouth desperate to be unleashed.

He contemplates throwing the crumpled parchment into a nearby fireplace, but just as he is about to do it, something stops him. Gingerly, he unfurls the ruined letter, pressing against it to iron out the creases. Careful to now fold it along its original form, he slips it back into its envelope, only to find an object barring entry.

With his left hand, he pours out a single earring into his right. He stares at it for a long moment, not sure what to do.

Finally, he closes his fingers around the gold stud, and brings his hand close to his lips.

Into his hand, he whispers quietly.

"Goodbye ... Lasvi."

[Nyssis]

A season or more later, a nondescript letter arrives at the Emporium's address astride the innumerable other inquiries that typically herald a busy day. There's no blemish, seal or title to indicate the sender both within and without the envelope, yet the intended recipient is clearly penned on the exterior to enable a proper delivery.

The entire message is inked in familiar Espruar, but the way the text has been broken into stanzas alludes to it being a poetic medium rather than a traditional letter.

<Forsooth, aleirin, I write to you;
Think nothing of my words;
For betimes I may change them;
Left to mean nothing at all.

Think nothing of my face;
Beforetime given to a wellaway;
Erring a glance so listlessly;
Left to appear nothing at all.

Think nothing of my voice;
Alack, a misery without song;
Oft to only a fie for the world;
Left to praise nothing at all.

Think instead of my heart;
Which burgeons to look upon ye eyne;
That you might see me, notice me;
It would be with fain above all.

Ere though they may look past me;
Think nothing of my grief and wanion;
For it would greatly be a blessing;
To so much as see you again.>

[wangxiuming]

No response is penned, given Leithian knows not where to send it to, and even had he known, he would not know what to say. Could he even express the twisted mass of emotion he felt into words? The joy at seeing her scribed hand, to know that she was safe and alive and returned. The despair at the farewell she had offered ... the frustration at her denial of his opportunity to do the same. The anticipation at once again laying eyes upon her form ... the dread at what words they might trade next.

He reads and rereads both the letters she sent, the older of the two now faded and delicate in his hands. The earring she left behind was as polished as she had left it: a token he might be able to return should she truly be within the vale.

Or a symbol, of all they had left.

[Nyssis]

A completely unmarked envelope arrives at the Emporium, but for all its attempts at anonymity the familiar contents are a mirror of its predecessor a few days before. The crisp and blemish-free parchment serves as ample evidence of its handmade delivery, and the relatively fresh ink scribed on the accompanied letter points to the author's close proximity.

<I know no answers, aleirin;
Though these queries prove iwis;
Yet I pray you give me thy ear and speak od;
To listen and partake of this hist.

Seagazing, I lowered my eyne and see;
Sashelas within His pool of jade and blue;
Swirling a murky sweven I care little to define;
For all I can think of is you.

Stargazing, I raised my eyne and see;
Most brilliant Uelaereene swimming too;
But a fairer sight still cannot hope to allure;
When all I can think of is you.

I know of one answer, aleirin;
As I thole upon the moonlit pier;
Highted distractions I have come to hate;
Would be so much better were you here.>

[wangxiuming]

\\ ... i now do the equivalent of receiving a ipad for secret santa and gifting a pair of socks back.

To seek a lost love
The pier, eyes eagerly cast
Breath held, shuddering.

[Nyssis]

It doesn't take long before another unmarked envelope is personally delivered to the proprietor of the Emporium, but by now the contents are likely as terrifying as they are disarming to read.

<Prithee me write a thousand poems, aleirin;
That you might wist mine grief so strong;
And were I dead without this pleasure;
This would not be my final song.

Alone in Mestarine's boscaresque glade;
Prithee me write ten of thousand more;
And I would bring tears to His lugent eyne;
To make even His stale heart soar.

Seated at the Crescent Grove's table;
Prithee me sing thrice ten thousand so;
And this voice would pierce the roots of Arvandor;
To resonate with Sharindlar's down below.>

[wangxiuming]

He was such a fool.

To think, that all this time he had believed there might be a chance he could be worthy of her. That he might prove it somehow, through tender affection. That he might earn it somehow, through earnest action.

All this time he feared what his very presence could do to her.

In a way, he could not blame her for her departure from the valley, or her decision to exclude him from her journey. The Lone Wolf favored her, after all. He could understand why she thought it best to seek her answers alone. Why she would ask him to do the impossible: to forget her, to discard everything they had shared.

He remembered the words read a thousand times in disbelief, telling him to ...

... not strain yourself with loyalty in my absence. Love and be loved by whomever you feel deserves you as you desire it.

And yet, what could he do but remain loyal? He was tel'quessir, after all. He loved with the expectation that such experience would span decades, if not centuries.

He was still of the People.

... just not of the right People, it seemed. All this time he had been right. He was not good enough for her.

The revelation offered no comfort.

She claimed to seek his affection, his attention once again. But could he trust her honeyed words? It had been easy enough for her to leave him behind once before. And with the knowledge that she returned from journey fruitless save for discovery of her father's betrayal ... what was it she had said?

My thoughts have long been ones of a woman corrupted by a fake, romantic dream. A dream of returning to my homeland as House matriarch. I wanted to make his heart burgeon with pride as his daughter. I confess that it's why I kept a weak romance usward. Our family has been one of ar'tel'quessir purity for thousands of years. I felt beholden to upholding that...So I kept you at arm's length.

He thought they were beyond such superficial obstacles, that their history, their shared experience and mirrored pasts bound them together beyond anything else. How wrong he had been.

What was he now, but a sad consolation to her dreams unfulfilled?

What was he now, but a vengeance taken upon a father who had proven himself equally unworthy of her love?

He shuddered, against his will, against his desire. Despite everything, his heart lept for her, ached for her, longed for her. He wondered now if any of it had been reflected ... or if he had been so desperate for it that he had imagined it all.

... what was he now, but a fool?

[Nyssis]

Despite the death of their previous conversation, another missive for the Emporium is hand-delivered to its address like clockwork, bearing the same pristine likeness as the others. If its predecessors are any indication, the author is intent on showering her recipient with pseudo-anonymous love letters, and their frequency suggests that he is often on her mind.

Whether or not there's some ulterior motive behind their creation, such as an apology or an attempt to butter the proprietor up, is difficult to place.

<Before, aleirin, wouldst I infer;
To never be dealt such a mortal blow;
As this hiulcity and healthful wound;
That I have erstwhile come to know.

Ruth ye this confusion abounds;
For while I had assuredly been grieved;
Ficulnean journeys over firn nor glen;
Could heal of aught so bereaved.

Betimes, aleirin, I sought inly;
To wist depths whereinto was clove;
Yet thy beat's mighty din became a drum;
And ensorcelled heart yearned to rove.

Weaved deep this ailment an incurable ilke;
Compelled wither yalms once known;
I would stay a thousandfold lives to find;
The panacea in yours alone.>

[Nyssis]

Another unsigned letter arrives for Leithian on the day of Greengrass, though it's otherwise boring presence is made more festive for the occasion. Accompanying a gift rather than being the gift itself, a knotted parchment serves as the thankless tie keeping a sprig of tiny silvery-blue flowers and a white feather secured together.

Unraveling the twined paper reveals its similar poetic contents to the other anonymous notes, each stanza scribed in Espruar with a flowery style of handwriting the recipient is bound to recognize.

<It is said in the depth of winter;
When snow batters about thy naked heart;
You harken its plea for the warmth of summer;
But I have never felt it.

It is said yonside of autumn;
As each leaf departs with a fie for winsome spring;
So too does thy core constrict in hate;
But I have never felt it.

It is said on summer's solstice;
The bitter, neglected sun scalds thy chest;
And within writhes a lust for winter's embrace;
But I have never felt it.

It is said on the last day of spring;
A blooming flower echoes to a lover in leafall;
And its cry makes thy blood flow faster, hotter;
But I have never felt it.

For mine, within any moment of the year;
There is nary a yearn for time or temper;
Soothly a heart impervious to the rest of the wold;
As I have only a heart for you, aleirin.>