| A Letter to Emilia |
| Summary: | As promised, Henric writes his sister. |
| Date: | 1865-06-27 |
| Related: | Any regarding Henric |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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The small party, consisting of four Lancers, two of whom have been with Letholdus a lot longer than Henric and Oberyn, the Viscount’s servant, and the Viscount himself, had stopped for the evening. The Viscount had made arrangements for them in Rikton and as it was, Henric had a bit of time to himself that evening in the small room that was adjacent to the Viscount’s own.
He was propped up on the single cot, which was practically the only thing in the room for the size of it. A wash basin and a stool had been the only other amenities. He did have a lantern, which he set up on the stool and brought it close to the cot, to give the room a faint orange glow to which he could write a letter beside.
His knees were propped up to act the support for his writing table, which was a copy of “Wind in the Rule”, a philosophy on metaphysics written by Larance Oosterling. Overtop the hard edition, he spread a parchment out, considering the blank page, with a clatter of a flavored Arkanetto between his lips. He had a small pot of ink and a quill, which he had just recently sharped with the edge of a blade to reform the nib.
Finally he reached out to dab the quill into the ink pot and began to write.
My Emilia,
His script was flowing with the line of his letters maintaining a particular swirl and showmanship similar to a gothic font. It was distinctly his own and Emilia would recognize it, for it had the same scope of beauty to it as their mother’s script once had. The hours he spent over the page to perfect his letters is clear to express his nobility in each dip of the quill and ink to the parchment.
I hope this finds you well and not too long after I have written it, for any letters hence forth will likely take some delay in reaching you.
My own wellness can be determined by the fact that I do not bear as many saddle sores for the swiftness that we undertook toward Rikton and gauged by the fanciful flavors the Arkanetto’s assault my senses with. Those will be much appreciated on the road and for each one, you have my gratitude, for they allow me to focus on taste when my mind dwells far too often on the words not spoken and those that were.
Far too often I have spoken when I should have just let my reactions stay where they ought to, as my good brothers taught me to do when at our father’s table. Far too often I do not speak when I should. It is a confusion that I do not even think our father’s lectures could ever straighten out. Mother, she never seemed bothered when I would speak what was on my mind. I miss that Emilia. I miss her.
Here he pauses, to consider what he has written thus far, looking out the tiny window out toward the burning lights of Rikton and the glow the moon casts over the valley of roof tops. A wince comes over him, furrowing his brows as he sighs heavily, continuing after he inks and taps the quill to avoid blotting the page.
Please pass on my apologies to Lady Ashedown, in case that I shouldn’t have the opportunity. She was the unfortunate one to hear tell of words I should have never spoken. It was likely my fear of taking a fondness of her that made me so foolish around her, to the ruin of all that could be between us. And as you’re reading this, do not assume I am besotted dear sister, for I’m afraid I hardly had the opportunity to become as much.
Now I should speak of what I have seen and where my future lies. I am getting on well with the Viscount, which is no surprise. He is an honorable man and easy to speak with. We have discussed at great length some matters which I don’t easily speak about. He has convinced me that I should consider confession, to help unburden the heart and soul. I doubt the results but I will try it, for it has been many years since I have spoken to a priest.
He also spoke to me about the rifts of Country and his possibility of courting the Lady Tarris to help mend such, between Houses. The conversation of and I admit, the slap from our elder sister, made me think of the rifts where they lie in our own family. I hazard a guess, that all these days I spend away, are a cause. I’ll make up for this, I swear.
Yet, the isolation as I accept this journey with the Viscount, will help. I’m trying to be somebody, I’m not trying to be somebody else, despite what everyone else believes. This is my life to lead and I must pursue it, for if there’s any hope of finding answers of who I’m to be, who I want to be - now is the time. The start of the journey has already been worth it.
Perhaps, if lucky, I shall bring home to you the pelt of one of the great ice bears of the wastes, for we go that far. Do you remember the stories I told you about them? In any case, I am very much excited by the prospects of these long roads ahead of me, as I tread into places I could only dream about and read of.
I will write you again soon. I love you, my little Emilia. Pass on my affection to our siblings.
With greatest regards,
Henry.
The letter written, Henric blows on the ink, then sets it aside, to allow it to dry or a few moments longer. He puts aside the volume of philosophy, turning his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing up from it to go linger near the window, elbow going up over his head to lean it against the frame.
He didn’t realize how long he had stood at the window, pensive with his thoughts, until the flicker from the lantern foretold a need to change out the candle. Turning back to the cot, he decides to douse the lantern, as the morning light was already coming in through the window. With a heavy sigh, he crawled cot, to stare up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to drag him down.