(1865-11-02) Two Letters
Two Letters
Summary: Henric replies to Emilia and Jaren
Date: 1865-11-02
Related: Cassomir stuffz
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Henric  

with letters to

Emilia  Jaren  

One arm, two letters to read and write.

A long heavy sigh left him as he sat back against the hay bale, attention drawn to the four horses he had on the property he was titled to. They had come in close to him, Keeper more purposefully than the others, munching on the low eaten grass and mouthing the hay from around where he sat, though never too close, as if afraid he'd halter them. The amusement over the animals only went so far, as he knew he could not avoid the letters any further.

Emilia. Jaren.

He started with Jaren's first.

He fumbled with cracking the wax and when his fingers unfolded the parchment he was initially surprised. Not by the content, but there lack of. He flipped it over to make sure he wasn't missing something. He wasn't. It was one sentence in length.

Henric,

All restrictions and requirements concerning your travel to and from Ironhold are hereby rescinded.

Jaren

There could only be one explanation for it. The rumors were true. The betrothal was off. He felt a chill run up and down his spine for it. His hand crumpled the paper as he lifted it to his forehead, closing his eyes tight as he grit his teeth against the weight of what wasn't said. His hand withdrew the letter and he stared at the lettering again. There was little he could glean from it.

If there was any way that he was implicated for the cause of this broken betrothal, Henric was going to be in trouble in ways he couldn't possibly fathom. Retribution would be one, if not from his brother, then from the people of Galenthia…and Aequor.

What would he write in response?

No. Nothing. Not yet. Best to take his mind off it.

Emilia's letter.

Now her's, he wasn't surprised by the content. A conflicted amusement for her lengthy remarks and a sadness for her admission to struggling with writing him a letter. They had been so easy once, to write. She had been easy to write too. Now, it seemed utterly difficult for them both.

He read her letter in full. His head lulled back to rest up against the stack of hay, closing his eyes in some anticipation of thought surfacing to form a response.

Nothing came.

With a heavy heart he pushed himself up and started back toward the manse.

Answers would come or they wouldn't.

He was detached from it all.


Hours Later


He had spent time looking for a token for Emilia. The markets of Firen were decent, though everything he had looked at struck him as hollow and senseless. Nothing seemed … right.

He finally had enough and retired back to the manse, hopeless of finding something suitable as a token … until he remembered something.

His feet would take him up to his parent’s room, a room they had all agreed to keep sealed out of respect or perhaps, no one wanted to really deal with the loss and the emptiness of their parents room. Even the servants had been told to keep out. Henric, once titled with the manse, had kept the orders.

Only, he found himself breaking his own rule. The old iron key that had sealed the door he had located, in the secure box, behind the old painting. With the key in hand, he walked the long corridor and up the steps to the second floor. It struck him odd how quiet the manse was. His brothers with their wives, his parents, his siblings… they had all once laughed and played here as well as Ironhold, when their politics would draw them from the forests.

He paused at the doorway, looked at the lock and inserted the key.

The lock made a heavy thunk and the door protested on unused hinges.


Hours Later


By the time Henric had finished within the room, the hour had grown late and his eyes stung from how tired he had been. He had gathered one of the household servants he hired to aid him with his next task.

He set down the item he had retrieved from his parent's room, pulling out his study chair to sit behind the desk, in reach of ink and parchment.

He was ready to write.

Emilia,

I do not know how to express or analyze the conflicting emotions that have surged like a storm through my heart. What do you do when your entire identity is destroyed in an instant? How do you cope when your whole life story turns out to be wrong?

I suspect you know my little Em. You've always known and show me how ill of thinking I've been.

You have the greatest soul, the noblest nature, the sweetest, most loving heart I have ever known. My dear sister, my reverence, my admiration for you, you have increased in one evening.

You are more wonderful and lovely in my eyes than you ever were before; and my pride and joy and gratitude that you should love me still with such a perfect love are beyond all expressions, except in some great poem which I cannot write.

May this find you and keep your days bright as it once did for our beloved mother. Know that when I cannot shield you in the darkness, you have but to listen, and in doing so, you will know you are not alone.

Call for me and I will come.

I love you always,

Henry.

He had one of the house servants aid him in folding the parchment and sealing it with wax. The letter is sent with a musical jewelry box - one that Henric was responsible for making. He made the outer box before one of his tutors had brought him to a special toy maker to include the wind-up musical components. It was highly treasured by his mother. She left it in Firen by accident, otherwise it would have been burned like everything else in Ironhold.

Those long hours he had spent his parent's room, he had listened to the music countless times as he wept. Now, with dry eyes, he was sending it to Emilia. Perhaps she would realize the significance of it, even if she couldn't hug the box like a doll. She was too old for dolls.

It was the second letter he was struggling to write.

He sat looking at an empty page, long enough that the servant had gone off to see the first parcel delivered and sent off, while returning with a meal.

Still, as Henric reminded himself to eat, he stared at the blank page.

Finally, he set quill to parchment.

I am aggrieved and troubled by what was not said and find myself unhappy for the restrictions lifted, as if some ill omen comes with your recession of that particular order.

There is talk that I did not wish to justify by listening. I would have hoped to have word that it wasn't true, yet, I find your last letter in some unspoken evidence that it is, in fact true.

How now do I remain your brother?

I would do as you asked of me, if you were to ask anything of me now.

Henry.

That was the best he could do.

This too was folded and handed off to the servant, with an additional request, "Bring me some milk of the poppy…and some whiskey…"

It was a combination that would work to dull the pain…

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