1866-04-22: Constant companion
Title
Summary: With the rains lashing their current position, Sir Wulfred settles within his tent and writes a letter to his wife.
Date: 1866-04-22
Related: A stab in the dark & Avril Fools
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Wulfred  

It had taken some time to dry out from his last excursion out into the rain, but Sir Wulfred had returned to a steaming pot of tea, a roaring fire stoked with the old and battered iron brazier that warmed the tent and more often than not set fire to the rug before it. Thank heavens for quick-footed squires and attendants. A slurp of tea, a ruffle of the beard and an idle stroking of the scar that wound across his neck, healed thank the One and even with the regrown section of beard, still quite noticeable. Another scar. Another battle. Quill in hand, the ink began to scrawl its way across the parchment.

My dear beloved,

The rain hasn't ceased in too long a time which serves our purposes as much as it serves theirs. But what does that matter? I've spent far too long away from home and I miss you. I miss the laughter, the way your eyes crinkle and that damned dirty laugh you have. Though we've little cause to laugh of late, we shouldn't be outliving our children and all I can think to offer you from this waterlogged tent is revenge. A stupid burden. A horrible burden. A burden that we're better off without. With each Thorn I kill I feel no better. The part of me still empty. Seventy or so of them lie dead in a copse not far from here, by my own hand and by my own orders, mouldering and feeding carrion and Gytha still remains

Wulfred stared at the parchment and exhaled, another sip of the tea soon following as he stared at the words, each one staring back just as intently.

lost to us. At least not in memory, though I fear at times that I can't remember her face. But such are the foolish ramblings of your husband, I love you dearly and remain proud to be your husband. A truer companion one could never have hoped for and by the One you've put up with a lot. I'll be home once the uprising is dealt with.

Again he stared at the last few words and laughed, a faint humourless bark of a laugh that caused his dozing attendant to jerk awake, only for Wulfred to calm her with a gently raised hand, "I'm starting to forget what they all look like."

"Sir Wulfred?"

"Just talking to myself, haven't been home in far too long and even after… after… I barely stayed long enough to bury…"

A grunt escapes the old knight and another sip of tea is taken, though it is with a faint hint of distaste that he regards the cup an its cold offerings. A brow arched and a glance offered the drowsy attendant though nothing more is said as he lets the attendant drift back to sleep. The dregs left to grow ever colder within the old battered cup. Soon enough the quill was dipped and began to scratch across the parchment once more.

But then I expected to be home after the last battle and the battle before that. Long enough to make a difference perhaps. The reason we're here approaches fast enough though, know that should good fortune desert me that I love you and the children, adults as they are now and even as I ride into this approaching storm of fire and shot my thoughts will be of each and everyone of you.

The cold dregs are soon swirled as the quill is set down and the cold cup brought to his lips, the liquid savoured even despite its temperature. Sucking breath through his teeth, the bearded knight regards the parchment for a while longer before grasping the quill once more.

Know that I am as ever your constant companion as you are mine. We'll be together soon enough and I cannot wait to hold you within my arms. Be strong as much for me as for yourself.

Love,

A loving husband and father.

The quill finally popped back within the old inkpot that had seen many better days before being liberated by the Spurs from one skirmish or another and slowly the letter was sanded and blown free of the detritus before being folded and sealed with a lump of wax into which Wulfred's crest was pressed. With a flip of the letter, a single name was etched upon the back of the folded parchment by the ink-dabbed quill.

Constance

And then finally the letter was set upon the desk in plain view should his good fortune fail him.

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