[prompt] and i feel the leaves dying to the very core
My own lady,
Our engagement is broken; I have not forgotten. You will forgive me this small impertinence, paling as it does in comparison to the rest of them. Nevertheless, you are my own and I must rely upon you to remember, as I have always relied on you. I've wondered, lately, what you could have been thinking of when you came to me outside Demos; I knew that you would and you did, but I'd anticipated a different sort of greeting. I recall it took some time for you to come to your full indignance, that you did greet me, that I surprised you. I wonder most of all what you'd come for. I wonder if you'd have come with me if I'd asked - I wouldn't have asked that of you, but perhaps I should have. Do you think so? Does it weigh on you that I didn't? How many times have I not thought of you. I've never needed to, with your inventive hands and sharp laughter to draw my attention when it wanders - but I have wandered too far and we are altogether more apart than I imagined we could be.
You aren't unconquerable, but you wish you were; you asked me once why I wanted to marry you and this is why. I thought I could preserve in you what I loved before it was stifled and destroyed, but I can see it dying every day, left to childhood when there's no true need. You will grow and grieve and forget, and become stately, and for that I am more sorry than you'll ever know. But perhaps you won't. Perhaps I will remind you of your troublesome heart the way you reminded me of my manners. Perhaps I will be near, by chance or by design, and perhaps I will take back what is mine and what I lost by mere thoughtlessness. Perhaps you hate me a little less than you have loved me.
Perhaps, even, you would understand if only I'd explain it to you - you've always tried your very hardest to understand, and so often you do. Your mind is very quick, and I wish you'd stop pretending otherwise. Ladylike is what a lady is, and you are clever. I wouldn't have had you any other way. If this nonsense settles as you grow, it might almost be worth the tempering of your temperament. (But do stop that.)
Here I suppose I could tell you where I am, and what occupies me; I think not, as beyond the untrustworthiness of messengers I am considering your tendency towards spitefulness that sometimes overcomes your cleverness and forethought. You understand that there are those - your father among them - who I could do without the unexpected pleasure of. The entire Pandion order, as an example off the cuff. Sparhawk, in particular, was forthright about what he thought ought to be done with me - but you must always trust Lady Sephrenia. I can't, but you can and I expect you to. Do you understand me? If you need counsel, go to her first of all. Your mother is a fool, a fool who knows nothing of the people she disdains, and if you allow your weakness to make her your guide you are not half the woman I wanted to marry. You could be so much more than you are; I wanted to make you so much more than you are.
On the subject of marriage - if it crosses your mind what became of your ring after you threw it (I see you had practised as I said), you might ask me. And I might have it for you, in due course. There are things to be set right, and I know that when I have you still will be my ally.
You are my own, my lady, and I will see you again.
Your servant,
M.
The wax-sealed letter waits, and waits, and waits to be sent - a trustworthy messenger is difficult to come by, he reasons with himself - and eventually he simply loses the damned thing in the midst of a nice little fight in Lamorkand.
(She is, but he won't.)