Category: Letter

Hello beloved,

Forgive the length of time between our correspondence, and the length of this letter, as I know this one will be long. I am in one of those thinking moods, one where I ponder an idea until the candle burns from tip to base. It is an old habit of mine, from the days where the Spade was on my shield. Night is the time for plotting, for deep thoughts until the sun rises again.

Love is different in the North. Not wrong…I do want to be clear. Love from one’s heart cannot be wrong if it comes with good intentions, much like if one prefers a strawberry tart over a chocolate truffle. How one loves is as vast as the muse for that courtship: It is as unique as the fingerprints of the two hands that hold it. But I want to recount some thoughts of love that I have seen in this past weeks.

First is the love of Helga of Crowza. I enjoyed our chat: She was wise and wore her wisdom as wonderfully as one might done with Capacione’s most fashionable hat – Anyone could see it was of high caliber. I would have spoken many many more hours about her history, but the inquisition interrupted us (Do not get me STARTED on them). She recounted to me how she had not just one love of her life, but several. One of her husbands, she told me, was a coward who ran away from a battle. And, obviously she told me, if one runs from battle it could not be true love.

That idea clung to me like mud on boots as I grabbed by sword and prepared for battle: When one loves it is an act of trust to another. You love what you have seen of them, both their ideas, their wisdom, their beauty, or their truth. When that love is shattered…Was your love wrong?

Or perhaps was the person you loved purely an illusion cobbled with lies that even they did not realize? Did you love the mask the person donned with words and actions and when they dropped the disguise who was at fault? The deceiver, or the one who fell into a trap?

The next day I went back to her (As heroines do in fairytales) and she told me of another husband who died in battle. And while she carried that love to this day through her children and her history, she found another to spend her days with. That love must have been true as well: While a Knight such as myself will only have one great and honest love (as my target of love is as honed as the blade I wield) it cannot be wrong to love many. Not if each love you have is as pure and real and compassionate as mine is for you.

Now, hear me now. If you were to die I would dash myself into the nearest battle and die with you in my thoughts as I removed as many foes as possible for my Brother…But I do not wish that for all. That is not the way their heart is crafted. There are many tales of love in the bookshelves in House Delacroix: And not all of them are like mine nor Helga of Crowza.

I am no poet, you can find many more fluent in the art of essay and poetry in Capacione. But hear me now: I do think there is nothing stronger than Love: Love is what is the foundation of all. Take this last large battle against the corrupt Inquisition: The love of the people of Runeheim is what protect their homestead. Love for my Lady is what holds my shield high when the axes of the enemies crash down upon it. Love is what binds my brother and I across boundless roads and will get us through the turmoil that is starting to brew underneath the floorboards under our positions (That I will not share with you darling, you do not need to know nor do I wish to burden you with more secrets).

I am babbling, you know how I get when I start to think too deeply about this sheer force of power that binds and connects people. And while I did list all those examples of Love…Recognize that you, my Beloved, are my muse and my strength. You will be my only until I die.

And I pray that, when I do return to Capacione, I see you first. If news from the estate is true and my family’s plans are accelerating, I will prove that devotion to you in the only way possible. I am not Helga of Crowza: I am Lorelei, the Knight of Hearts of House Jokeri. You will always be my greatest Love, and I refuse to have another.

To my Darling,

I know it has been several weeks since we last departed, but I still feel the heat of your palm in my hand as we said our goodbyes. I was told that time dulls all pain, but still I feel the ache in my heart at not seeing your smile as the sun rises on our morning rides together.

Please allow me a moment to distract myself from my own heavy heart and write of other love that I have found between the clashing of swords as I fight for my Lady. While you will not get my letters till I return and read them to you myself, I do not want to forget what I have witnessed here. Even in the North, where the ice is the heaviest and winters the most frigid, love blossoms under the lack of light!

The first tale I weave is one that I have heard of my companion Lucian Greenfield. He is a quiet fellow in my company, though after pestering him with questions I hear of his true love Angela! And while their love is one of courtship and devotion, even producing a child named Peter as a symbol of their affection, it was…Well…I am to be bold, if I am going to write of it I will need to add a stroke of poetic liberty. I wanted to transform the tale of their meeting to be equivalent to that of the power I felt in his words and the love beating in his heart!

~ They met when their carriage was attacked by BANDITS. Two individuals connected by not a strand of fate, but by the will to survive! Individually traveling in a merchant’s carriage, not even names shared between them before the first bolt of an arrow of fire was launched at them! The door was lit aflame and the two of them jumped into action. It was at the edge of a cliff, the horses threatening to pull the carriage off the cliff sides if not for the quick wit of Angela (The aforementioned soon-to-be-lover) who opened the opposite door of the carriage and leaned out of it, stopping it from caterwauling off the side!!!!!! But the bandits were just as cunning as they were vile. They had in their sights the ransom payments for such a beautiful woman in her prime with a large dowry, who knows how much she would fetch?!

But Lucian would not allow it! He leapt forward and atop the carriage fought off not one, not two, but THREE bandits with nothing but his love and fists (Obviously he should have used his weapons, there was no time to draw them)! And after he threw them all off the sides, narrowly catching the hand of his beloved (THE FIRST TIME THEY HELD HANDS) before she fell beneath the thunderous spinning wheels of the carriage. And as they looked into each other’s eyes, truly their Souls, for the first time…The Bandits sent a final poisoned arrow flying from their cursed bow and POISONED HIM.

How could death try and steal him, when he had just met his beloved? But perhaps all in the fate of Love. Though she was entranced by his willingness to fight for her, when not a Knight himself, it was their conversation while she nursed him back to help that knitted their lives together in a beautiful tapestry. And who would not be seduced by the passion of the moment followed by caring for another, cleaning the bleeding and festered wound? Because what is one kind of love if not a bond kindled by battle but then softly fed by tender moments of conversation, a smile. A shared joke while pushing through a moment of pain. ~

I miss you, my Beloved. While a story like this one does bring a smile to my face, I truly miss yours.

With all my love and soul,

Lorelei

Dear son,

Eighteen years ago, I left you asleep in your cradle next to the bed I shared with your father. Never had I imagined you’d be at my doorstep now. I envisioned a safe life for you, far away from me and the insanity of your grandfather. A life where you were raised to be a strong man, a sane man, well taken care of with a full belly to warm you each night.

As a mother, it’s in most of us to have a nature to seek out what is best for our children. You, young Trygve, will do better without me to poison your life. Leaving you is what was best, staying far from you is what is best, your father was meant to be what is best for you. He wa kind, he was caring, he was loyal, and he was so much more than I could ever be for you.

I left you with the name of my father in hopes that you’d clear it, make it whole, and leave a proper and proud legacy behind for him. A legacy not of a broken man who has lost himself, his wife, and his only son also named Trygve.. all because of me, you see? I’m a curse. I brought all this I’ll fortune upon our family.

When my mother gave up her life to keep our bellies full, I failed my brother and he fell to sickness because I didn’t know the first thing about caring for a young child. I still don’t, it’s why I left you to begin with. I hoped and I prayed each night that you could thrive and stay far away, alas.. maybe this curse is in my blood and you have now inherited it, despite all of my attempts to prevent it from grabbing hold of your soul.

Here you are, at my doorstep, having tracked me down because the one good person you had has been taken away from you. I’ve promised to teach you all that I can, but I cannot fathom that anything you learn from me will be what you’ll need to survive in this cold world as a man.

I cannot shield you from the terrors of the night, I cannot promise to keep your belly full, all I can teach you is how to be hungry and how to expect that life is a cruel and unforgiving monster. I can teach you about heartache, about lust, about how one day you may fall in love so deeply with someone who may not love you the same way back. I can show you what it feels like to hurt, to watch your people die around you, to pick up the scraps of the careless left behind and try to forge your own life. But is this really something a young man needs?

Will my tragedies be passed down to you? If they are, run. Run and don’t look back, because running away will be the only thing that can keep you alive. You can tell everyone that you are chasing something down, something important, in a hopes that maybe it’ll make you look far less a coward than I. But, I’ll be honest, some days I wonder if I’m even more sane than your grandfather.

I wonder if this life of following Knut for me has only been a distraction from the failings and shortcomings I’ve had all these years. I wonder if anyone else notices and if they do, why haven’t they told me? Is it because they feel sorry for me? If it is, what a pathetic life I’ve lived thus far. This is not the legacy I wish upon you, this is not the inheritance I wanted to bestow.

Find someone strong to be at your side, to keep you safe, and learn from them as much as you can. If your love interest tells you that you need to make 500 gold to marry him, find someone who will love you and respect you instead without stipulations and strings attached. Despite the smile on my face and eagerness to fulfill Knut’s request, despite the begging for his love, deep down I’ve always known he doesn’t actually love me. Let yourself be happy and don’t waste time on those who may not provide you with that happiness.

As a mother’s wish, if you want to do anything for me after I’ve done nothing for you, find happiness and hold it close to you. Don’t let it go, ever. I’m sorry that your father was too weak to stay alive longer for you. And I’m sorry you ever found me.

Also, don’t ever pay the price for goods that you would sell them at, ask to buy it for less. Always sell for more than the price you’d pay.

Good luck, Trygve. I can feel my time here will be ending soon and I hope that you do not join me
It is in your best interest. Stay with Tora and she will teach you all the things I would have.