<A Letter, Newly Laid Away.>
Dearest El,
It was difficult to return from my homelands to find more sad news waiting for me. I had heard, vaguely, that there was trouble in Bree. I had no idea how bad it was until I got back and was able to hear the news from my friends. When I asked after you, I was told that you were killed.
And to think, my last remembrance of you is of your countenance turned to the sky, admiring the stars. To think, that it will be the last -- that I was unable to say good-bye. I knew, somehow, that this might happen with us; I expected it, to an extent, but not so soon. Forgive me for being weak, forgive me that I cannot give you up just yet. Forgive me for troubling your soul with these writings, for I can find no other way to grieve -- none, my love, that would keep me from doing something utterly rash, that would see me join you quickly in death. I know that is not what you would want for me, so, I write.
I visited him who killed you and spoke with him. I have so many inhospitable and evil wishes for him, El, that it is quite unlike me. I resist them all as best I can and forced myself, when I visited him, to be kind. I pity him, for he is mad and has no friends to keep him from doing ill.
Is it fair to say that I miss you terribly? Or that I wish -- I wish -- oh, so many things. I cannot give them names or numbers. But here I will close.
Yours Faithfully,
Faelalan.
