There is, over in Raddon, a small stone house that borders on the clear river that runs through the settlement. It is but a three room affair. The principal room is filled with all the things that one might call the comforts of home: tables, chairs, two fireplaces that keep the long room warm. The two smaller rooms account for a bedroom and a sort of study where the owner keeps all her treasures.
Outside, the home is surrounded by trees that give shade to the humble abode in the summer and shelter it from the snow and winds in winter. There are flowering shrubs there, mostly rhodedendron in hues of the brightest pink one can imagine. There is even a small well, where the Mistress of the house may draw water easily and at her will and never have to stir more than a few steps from home.
In short, the house is comfortable and convenient, won by many hours of hard work and adventuring in a day when she was younger and stronger than she is now. Today she sits beneath one of her shade trees with a small writing desk on her lap. On it are several sheets of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Her slender fingers are stained black with writing and some of the sheets are already full of her elegant script.
Dearest El,
I dreamed... I dreamed that you were still alive. I woke and saw your face next to mine and was overcome with joy, for surely they had been mistaken in pronouncing you dead. Here you were, lying next to me in bed, smiling and watching me as I opened my eyes and stretched and began to throw off the heavy quilts. Instead, I found myself wrapping my arms 'round your neck and sobbing like a child.
I thought that you might find me weak for it, but you smoothed back my hair and kissed my cheeks and lips. You did not speak, but I did not want you to. I wanted to stare, to drink you in, to remember the face I loved best when it could still smile and frown upon me. You kissed me many times and each time I returned your embrace. I had thought that I should go the rest of my days without ever seeing you again.
At last you spoke and said unto me that you had missed me and that you loved me. It was then that I understood; you had come to say good-bye. I clung to you and begged you not to speak; I begged you to simply lie by my side and soothe the ache that your passing had given me. But you quieted me with another kiss and told me that you must, for you could not stay long. You told me to let go. To leave you and find happiness elsewhere.
You kissed me once more and then left me. How could you?
But I must let go, musn't I? To hold on, to cling to you when you would wish to go is not fair, nor is it kind. I think, my love, that this will be my last letter to you. Though I will mourn you always, I will no longer hold your spirit captive or trouble it with my worldly cares.
I will leave you with some happy news. I have more friends -- Durem, a Bear-Man, a good fellow who is both gentle and kind. A slew of dwarves whose names I cannot remember just now, but whose beards are as fine as they are. Lastly, a new acquaintance, whose countenance much resembles your own. So, my love, though I miss you, I am making strides in moving on without you.
But, it is so very hard. Still, I will try for your sake. Good-bye, my love. I shall write no more, but know that my heart will always be yours.
Your loving,
Faelalan.
