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[rowancrowned]

 

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slipped under his door, late at night.

[elegiaque]

Thranduil;

I am not very good at telling people things that I need them to know. You would think that this is strange - not you, you've known me too long and too well - because I am, as you know, a writer. You might be surprised that I know it, but I'm not insensible to my flaws, I just prefer not to think about them. And I have a lot that I'd like to say. In the usual way of things I would write them into verse and send the package to my publisher and it would be in the world under another name and I would never talk about it again, and that would be that, but in this instance I think I might have to try to say them to the person who's meant to hear them.

Unfortunately I don't know if I would manage it, in person. You would interrupt me or I wouldn't even need the interruption, I'd become uncomfortable and twine my fingers in your hair and change the subject, which is pleasant, and as productive as anything needs to be when no one is making any decisions because of mysterious things about your Nature, but even so. I think that some things it turns out should be said, from time to time, and as I am always better on paper than in person:

here we are.

I love you, very much.

Morrigan said to me that I should live gloriously. That the world is bitter and cruel and I am to take what I can seize from it with both hands and not let go; the world does not care for me so why should I care for it, why should I not be selfish and wild and have what makes me happy. I want to be selfish and wild and it doesn't matter to me if we can't tell anyone we marry because it isn't as if I ever intended to marry anyone else, anyway, fleeting errors in judgment about the constancy of certain individuals notwithstanding.

You are, without exception, the most vexatious man I have ever encountered and I can see your brows right now, you are reading this and you are correcting me in my use of 'man' and that is vexing, also, we don't have another word, you are a vexatious man. You keep secrets. I have also kept secrets and shouldn't object but I am a hypocrite so it annoys me. You courted endless provocations in Orlais and it annoyed me because I have tried very hard - harder than you know - to be the thing that was asked of me but also because I was afraid that you would go around being so much yourself and the wrong person would take it amiss and I would never have the opportunity even to tell you that I told you so, which I did. And you don't appreciate how hard I've tried or why and you don't understand. And it ruined everything. Everyone heard me cry out for my mama but you and then she was gone and I had tried so hard I tried to protect her

( The ink between sentences is slightly different, dried at a different rate. )

I couldn't tell you the truth and I couldn't lie to you. I couldn't pretend it wasn't what it was, to you. And it made me so horridly, desperately angry. I felt as if you'd given me something that was very important and then you'd taken it away again because I couldn't have it any more as it used to be, and I was angry with you for that. For leaving me alone, and for not even knowing you were doing it. For being what you are, when I'm not allowed. When even if the whole world knew what I am, I would not be welcome as you are. What am I, after all, but an insult? A reminder of conquest. Look what humans can do.

I was angry because I love you, very much, and I keep losing everything I love. Asher died, and then Mistress Baudin who I barely knew and owe so much, and I couldn't turn to you, and then Alexander left as well and I don't feel free to reach for things, I feel as if the Maker is trying to tell me to stop, that they'll never be for me, that I am a silly girl who doesn't deserve. But I want to live gloriously, you see. I keep thinking that perhaps I can. I keep thinking: this time. And it never is. And there is a possibility, I know, a very real one that this is not that time. You will find something and it will tell you that I'm wrong and you're not for me, either. And all there will be for me to do is let you go.

So I want you to know - it is important to me that you know - that I don't take any of it lightly. You've been a friend to me whether I liked it or not. You've been patient with me when I didn't deserve it and also when I did. You've shared things with me that I wouldn't have imagined being privy to, when we first met. You were the biggest elf I'd ever seen and you said 'elfling' and I don't remember why it was but I remember imagining you with a rose between your teeth, the most ridiculous image, and I liked you at once, and wanted to know about you. I didn't imagine any of this, then. I have been, for some time now, only I thought it was ridiculous because obviously, you know, why wouldn't it be. And suddenly it wasn't ridiculous and I don't know if I knew what to do, I don't know if I did the right thing. You promised not to leave. I don't know if I made you understand why I need you to stay.

I want you to know that I don't

You aren't just a pretty thing I want. I have lots of pretty things. I love you. I wish I were good at it.

Yours most inconveniently,
G.

postscript;

Please burn this.