Under The Oak Tree - Paramour

You Still Care

Never in his life had Riftan ever felt such hatred for paper. Out of the countless correspondents he had written never before had he felt such trepidation toward putting his words on paper. There was no need for this, Riftan had long ago let go of any anxiety he felt towards his penmanship or grasp on the common tongue. So why, why after years of writing painfully boring correspondence for people he couldn't tolerate, could he not write her one simple letter?

It wasn't for lacked of time, he had already been at Anatol for a few days now, having finally come home, finally away from the infuriated nobles at Drachium and finally away from Gabel and Hebaron's constant pestering and 'advise' that he would never admit was possibly helpful. That not being said, part of him wished they had never opened their mouths. Their words did nothing but fill his head and dreams with visions of Maxi in ways he had never imagined before, leaving him too restless in the morning for his liking, like a teenager who couldn't control himself anymore.

It wasn't for lack of content, not really, however nothing he had didn't feel suitable to write down. Telling her about the bandits they had dispatched on the way to Drachium might only make her worry and no force on earth could make him to tell her of the noble woman he had to kick out of his chambers on the first night they stated at the capital or how more than one noble whispered the word pagan not so subtly under their breath as he walked by.

No, none of that was necessary to tell her.

Riftan looked down at the letter in his hands, trying his best to ignore the several others that laid crumpled up or ripped apart at his feet. He knew he needed to finish by today, his men were already prepared to go for their possibly months-long excursion to remedy their money issue before he 'ruined' them as Ruth so eloquently put it.

It was a necessary trip that he wasn't looking forward to.

No matter how hard he tried, some cruel force seemed to believe it necessary to keep him away from home. True, he would leave in a heartbeat if he knew the destination would lead to her, but this wasn't the case and he desperately wanted to just be home for a moment. To have time to examine his lands and keep watch over the construction, to try and see some improvement in his work, to keep an eye on the people who had placed their loyalty so quickly onto his shoulders.

As he rubbed his hand over his face with one hand his other started to run his thumb over the dried ink on the page, staying quiet for a moment before letting out a dejected sigh that echoed against the barren stone walls of his chambers. Out of every letter he had ever written, why did the one for her have to feel so...impersonal.

It was a terribly short letter, with only real mention that he had arrived back at Anatol safe and on the progress of the wall's construction since she seemed interested in that before and made sure to inform her that he would not be home for some time, though he remained vague as to why and...not much else.

It felt strange to write down anything of real detail. Part of him was still worried about the boy she had put her faith in with their letters. Until he felt secure, he didn't feel the need to risk putting too much on paper.

What good would it do if someone else read how painfully and pathetic he missed her?

How often he found himself looking out at the barren garden and thought of her?

How during his travels, he would catch himself remembering the feeling of her hair in his hands or how it looked shining in the sunlight as he watched the firelight dance.

How badly he just wanted to hold her again, to be swept away by the sound of her voice or the smell of her perfume. Just let her presence sweep away the worries of the world where he could forget for just a moment of the people in Anatol who revered him in a way that made his heart heavy, of Ruth's worrying over his stay at Drachium or his constant nagging for them to figure out how to rebuilt his land before caused his fortune to run dry.