An Unsent Letter . . .

[Tejas]

How long has it been?
Too long and not long enough.
Too long to remember, but not long enough to forget.
How much time has passed? Does it even matter? Does time matter at all to one such as I? To one such as her?
Almost three years. That is the answer. Almost three years since I have looked upon her face. That wonderful, beautiful, ageless face.
Sionna, ussta 'chev, I am sorry. But I had to go. I had to. Every time I look at you, I see her. She had your eyes, green, deep and sparkling, like fine emeralds. When I look into your eyes, I see her lying in your arms, the arrow in her side. I hear her struggling for breath. I see your expression of anguish, a mirror to my own.
It is too much, ussta 'chev.
And so I had to go.
In the night, like a thief, with not a word, not even a note left behind. But I left you in the care of friends, trusted and loyal. Please, do not blame them. They had no knowledge of my departure, no warning that I might flee.
But then, neither did I.
I pen these words as though I write a letter to you, 'chev. But I know that I will not send it to you. It will, like all the others, remain here in this journal, this book of lamentations that none, save I, will ever read.
And still I ask you, in this nowhere-bound missive, how long must I wait? How long before I am free of this pain? How long before the loss deadens away to a dull ache in my heart? And is that what I really want to happen?
Do I really want to forget our daughter, ussta 'chev? Do I want to erase our child, our little Shiroi, from my memories?
I am cleft in two.
I cannot stand to live with the anguish that grips my very soul. Nor can I let go of the precious images that are fading all-too-quickly from my thoughts.
(Sigh)
Sionna, I am sorry. There is much with which I must come to terms. And I cannot drag you along through the hells that I must travel. I cannot put you through worse than what you have already suffered. So, you see, I cannot yet return to your side. Not yet.
Forgive me . . .

[Tejas]

I saw her again today, Sionna.

Well I know that she is gone, and yet, I still saw her.

Oh, my beloved, you would think me a madman, a crazed fool, if you were to see what I have become. Many nights, I fall asleep in dark alleys, my purse heavy with coin that could have given me a fine room in most inns. I often go a tenday or more without washing, afraid to look into water, afraid that I might see her beside me in the reflection. I watch only my own feet when near crowds of people, for fear that I will see her presence in the face of another’s child.

And yet, I have begun to see her when I am alone, walking the dusty road from one place to another. Everywhere I look, she is there.

And my heart breaks a little more each time.

I know that I have been unfair to you, leaving you behind. I know that you, too, need time to grieve. And I feel that I am falling so far away from myself that I shall never know who I am again.

I have . . . done things, Sionna. Dark things. Evil things.

In need of money, I returned to that same life I led before we met, selling my sword and my magic to those that had work. A den of bandits here, a stolen family heirloom there. Things that helped people. Good work. Honest work.

But I learned that I could almost forget myself, forget who I am and what I have lost, when I threw myself into the heat of combat. And when the good and honest work began to run out, I still needed that rush to make me forget.

I took on work that would sicken you, of only you knew. I began to justify the reputation of my kind. Such things . . .

I am sorry, my love. I never meant to sway so far from the path. I never meant to hurt the innocent. If they were to bring me to answer for my wrongs, I doubt that I would have to will to struggle. What would be the point?

Our daughter is dead.

More than two thousand miles distant, and I am almost certain that I still cause you pain. But I promise you, Sionna, it will not always be like this. The more I seek the din of battle, the more I thrust myself into harm’s way, my odds of survival rapidly decline.

I begin to wonder, if I ever return to you, will you know me? Will you see only a stranger when you look upon my face? And will I know you? Will I remember you and the loss that we shared?

It does not matter. This is but another of the many, many letters to you that I shall never send. And tomorrow, it will be five years since I left. I pray our friends are with you still.

I love you, Sionna. But I must remain lost for a time.

[Tejas]

My dearest Sionna.

It seems that all I ever do anymore is pen my musings in the tattered book. A book filled with letters that I shall never send, that you shall never read. More and more, I wish that I could return to you. But I am uncertain as to whether that shall ever be possible. For, while I do so long to be with you once more, I find myself doubting that I am ready to confront the pain it will surely cause. And I wonder if you would know me at all.

It is a strange thing. It has been nine years, almost to the day, since I left. And my desire to see you has begun to affect more than my dreams. Here and there, I catch a glimpse of auburn hair and I expect you to turn around and smile at me. And when you turn, it is never you. Only a stranger.

Until yesterday.

I know she was not you. But my thoughts dwell with you so much that, as the woman turned, I could not breath. True, she was a great distance away, so I could not see her in great detail. But I felt my heart pause for a moment, waiting for her to show some sign that she saw me, that she recognized me.

She did neither.

But I should have known that it was not you. The woman had with her a child. Boy or girl, I could not tell, as the child was heavily-cloaked against the cold of winter. Either way, it mattered not. She was not you, could never have been you, for you are leagues upon thousands of leagues distant. And here sit I, alone in this chill room in a nigh-rundown inn, penning uselessly away by the meager light of the window. No, I fear that you are forever lost to me, as am I to you-

Wait a moment. There is someone at the door . . .

* * * * *

Laying the quill along the middle of the worn book, which he then lay open upon the cot, the dark elf, Tejas, slowly rose to his feet. He pushed a small cork into the ink bottle to prevent it spilling, then set it on the small table beside the cot. His boots gave light scuffing sounds against the floorboards as he moved toward the door. There was nothing that could have prepared him for the face he saw when he opened it.

"Samui?" he said, blinking several times, thinking that his eyes decieved him.

"Well met, old friend," came the reply. The knight, Kori Samui, still had a youthful appearance to him, seeming no more than a boy, despite the faint scar on his cheek and the slight darkening of his once-blonde hair. His pale blue eyes still sparkled. "How have you fared, these long years?"

"But-" The dark elf had to pause to find his words. "How- How did you get here? How did you find me?"

Samui shook his head. "It most certainly was not an easy task. By intention or not, you can be a difficult man to find. We have been looking for you for nigh three years now."

The elf raised an eyebrow in question. "We? What do you mean?"

"Between Darckin, Tobias and myself, we were finally able to trace your path an-"

"No," Tejas interrupted, "you cannot be here! I told you in my letter that I was not to be followed! I left Sionna in your care, in all of your care! That the three of you would set out after me and leave her-"

"But they didn't," a soft voice cut him off. A cloaked figure moved into view to stand next to the knight. "Had they not come, I would have come without them." Delicate hands came up and pulled back the hood of the cloak, revealing stunning green eyes like flawless emeralds. The woman's face was fair, but not so fair that she freckled easily, and her face was shrouded by waves of auburn hair. "You have run from yourself for long enough, my husband. It is time for you to come home."

The dark elf felt his heart leap with joy at the sight of her. Despite the years and the near-mythical image he'd held in his memory, she was more beautiful than he could ever recall.

But he shook his head sadly. "I cannot. There is so much . . . so much that you do not know."

"And much that you should know, my love," she countered. She looked to the side and made a beckoning motion. After a few seconds, a young boy came into sight, pressing close to the woman, as if unsure. The boy glanced at the dark elf with grey eyes, intense and intelligent. His hair was snow white and just short, just above his gently pointed ears. The skin of his face and hands was a very light shade of grey, telling away the non-human part of his heritage. "Tejas, I want you to meet Tearva."

"Your son."