Love Letters

My dearest Ryndoril,

Words can never be enough to express the depth of my

Ondolemar growled at himself in anger, ripping the paper from the pile in front of him and crumpling it to a ball. A quick flame spell in his palm turned it to ash. Pathetic, he thought to himself. What a ridiculous attempt. If he were any more cliché, it’d be a miracle.

He was trying to write a letter to Ryndoril; he didn’t have a particular reason, but he simply wanted to. The Bosmer had been gone for several days, and Ondolemar missed him; what better time to write a romantic letter to the wood elf? It was, after all, something many did when courting another, and knowing the Bosmer as well as he did, it was sure to make him smile.

Now if only he could make it sound like something sensible, and not something an idiot juvenile would write!

Ryndoril,

I miss you.

Are you kidding me? Ondolemar thought contemptuously, turning this page to ash as well. What kind of sorry excuse for romance was that? I miss you?

He rolled his eyes at himself, trying to think of some romantic lines he’d heard of or read in books.

Your lips are like

What? What were the Bosmer’s lips like? They were like lips, for Auri-El’s sake! His hand was starting to blacken a little from the ash now.

I count the minutes until I see your beautiful face again.

Ondolemar read that line a couple of times; it was decent, anyway. Better than anything else he’d come up with. Then again, as he thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. Who would actually sit and count off minutes until their lover returned?

Snorting in disgust at himself, he burned this paper to embers as well. Realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere, he stood up, beginning to pace back and forth in his room, glad his guards hadn’t bothered to disturb him this evening. He tried again to think of something romantic to make the Bosmer smile.

I like being near you.

Well, that much was obvious, Ondolemar shook his head angrily. He was far more eloquent than that; surely he could do better.

Your presence brings me joy

Joy? Perhaps it was true, but that was certainly never a term he wanted associated with himself. Far too…excited. Bubbly.

Like Ryndoril, he thought with a smirk. If there was one word to describe the Bosmer, it would most certainly be joyful. Hmm…

Your joyful nature brings me joy

Oh, there he went again! Ondolemar growled low in his throat at himself, seriously annoyed now. That sentence barely even made sense. It sounded stupid. He was being stupid. This should not be so difficult. He’d read poetry; he enjoyed poetry, Divines’ sake. Why couldn’t this work?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

It was the beginning to one of his favorite poems, actually; but it had been written by someone from Summerset, not Skyrim. What would anyone stuck in this cold place know about a proper summer’s day anyway?

And besides, he told himself, Ryndoril is not a season, or even a fleeting day in one! To be enjoyed then quickly forgotten – no. That would never do. An idea came to him then, all at once, and he excitedly sat down to put pen to paper with the thought.

Thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, that then I scorn to change my state with kings.

It was another line from a poem he had enjoyed; never having felt this way about anyone else before, he’d not related to it so well, but now he could certainly see its appeal. But as deeply as he felt for the Bosmer, it was not love – certainly not. One could not fall in love so quickly, and to claim as much was childish.

And in any case, he thought smugly, it was quite ridiculous to suggest he wouldn’t give up the Bosmer for wealth and power; he would never need to. A superiorly-bred Altmer could have both, and never think twice about it. Fine, he sneered at himself. If you’re going to make it sound ridiculous, then come up with something better! Crumpling up this page as well, he set fire to it without a thought, causing more ash to pile next to him and coat his hand.

When you are not with me, I feel

Angry, he finished in his head. Clearly. Some romantic letter that made. The new piece of paper joined the rest in a pile of ash.

He dragged the inked pen over the clean sheet of paper in front of him; ash marred the surface, but he was simply scratching out nothing in particular in order to clear his head and calm himself down. He had enough to annoy him daily; why was he bothering to put himself through this if it was going to simply make him angry?

For Ryn, a voice in his head murmured, conjuring up a picture of the Bosmer’s laughing face along with it. Everything about him softened at remembering Ryndoril’s smile; a small smile of his own even graced his lips. Of course. For Ryn. The precious Bosmer who had turned his world around, who could calm him with a simple smile, could please him with a simple touch. The Bosmer who meant more to him than anyone ever had since he’d lost his brother.

So then why couldn’t he put it into words? He thought in frustration. He was a well-educated, well-read, eloquently-spoken Altmer. What was the matter with him?

You are my respite from the drudgery of my work. Too depressing.

I see you and my heart fills with joy. There was that stupid word again, joy. Why was it even a word anyway?

You are the mer that I have chosen. Well, didn’t that sound formal and boring and obvious!

Why don’t you simply fall at my feet and be done with it?

“Oh, yes, Ondolemar, well done. Very romantic,” he muttered to himself. Another growl, another burnt paper.

After several more failed attempts and subsequent burnt papers – one of which he’d dropped too quickly and singed his desk with – he put his head in his hands, groaning to himself. This was stupid.

“Hey, love.” Ryndoril’s voice surprised Ondolemar, causing him to jerk his head up and look around; the Bosmer was standing by his door, a grin on his face that grew wider when Ondolemar looked.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said, the smallest of smiles coming to his own face. Well, that was the problem, he realized upon seeing the Bosmer again. No words could possibly do the mer justice. Of course he couldn’t come up with anything to write to him. “Back again?”

“For a bit,” Ryndoril nodded, walking over to the desk. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Ondolemar said, disgruntled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just wondering what you burned to death here,” Ryndoril smiled, indicating the slightly large pile of ash by Ondolemar’s chair. “And about this,” he added, reaching over to wipe a bit of the ash from Ondolemar’s forehead. The Altmer glanced at his hand and then groaned – of course it was all over his face now, his hands were covered in the gray residue.

“It was nothing important,” Ondolemar said, reddening a little. “Have you taken care of your business?”

“I have,” Ryndoril smiled, leaning down to kiss the Altmer. Ondolemar kissed him back, his heart full again. “Though I couldn’t track down who wanted your amulet. The request was sent by letter, not in person. I’m sorry.” Ondolemar frowned.

“That’s alright,” he said, knowing the Bosmer couldn’t do anything more about it. “As you have assured me I no longer have to worry about thieves, I suppose that will do. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril said, lowering himself onto Ondolemar’s lap. The Altmer chuckled.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” he said teasingly to the Bosmer. Ryndoril grinned.

“I always am when I’m with you,” Ryndoril informed him, placing another gentle kiss on the Altmer’s cheek. Ondolemar found himself frustrated again; it was so simple, such a natural thing to say, and Ryndoril had come out with it with no problem. Why couldn’t he do that? “What’s the matter, love? Tell me.”

“Nothing,” Ondolemar insisted, wrapping his arms around the Bosmer. “I’m just…glad you’re home.” There. That was good enough, right?

“Me too,” Ryndoril grinned, his eyes lighting up at Ondolemar’s statement. The Altmer smiled back; yes, that had done it. “So…you want a distraction from whatever’s got you so annoyed?” Ryndoril asked cheekily.

“And how do you know I was annoyed?” Ondolemar asked. “I am perfectly fine.”

“Because I know you,” Ryndoril laughed, threading his fingers in the Altmer’s hair. “You don’t have to tell me. I just prefer you to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” Ondolemar said quickly, before he could stop himself saying the words. Ryndoril stared at him, obviously pleased, and Ondolemar let out a breath, slowing down. “You do, Ryn. You make me very happy. I’m glad to see you.” Ryndoril laughed again, delighted, and captured the Altmer’s lips with his own.

“Then I think a distraction is definitely in order,” Ryndoril grinned, his eyes sparkling. Ondolemar didn’t have any inclination to disagree with the Bosmer’s plan.