In the Tongue of Angels
My Lady Guinevere,
No, that was just.. Too formal. As if she wasn't someone he loved with his whole heart.
My beloved Guinevere,
No, too much… What if the Prince saw it? What would he think?
My dear Gwen,
When I think back on the few moments we had together, I know I have known true happiness. For everything that I am, I must thank you, for you reminded me that there are things worth fighting for in this world. I long to look at your face, to sing praises to your hair locks, to crown you with flowers so that you may forgive my actions – and yet, I can not pretend that I don't hope to see you truly crowned, with all the honor and glory that you deserve, beside the most honorable man I have ever known.
Forever yours to command,
Lancelot.
No, that just sounded foolish. He was better off not writing to her at all.
He burned the letter, as he had done so many times before, deciding once again that it was better if she forgot him completely.
Gwen,
I should never have left you.
I hope you can, one day, forgive me.
Forever yours,
Lancelot.
The paper – old, wrinkled and smudged by tears was one of the few things that were to be found in Lancelot's chambers after his death. Gwen had cried herself to sleep clinging to it, but it was time to let go – what was done could not be unchanged, and nothing could bring them together now, not when death itself had come between them.
With a sigh, she dropped it in the flames along with the rest.
She would never truly forget him.