The first letter. A.
I see you in the morning light, dressed formally in elvish style, with a head ring, a bit like a tiara on your shiny, bright gold hair, and your serious, faithful facial expression. I cannot keep myself serious anymore when I see you like that. Not even at my coronation day. But you are so fair, so fair that makes me cannot say any word. Your face so clean and faithful, your whole person standing there with the banner held behind you, representing elves. A drop of sunlight blooms upon you, makes you look like a dream. I see you standing there giggling when I am crowned and when I chant in elvish, and yet you hide your giggle from your kin and fellow participants.
When I starts to walk down to the crowds, you come up to me with a beautiful smile. That is obviously the remains of the giggle, and only me can notice that. You nod to me, and that makes me confusing. As a King, all of a sudden I cannot say anything. I am confused. Finally in seconds I come up with this Hannon Le and I say it as gently as possible. As I predicted, nothing is revealed. We do the movement, you know what I mean. I see it in your eyes. And my embrace with Lady Arwen made them feel nothing. Nothing at all.
This kind of affection isn't allowed in Kings. Never allowed. You can imagine how the people will say, but when they admire our brotherhood and friendship, no one will notice anything. And no one will understand that we have already gone beyond that long time ago. But as a King, I am not allowed to hold hand with you and walk beside the streams in the mountains, or have a nice, little private talk with your head on my shoulders at night in the gardens. I am supposed to be married and born sons, I am supposed to write a page of legend for Gondor. But I'd rather be with you.
I know what it is called. I know that it is love.
You left this morning, into the wilderness, into the woods. You cannot understand the dismay in my heart. The dismay that is huge, but I cannot express it. Because I know that for some percentage we may never meet again. But when I hold Lady Arwen's hand and wave you farewell, I cannot run to you like we were at Rivendell many years ago, and lay a kiss on your forehead to fare you well. You will laugh for certain, but you will feel wonderful. I want more than anything to see you smiling when your hair spreads puffily down the sunshine, just like in the good old times. But we may still meet again, not for certain, but I trust you for sure. I believe that with your skills of archery and weaponry, you will not get yourself hurt for even a bit in the wild. Just like those bold skill you shows in the Fellowship while protecting the fellow members. I am sure of that.
You are so fair, so fair that no elf maiden can even overpass. In my eyes you are the fairest of all earthly beings. I still remember that period of time, when we walked fearlessly and leisurely under the bright, clear yellow sunlight in Rivendell. When you put your arm on my shoulders, when we created those silly little running races, archery tournaments and surgery skills. That is the best part of my life, and indeed the most beautiful part of my life is meeting you. And having you being a friend, or more than that to me, that was, and still is the luckiest thing that can happen to me. Having you fight with me in wars side by side, with those foul creatures blood we refine our skills. Having you tell little lovely jokes. And every moment of being with you, no matter what we are doing, is just perfect.
Last time, when we talked in public, with Gandalf and many guards beside, I mentioned Lady Arwen. You just get what I mean. I whispered to you that I don't meant for it to go this far, I'd rather be with you.
"I'll talk her round, I'll talk to them." You said insouciantly, your eyes squinted. Your voice loud enough that everybody is able to hear, "I know you love her. I will help you." Then I stood up and left, and I saw you blinking towards me.
You know what I needed. A declaration.
You say that we will both be pure. We will wait for each other in a better world. We will meet again in our afterlife and next time to be born as people. But I cannot do that. You know that. I have to born sons for my throne, for Gondor's heir to it. I know that you will. I know that you will keep yourself pure and true, we both will in our heart.
I now write this on this old, dusty scroll-collective book, and I shall put it inside the White City's library, beside the Mirkwood History. That will make me think of you. No one will even bother to look at it, for it says nothing on the side, not to reveal its true purpose. I hope you can somehow see this message, no matter what way. You just have to know how much I love you, much more than Lady Arwen and anybody that still lives in this world. I hope that you love me the same as well.
But let us just set that aside and I shall bless you a peaceful adventure.
My dear L.
