Work Text:
1 Hammer, 1493 DR
My beloved Jinkx,
As I sit down to write this missive, Deepwater Harbour has frozen over and the mist has rolled in, shrouding my our balcony in a blanket so opaque I fear I would not see my pen, or this paper, held barely a foot from my face. Predictable, if not entirely pleasant, conditions for Wintershield in Waterdeep. Gone are the balmy late summer days that we have spent enjoying the view, learning one another with the setting sun as our witness, filling the blank slates (and blank sheets) of our courtship with memories of beauty and wonder so bright and vivid that at times I can scarcely believe they are not one of my impeccably cast illusions. I had hoped to have a stunning vista as backdrop for penning this letter, but alas, the crackling fire of my study and good old Tara asleep in your favourite armchair shall have to do. Besides, nothing could be more inspirational, nor more profound, than the vision of your countenance that I am blessed to wake up to each morning. I look over now and my heart is filled to see you, peaceful, at rest in our shared bed, dreaming of something that is making you smile even in sleep; I can only hope that whatever your sleeping mind has conjured involves me, in some small capacity at least. To be the cause of every smile, of every one of your expressions of joy, would be a blessing more than divine. No deity's favour could compare. You are irredeemably lovely, and I, humbly learning to deserve such loveliness.
It is customary on Wintershield to reflect upon the past year and significant events therein, which, considering the turn of our fortunes these past months, is somewhat laughable. Were I to list every event of personal significance I would still be writing it at dawn of Wintershield next year! However, as anathema as it is to a wizard of many words, I shall attempt to be concise and pluck out that which is only the most deserving of recognition. I am struck ever so keenly by the contrast of the Wintershield just past. Myself, alone in this very tower, a wretched and corrupted thing as bleak as the deserted, snow-covered streets of Waterdeep in a blizzard. I remember thinking, "how apt", such pathetic fallacy in the frozen wastes of my very life. I do not flinch away from the truth of it — I was barely existing, certain that there could only be one end to my folly, counting down the days as a prisoner of my own hubris. The spectre of my increasingly present, self-wrought end haunted me day and night. The tower seemed so much colder, hollow and empty as the shell of a man that inhabited it. I reflect on this darkness with unvarnished clarity only because it makes our present, together, now, all the brighter. The climate outside may not have changed, the blizzards and the frozen seas and the long hours of night may be steady and unceasing, but in you I have found my eternal sping, summer and autumn. You complete the seasons of my life, bringing the richness of experience and colour to my days in a way that I had heretofore not experienced. With you, life truly has begun anew.
Though our wedding may have been rapidly arranged — too rapidly for some, as my mother continues to take great pleasure in reminding me — it was no less perfect in its haste. You are the keeper of my heart, whether it is recognised by grand ceremony or in the quiet moments between its beating, when my usual verbosity fails me in the face of the magnitude of my feelings for you. I cherish these the most, perhaps: the way your eyes brighten when Tara deigns to accept your affection; the sound of your laugh as I make yet another futile attempt to remove you from cooking duties and invariably end up joining you instead; the awareness that you have drifted into slumber by the soft warmth of your body against mine, the gentle sigh from your lips echoing the slip of the book from your fingers as we read together late into the evening. Whilst my stamina for getting lost in words from dusk until daybreak may remain unmatched, I will on this single occasion, grudgingly admit that your prowess in the kitchen may — may — sometimes have the edge. But never reference this again, please, for I remain a fragile creature cursed with a mortal ego, an admitted flaw that you seem to love despite my eternal bafflement.
To make plans for the coming year, as is another tradition of this day, seems a little futile given our recent history. Each carefully laid plan was demolished as fast as I could make them; I was half expecting our wedding to be beset by some kind of fiendish derailment! Having the reception in the Yawning Portal was a risky move, as anything could crawl out of the Undermountain at any time, so perhaps my concerns weren't so outlandish. And yet here we stand, our fledgling marriage going from strength to strength despite any interference from other planes. Here I will propose a single plan, rather than many. That we treat our coming years together, of which I am certain there will be many, not as a list of plans to fulfil, but as a grand voyage of discovery. To that end, I have enclosed with this letter a map (it is considered lucky to carry and consult one on this holiday — though I would wager I have had more than my alloted lifetime's worth of luck in finding you). It may not look quite like a traditional map, as it is currently blank. My proposal is thus: let us be cartographers of our romance, not visiting the known and well-trodden isles of domesticity and expectation, but adventurers finding our way through life's land and seascapes together, weathering anything that may come and exploring the excitement of the unknown. You have reawakened within me the knowledge that there is so much to live for, and so few moments in which to house it all, and until my last breath and our sky dims I swear I shall still be by your side, sailing with you to the infinite reaches of our story. Perhaps now would be a wise time to begin investing in parchment… a single sheaf will surely not be enough to contain what the future holds for us.
You are stirring — I fear I may be running out of time. Though you are not a morning person; one thing I am grateful for in this instance, from the list of wonderfully ordinary things I continue to learn about you. I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone, mortal or immortal. And I cannot wait to see what we become, together.
Yours forever,
Gale