[Phase 3] Love Letters From A Soldier (Robyn)
Aug 11, 2020 20:59:18 GMT 1
Daeron Wildfyre likes this
Post by Robyn Redwolf on Aug 11, 2020 20:59:18 GMT 1
Robyn was not the type to place his emotions on paper.
To him, words are best said from the lips, where inflection and glances can better influence the conversation towards its intended purpose. The ability to play off of others' phrases and banter, the real empathy that can be shown from consoling, the subtle compliments laced in wine and fantasy; these are where Robyn excelled. Robyn had mastered the art of witty repartee and underhanded flirtation, and could utilize his appearance and silvered tongue to win even the harshest of companions over. If he said the wrong thing, or gave offence with his sometimes bold statements, he could explain his words without hesitation, and with his smile there were few who could resist his charm.
But letters were not like that. There was no inflection or glances or anything at all that made words worth sharing. It was cut and dry; the pruney remnants of conversation that took too long to occur and involved too many birds for his liking. And while he could listen to poetry performed by bards, the act of reading or writing it was a task he found draining. He had tried before, early on when he first arrived in the Riverlands, but with the constant commotion of his compatriots and the crisp clashing of steel, he had only managed to write his muse's name: Lady Falyse.
Lady Falyse. The name was always at the forefront of his mind, and her visage haunted his dreams. Though, sometimes she didn't quite haunt his dreams, and instead blessed his slumber with more than just her pretty face, the details of which he hadn't told a soul about. He had considered for a moment to talk to Mikel about his... moonlight fantasies, but there hadn't been a moment to do so. Not to mention whenever he started thinking about it his face flushed and he developed a subtle stutter. He was entirely smitten with her, desperately in love, and, despite facing a rejection, willing to do anything for her. Anything.
Which was why, after the hard and grueling Taking of Warrior's Seat, Robyn sat at his desk in the Blackwood camp, still bandaged up and taking it easy on his left arm and shoulder. The Brute had managed to injure him to the point of boredom, as the Maester prescribed plenty of rest and no strenuous physical activity for at least a week, which ticked so slowly on that Robyn's impatience got ahold of him. His hand gripped at the quill, spinning the feather this way and that between his fingers as he stared at a partially blank page. Once again, he had only managed to write her name: Lady Falyse.
He let out a huff of frustration and wrote the name many more times, subtly speeding up with each stroke, each one getting larger and more agressively sparatic before he slammed the quill down, standing up as he rubbed his face. The quick motion caused him to wince, other hand gripping his lower ribs and he hunched slightly over. Why was it harder to write a letter than take a castle, or face down Otho Bracken? He couldn't think of a proper reason before he grunted, moving to pace around. It was how he got his thoughts out, and it helped his thought process by getting extra blood to his brain.
"Lady Falyse," He began, performing to himself. He said her name again, this time with a little bit of a lower pitch to his voice, "Lady Falyse," before he cracked a smile, a short laugh slipping through the teeth.
'Lowering your voice doesnt make you more of a man, Robyn,' a voice in his head teased, as he recalled his sister saying it to him sortly after he was told he would page for the Blackbars. Ashara was right, of course, then when she said it and now when he remembered. He reached into his pocket and took out an old, ripped up handkerchief that he discovered with Mikel when they went running through Starkwood shortly after he returned. It was hers, and one of the only things he had to remember his sister by, besides her teasing and sharp witt. He wondered if she would have been proud of him, if everything he accomplished would be enough to impress her.
'I am sorry I couldn't have been there for you, Ash. I am sorry I couldn't save you,' he thought to himself as he thumbed the embroidery. His thoughts travelled back to the day when he saved Lady Falyse, and his lips tightened together, 'I will never let those I care for die when I still draw breath, and I will bring those responsible for these atrocities to justice, I swear to you Ash.'
He strode over to his chair, and grabbed a new piece of parchment, placing it on the table before redipping the tip of the feather in the inkwell. He let out a sigh, looking down at the blank page before closing his eyes. 'If you are going to write a letter, make each word immortal,' his sister scolded him, her words given when he first wrote a love letter many years prior, 'Memory fades, ink doesnt. Pull word from your heart and let everything out on paper,'
His eyes opened and he began to write.
"My Lady Falyse,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and somewhere where the clash of metal and smell of sweat do not permeate your every moment.
They certainly do in mine, here, in the Riverlands. Blood and Fire are a scent and sensation soaked into the very soil we soldier over, and while I do not waver, I long for lavender and solid ground. I long for a mattress that is of down rather than dung. I long for a bath in a proper tub where the grime of war is not a coat of arms I am forced to bear.
But more than those, I long to see you again.
No memory I have of you could ever match the radiant light your existence emits. They are mere reflections, as the Moon is to the Sun. You are a heavenly beauty that fills the day with warmth and life that no-one dare alter or question, for to do so would be blasphemous, as The Maiden yearns for a fraction of your grace. And yet, in your absence, all I have is the Moon. The memories of when I was blessed by your heavenliness, ones I shall never forget, but could never hold a finger to the Sun.
The days have felt as if Winter was upon me without your eyes to glance at, your smile to charm, or glory to behold. Ive grown cold and focused, determined to prove myself to you. To show you that I am more than the Reach's perception of me, than your perception of me, and that you will never know pain or grief again as long as I am there.
I fought Otho Bracken. I beat Otho Bracken. We have taken Warrior's Seat because of me and Mikel, and we fought the Brute and watched him flee with his tail between his legs. I convinced Ser Manfryd to rejoin the Blackwood front when he blatantly ignored the call. My steel has been tested time and time again against Bracken front and I have proven that the Starkwoods are not a house to be taken lightly.
Ive shown the Realm that your father molded a knight out of a scared, wide eyed boy. His lessons are what I live by, his words are my code.
I only wish I could have done more then. For you, for him, for your mother and your brother and everyone you lost in that attack. I can never know that pain of loss that you harbor, but I want to try and alleviate some of it. I would do anything for you Falyse, no mountain is unconquerable, no mission impossible.
I will do anything if you ask it of me.
I have found the name of the man who organized the attack against your family. I will bring him to justice. I will not rest until you know peace. I swear to you, your family will get justice.
Yours, Irreversibly,
Robyn
"
To him, words are best said from the lips, where inflection and glances can better influence the conversation towards its intended purpose. The ability to play off of others' phrases and banter, the real empathy that can be shown from consoling, the subtle compliments laced in wine and fantasy; these are where Robyn excelled. Robyn had mastered the art of witty repartee and underhanded flirtation, and could utilize his appearance and silvered tongue to win even the harshest of companions over. If he said the wrong thing, or gave offence with his sometimes bold statements, he could explain his words without hesitation, and with his smile there were few who could resist his charm.
But letters were not like that. There was no inflection or glances or anything at all that made words worth sharing. It was cut and dry; the pruney remnants of conversation that took too long to occur and involved too many birds for his liking. And while he could listen to poetry performed by bards, the act of reading or writing it was a task he found draining. He had tried before, early on when he first arrived in the Riverlands, but with the constant commotion of his compatriots and the crisp clashing of steel, he had only managed to write his muse's name: Lady Falyse.
Lady Falyse. The name was always at the forefront of his mind, and her visage haunted his dreams. Though, sometimes she didn't quite haunt his dreams, and instead blessed his slumber with more than just her pretty face, the details of which he hadn't told a soul about. He had considered for a moment to talk to Mikel about his... moonlight fantasies, but there hadn't been a moment to do so. Not to mention whenever he started thinking about it his face flushed and he developed a subtle stutter. He was entirely smitten with her, desperately in love, and, despite facing a rejection, willing to do anything for her. Anything.
Which was why, after the hard and grueling Taking of Warrior's Seat, Robyn sat at his desk in the Blackwood camp, still bandaged up and taking it easy on his left arm and shoulder. The Brute had managed to injure him to the point of boredom, as the Maester prescribed plenty of rest and no strenuous physical activity for at least a week, which ticked so slowly on that Robyn's impatience got ahold of him. His hand gripped at the quill, spinning the feather this way and that between his fingers as he stared at a partially blank page. Once again, he had only managed to write her name: Lady Falyse.
He let out a huff of frustration and wrote the name many more times, subtly speeding up with each stroke, each one getting larger and more agressively sparatic before he slammed the quill down, standing up as he rubbed his face. The quick motion caused him to wince, other hand gripping his lower ribs and he hunched slightly over. Why was it harder to write a letter than take a castle, or face down Otho Bracken? He couldn't think of a proper reason before he grunted, moving to pace around. It was how he got his thoughts out, and it helped his thought process by getting extra blood to his brain.
"Lady Falyse," He began, performing to himself. He said her name again, this time with a little bit of a lower pitch to his voice, "Lady Falyse," before he cracked a smile, a short laugh slipping through the teeth.
'Lowering your voice doesnt make you more of a man, Robyn,' a voice in his head teased, as he recalled his sister saying it to him sortly after he was told he would page for the Blackbars. Ashara was right, of course, then when she said it and now when he remembered. He reached into his pocket and took out an old, ripped up handkerchief that he discovered with Mikel when they went running through Starkwood shortly after he returned. It was hers, and one of the only things he had to remember his sister by, besides her teasing and sharp witt. He wondered if she would have been proud of him, if everything he accomplished would be enough to impress her.
'I am sorry I couldn't have been there for you, Ash. I am sorry I couldn't save you,' he thought to himself as he thumbed the embroidery. His thoughts travelled back to the day when he saved Lady Falyse, and his lips tightened together, 'I will never let those I care for die when I still draw breath, and I will bring those responsible for these atrocities to justice, I swear to you Ash.'
He strode over to his chair, and grabbed a new piece of parchment, placing it on the table before redipping the tip of the feather in the inkwell. He let out a sigh, looking down at the blank page before closing his eyes. 'If you are going to write a letter, make each word immortal,' his sister scolded him, her words given when he first wrote a love letter many years prior, 'Memory fades, ink doesnt. Pull word from your heart and let everything out on paper,'
His eyes opened and he began to write.
"My Lady Falyse,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and somewhere where the clash of metal and smell of sweat do not permeate your every moment.
They certainly do in mine, here, in the Riverlands. Blood and Fire are a scent and sensation soaked into the very soil we soldier over, and while I do not waver, I long for lavender and solid ground. I long for a mattress that is of down rather than dung. I long for a bath in a proper tub where the grime of war is not a coat of arms I am forced to bear.
But more than those, I long to see you again.
No memory I have of you could ever match the radiant light your existence emits. They are mere reflections, as the Moon is to the Sun. You are a heavenly beauty that fills the day with warmth and life that no-one dare alter or question, for to do so would be blasphemous, as The Maiden yearns for a fraction of your grace. And yet, in your absence, all I have is the Moon. The memories of when I was blessed by your heavenliness, ones I shall never forget, but could never hold a finger to the Sun.
The days have felt as if Winter was upon me without your eyes to glance at, your smile to charm, or glory to behold. Ive grown cold and focused, determined to prove myself to you. To show you that I am more than the Reach's perception of me, than your perception of me, and that you will never know pain or grief again as long as I am there.
I fought Otho Bracken. I beat Otho Bracken. We have taken Warrior's Seat because of me and Mikel, and we fought the Brute and watched him flee with his tail between his legs. I convinced Ser Manfryd to rejoin the Blackwood front when he blatantly ignored the call. My steel has been tested time and time again against Bracken front and I have proven that the Starkwoods are not a house to be taken lightly.
Ive shown the Realm that your father molded a knight out of a scared, wide eyed boy. His lessons are what I live by, his words are my code.
I only wish I could have done more then. For you, for him, for your mother and your brother and everyone you lost in that attack. I can never know that pain of loss that you harbor, but I want to try and alleviate some of it. I would do anything for you Falyse, no mountain is unconquerable, no mission impossible.
I will do anything if you ask it of me.
I have found the name of the man who organized the attack against your family. I will bring him to justice. I will not rest until you know peace. I swear to you, your family will get justice.
Yours, Irreversibly,
Robyn
"
