The blank page stared up at him. Pricking his conscience and berating him for his neglect.
The words would not come.
How do you tell such a Lady that she set you on fire?
Stirred your very soul.
How do you tell her that you are counting the days to their marriage; dreaming of hot steaming nights when alone in your cold wide bed?
He sighed. You did not of course. He picked up his pen.
Dear Lothíriel,
I hope this letter finds you well. The horse I have chosen for you is now weeks into her training. I …


