Darling Rynnora, My Heart Be With You
The man who always appeared unscathed by the world around him looked so forlorn, so destitute, so altogether broken as he approached the wall. He shed no tears, but there was the telltale hint of redness around his eyes, the stain of tears, a testament that he had shed many before stepping into this place. He wore no battle raiment this day, simply dressed in somber colors, dark greens. His sword was strapped to his hip, but he carried another blade, identical to his, in his hands. Those strong hands trembled as he took each careful step forward. Upon reaching the wall, he knelt slowly and offered a silent prayer of hope for his dead sister, praying for her to be happy in the eternity beyond. Then, with a sigh, he nestled the sword and sheath pair gently against the wall, on its side. But he was not yet done, for he still had three other things to place along with the weapon. He reached a hand into his pocket and withdrew two simple bands. The first appeared almost Elven in make and design, and he set it down atop the sheathed weapon, carefully. The second ring was a simple silver band, with no elaborate traces to it, if observed fleetingly. On the inside of the band was carved a phrase in Draconic, meaning, "My daughter in heart, my precious in soul." This ring he set down as well, nestled alongside the first. He then pulled out a small wrapped sheet of parchment. It was nothing special, but it was all he had been able to write. He did not read it, just unfolded it and settled it atop her things.
Dear Rynnora,
The time is sadness, and all I can think of is how I must have failed you. I should have left you at home, so you would never know death. I see your face still, left pale in visage, eyes blank and open, no longer carrying that spark of life. In some way, I know my failings brought you here. Granted, my blade did not cut you down, but it may as well have done so. Know only that, in penance, I will be certain to avenge your loss. I am sorry.
Rjordan
He then stood, his work done, and he stepped slowly away, his head bowed to hide the pain on his strong features. He was too strong a man to mourn in public, and he did his best to keep his stride smooth, his shoulders squared, and his demeanor aloof.
