Arthur,

I am standing at the window of your bedchamber, watching you ride off through the trees. The sunlight has just spilled over the hills, turning everything a buttery gold. Seeing all this beauty in a single moment makes me happy.

Yes, I am hurt, yes, I am angry, yes, I am heartbroken; but I'm still happy, wonderfully, gloriously happy. I am not angry at you because I know that however many women you take to your bed, the only person you'll really care about is me. I am hurt, but not because you are leaving with Lady Juliana, but because you wouldn't tell me yourself. And my heart broke when I first saw you kiss her; it shattered into tiny pieces and it only feels whole again when I can feel you next to me. So when you come home, my heart will be mended.

I know you are going to marry her, but I don't mind. I can only be happy when you are happy. And if she makes you happier than I ever will then I want you to go with her. That will make me happy.

But if you are happier with your goofy, clumsy, naïve manservant then come home, come back to me. I only want; have only ever wanted you to be the happiest you can be. If I never see you again I will know you made your choice and I will rejoice in the flames of our love, however small and fleeting it may have been.

I'll love you 'til the end,

Merlin

Merlin folded the sheet of paper over and put it in his pocket. The next day he climbed to the hill on the far edge of the horizon, the wind was so strong it flipped his hair over and grass flattened under its breath. Merlin kissed the corner of the paper, held it up as high as possible and, finger by finger, let go. The paper flapped about in the strong wind like a fish out of water, until it found a chunk of wind it likes and it floated off, into the dull greyness that surrounded him.

No-one would ever see it again. No-one would read it or touch it or feel the power of its words. It was a dead letter, the first of many.