My Dearest Miranda,
I do hope that this letter has found it’s way to you, although the dispatch that was tasked with carrying it was unsure of the safety of the road ahead. We have received reports that there are camps of Rebels spread through the miles that separate us. This war has turned brother against brother over their allegiance to the Crown, and I am afraid that there is no end in sight. Only more weeks of blood shed.
The King addressed us today, to assure us that we were not just men fighting for him but we are his hands, his eyes and his heart on the field of battle. For that I stifled a chuckle my love. If this was true, then why is he sitting in the protection of the castle walls and eating pheasant, whereas my comrades and I are out here. Slaughtering our brothers and spilling enough blood to drown the country side red.
My love, you would think I would find this steel armor heavy and a real burden to bear. I would welcome that burden any day than the one I am carrying Miranda. The burden I have to carry is the one of a heart longing for the chance to see your beautiful face. My heart is so heavy with sadness my angel, for I lay on the cold ground at night instead of with you in my arms. I eat such pitiful morsels of what we hope is food, yet yearn to taste the wonders that you would have prepared. I am forced to sharpen the blade of my sword for it to taste yet more flesh, whereas I would much rather be working the fields and sell our wares at the open market in the city.
I could put forth mistruths my angel and state that I feel a sense of accomplishment. That I am a soldier of The Crown and it brings glory and honor. That I am fighting for a cause that I believe in and would die for. I can not. I can not lie to myself or to you, for I can not carry that shame as well as everything else I have had forced upon me.
No one will ever understand the feeling of slicing through another man as he screams in terror and pain, the sound of hundreds of men being crushed under the weight of stones tossed by the catapults or the opportunity to harvest what you can from the bodies of men you fought with shoulder to shoulder.
The King stated today that his dream was to unite the world under one rule, that of his own. But I sit here with another dream Miranda, not of power, not of gold, not of glory, not of land. No my betroved, I dream of you. The way your hair falls into your face, the way your eyes dance with fire when I hold you and most of all I miss hearing you say that you love me.
I must end this now my dear as I hear the cries of the officers, telling us to prepare to move out. Hold this letter to your heart Miranda, allow it seep into you and know that I do not fight to see The King’s vision but I fight to see you.