I'm going to assume no news is good news and you've made it safely to Orlais, where you're remaining safe, because if I assume otherwise I might come after you and embarrass us both in front of all your friends. This letter is probably embarrassing enough. I wanted to wait a while longer and make sure I had something important to say, so I could look stoic and tough, but we're about to leave to Kirkwall and I don't know how reliable letters will be until we're settled, and also I am not stoic or tough, and furthermore I miss you.
I've been talking to Gwenaëlle. I hope you don't mind that I like her. I'll still bump her off a step for you if you'd like. But she told me what you did to her hair, and I like that even more. If I didn't already miss you then that story would have made me start—not that I'm wasting away here or anything. Too strapping to waste, first of all. I think about you a lot, but I like the thought of you, so it's all right.
Before you feel too objectified, here are things I've thought about: your chances of successfully kicking the ass of any particular person who's bothering me, which are usually high. Whether you and your Marquise are going to give any of the nobles nightmares. (I hope so.) Whether an arrowhead is worth saving for you. That you would like this song.* That the sunset is the same color as your hair and if I know what's good for me I'll never ever tell you that I thought so. How if you were here you could roll your eyes at me over whatever I'm being stupid about at the moment, though that thought is enough to make me stop being stupid, so who even needs you, really?
And some other things. You should probably feel a little objectified.
Alistair
[ * Crammed on the bottom of the sheet are lyrics to a Thedosian archer version of "Billy Taylor". ]
letter.
I'm going to assume no news is good news and you've made it safely to Orlais, where you're remaining safe, because if I assume otherwise I might come after you and embarrass us both in front of all your friends. This letter is probably embarrassing enough. I wanted to wait a while longer and make sure I had something important to say, so I could look stoic and tough, but we're about to leave to Kirkwall and I don't know how reliable letters will be until we're settled, and also I am not stoic or tough, and furthermore I miss you.
I've been talking to Gwenaëlle. I hope you don't mind that I like her. I'll still bump her off a step for you if you'd like. But she told me what you did to her hair, and I like that even more. If I didn't already miss you then that story would have made me start—not that I'm wasting away here or anything. Too strapping to waste, first of all. I think about you a lot, but I like the thought of you, so it's all right.
Before you feel too objectified, here are things I've thought about: your chances of successfully kicking the ass of any particular person who's bothering me, which are usually high. Whether you and your Marquise are going to give any of the nobles nightmares. (I hope so.) Whether an arrowhead is worth saving for you. That you would like this song.* That the sunset is the same color as your hair and if I know what's good for me I'll never ever tell you that I thought so. How if you were here you could roll your eyes at me over whatever I'm being stupid about at the moment, though that thought is enough to make me stop being stupid, so who even needs you, really?
And some other things. You should probably feel a little objectified.
Alistair
[ * Crammed on the bottom of the sheet are lyrics to a Thedosian archer version of "Billy Taylor". ]