Missives from the Fields (Attn: Bella)

[Lugh]

Beron

Beron sat down on the small pallet, the rough wood digging splinters through the straw he slept upon. A small candle sputtered in the breeze coming through the gap in his shutters, the light soon to be blown out so he could sleep.

Sleep, wake and do it all over again he thought with a groan as his back protested the hard resting place. Still as he looked out the window and saw the moon rising over the growing grain, he couldn’t help but feel a little ray of joy.

It had taken two weeks of back breaking labour, the women who ran the farm taking advantage of a Ji’val’s penance to clear additional land. This meant pulling brush, burning grasses down and then falling trees. Hands made tough by endless practice still bloomed blisters. Though Beron bore it no ill will, taming the land was hard and it made sense to give his punishment more purpose than stacks of firewood. Eventually they realized he would not shirk or runaway, and the endless watching eased.

Then had come the unexpected, Beron had found a small group that diced. As they played for chores, Beron wasnt sure if it was secret or just allowed, he did learn that there was a Dedicated who traveled back and forth in order to aid the deliveries of grain and fruit. With that in mind, he had began conversing with Laerel Ganalin. While waiting for the wagons to be loaded each day, the Dedicated had used weaves to help smooth out the tougher spots to reach with oxen, stacking the rocks to help create channels that would help keep rainwater from washing over the field in a torrent. As the two men worked, they spoke of the Grey Tower and then one evening Laerel had given Beron a small pad of paper and a tiny ink pot. “I know you have someone you wish to write, I can deliver a letter and help ease their mind. I wouldn’t wish a penance here on anyone, and I owe you at least a couple of favours after the money you lent me,” Laerel said with a smile. Beron had told him of a small bank writ he had kept from his wages; when the younger Dedicated spoke of becoming indebted in a game of crowns with some of the well to do of Hama Valon.

And so as Beron blew out his candle, he unrolled the paper and quill from under the straw, and struggling in the moonlit wrote Isla.

Isla, there is so much to say, but I do not want to put it all to paper, in case. I hope Laerel proves trustworthy, he seemed sincere when he told me he would get this to you.

Isla, I am sure by now you have heard any number of stories about me. I’ve heard even here that Ravak and I stabbed each other in a rage fueled duel. The truth is both harder and simpler, Ravak came to my room to discuss the Bond, and while we were talking he demanded to know if I was in a relationship. I admitted to him that I had been pursuing a relationship, and after he demanded that I end it, along with some other comments I will not repeat. When I refused, he grew angry and we shouted, coming to the brink of blows. But
I admitted to him my feelings, and then after our tempers cooled I was sent to Riahana Gaidin.

She sent me to the Farm. I am here for months, as I would not tell them who I was giving my heart. I have still not uttered it, nor will I. I have been labouring here almost three weeks now. The farm is hard, the work long and endless. But as I remember a lake and rock in the Gardens, I perform my tasks with determination. I am not supposed to write, but I could not let months go by with no word from me. I think of all you must be learning, and I am glad I am here, while you can pursue your skills.

Beron

Beron looked at the blotches and ink spots caused by his messy writing and the poor light. He knew he had said too much, but could think of no better words to hide his meaning. Light, let Laerel be true Beron prayed to himself the next morning, watching as the Dedicated followed the last wagon to the Grey Tower.

[Bella]

"Accepted Isla?"

A man's voice drew her away from the book she had been reading, sitting at one of the many tables populating the Grey Tower's expansive and intimidating library. Blinking, she looked up and saw a young man wearing the uniform and insignia of a Dedicated. She didn't know him, but gave him a polite nod. "Yes?"

He held out his hand, offering her a folded piece of paper. "This is for you," he said with a small smile. "When you want to reply, ask for Dedicated Laerel." With that mysterious message, he turned and walked away. She blinked large blue eyes after him, perplexed as to what had just happened.

Turning to the folded paper, she saw that there wasn't a name on it. This made her even more curious, and a little suspicious. It obviously wasn't a proper letter, then.

When she opened it, though, a full rush of other emotions smacked her full in the face and a soft, half-strangled gasp leaped from her lips.

Beron!

It had been weeks since she had seen the Ji'val that her turned her and her heart all but inside-out. She had tried to find other trainees to ask, discretely, but her search had not yielded good results. It was more than finding nothing, but finding too much. And all of it so wild that it seemed hardly possible to be true.

The letter explained that, and she suppressed a shiver as a pit of guilt opened in her stomach.

He had been punished...because of her. All of the emotion threatened to seize her by the throat, choking off her air, and there was the prick of tears on her eyes. She stared at the letter for what seemed like forever before a soft throat-clearing drew her around to see a fellow Accepted.

"Are you well, Isla?" she asked meekly. The girl was even more sedate and frightened than even Isla had been.

"Yes," Isla said quickly, swallowing hard as she folded the letter and placed it among her notes as if it was just more of the same. "Thank you, Jyll."

The girl nodded and hurried away, while Isla also hurried to collect her notes and the book she had signed out with the Brown at the desk so she could take it all back to her room and start writing...

* * *

For two days, Isla had tried to gain what information she could about Dedicated Laerel. She was not skilled in investigation, but by all accounts, he wasn't known for being two-faced or getting others in trouble. That was as much as she could hope to gain, and she hoped her was as trustworthy as he presented himself to be.

Isla found him at lunch the following day and gave him the letter to take to Beron when next he Traveled to the farm.

There had been so much more that she'd wished to say, but she was still nervous about trusting Laerel and this was what was most important for her to say. Her mind was at war with itself, but she would wait to see if he was able to respond to her before she determined how to act upon it.

* * *

Dear Beron,

I am so terribly sorry that you got into such trouble because of me. You should not bear this punishment alone. I would have turned myself into the Mistress of the Novices already, but I also don't want you to be mad at me, or think I'm treating your honor without respect in return. I never would have wished any ill to fall upon you because of me.

Isla

[Lugh]

Beron

Charcoal, I flaming hate charcoal, Beron angrily cursed under his breath as he wrestled the stacks of wood to the proper alignment. A forge had requested a delivery charcoal, and after he had been caught dicing with the others; Beron had been tasked with using much of the brush and wood he had cleared off to create the charcoal.

It was dirty, sweaty and lonely work, which Beron realized he had become unaccustomed to. He had been a scout, so the weather and outdoor sleeping bothered him little, it was the being alone with his thoughts after days of stacking wood. The earth moving had gone fast, a Dedicated quickly moving the soil over his stacks of wood. All that was left to do now was control the burning, poking holes in the packed earth to keep feeding air. Five or six days, babysitting lumps in the ground, Beron thought sourly as he finished his task and sat on the ground wishing he had his flute or something.

The thought of music brought him back around to what he had been trying to avoid thinking about, Isla. Had she received his letter, had she understood what he meant. Still there was little to be gained by wondering, twisting his guts with worry, and so he continued to work himself to the bliss of exhausted sleep claimed him.

——

A week later found Beron soaking in the bath, the Mistress demanding he clean himself off of the filth and charcoal dust he was caked in. Even though it was an open tub, the water was hot and welcome after days of sleeping rough. Scratching his beard, he knew he would need to find a glass and trim the hair back, but for now he soaked. “Beron?” asked a voice he knew from behind the wooden slats.

“Go ahead and come in Lealar, I’m decent,” Beron called out quietly. “Did you see her?” He whispered.

“I did. I can see why you’d risk more time here, she seemed excited to hear from you and brought a return letter. Read it here, burn it and I will be back in a couple days,” the Dedicated said kindly as he handed Isla’s note to Beron.

“Thank you friend, if I can repay you I will. I swear it,” Beron pledged seriously as he considered how much help Laeler had been.

“No need, we’ll have plenty of time to cheer and dance in Hama Valon.”

——

Beron splashed the water angrily when he read Isla’s letter. He hated that she felt like this was a punishment he had been forced to take because of her. He knew he had kept his mouth closed to protect her, and had gladly taken the time away from studies knowing her studies improved many lives. How to keep her from talking to the Mistress of Novices, he wondered as he towelled off. Feigning exhaustion that wasn’t far from the truth, Beron took a meal to his room and began to write.

Isla.
Do you remember what I said the day of my Test? I meant it then, and I mean it now. I made a mistake and offered information to a question that I could have lied to. I thought Ravak Gaidin knew about the Garden, our kiss and was testing me, and I chose to say what I said.

This is not your fault, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that you wrote me first. Isla, your work in the Infirmary is vital, I know you feel drawn to heal and build with the skills you learn each day. Let the Grey Tower take my sweat, force me to clear fields and burn charcoal. I smile each night picturing you enjoying the Gardens, or tending to a sick child. That’s where you need to be, I truly believe that.

I see no reason to say anything to the Mistress of Novices, but I will carry no anger or hurt if you do. I love your strength, your dedication and I will stand beside you always. I meant it, that day in the Garden, the kisses we shared feel seared into me. I miss you Isla, the Farm wears you down like a grindstone, and I think often of Hama Valon, enjoying the city with you. Do not feel like this is your fault, I made a mistake in telling Ravak and I will correct that.

Beron

Beron folded the letter, and placed a single flower he had found within it. He knew it was a risk, but letting her know was more important at that moment to him. Again Laeler met him at breakfast, and with a nod he walked through the Gateway later that day.

[Bella]

It had been terribly difficult to concentrate ever since she'd put that letter into Laerel's hands. Her mind became a mass of tangled weeds, with no hope for sorting it...

How was Beron doing? Was he okay?
What would he think of her letter? Was he angry with her for what had happened? Would he want her to see the Mistress of Novices?
Was Laerel trustworthy?
Would they be found out? Even if Laerel was worthy of trust, things could still happen.
Would she hear from Beron again, or have to wait until he returned?

She couldn't afford to be so distracted, and yet she couldn't seem to help it. Her nerves persistently got the better of her in every moment she wasn't active, which made reading, classes, and sleeping difficult. Working in the infirmary was something of a balm to her anxiety, though, because she was active there. It was enough to focus her.

After working an extra shift in the infirmary--filling up an hour that was supposed to be free time--she returned to her quarters, rubbing her eyes. It had been a busy one. Someone put Clumsy Water into the well at the warder yards, since so many seemed to need her care during that short period of time.

As she turned a corner, her fatigued self nearly ran into a tall, dark-coated form. She pulled back with a hasty apology, but her heart jumped over a beat when she saw Dedicated Laerel. He smiled a little and handed her a paper.

"Thank you," she whispered, stuffing the letter into the pocket of her Accepted's dress and then hurrying off to her room. Her fatigue suddenly seemed washed away in the face of her resurgence of nerves. She tried to get to her room as quickly as possible, while not looking like she was doing so.

She didn't bother to walk any further into her room than the shut door before opening the letter.

The flower tumbled to the ground and she knelt to pick it up. Holding the delicate, slightly crushed, petals in her hand made her smile, and she sat right there on the floor and leaned back against the door to read the letter. Doing so made her smile more, a faint sting of tears pricking her eyes even.

There was still that dull edge of guilt in her, and she continued to consider whether she should turn herself in...but he didn't wish her too, and was subjecting himself to so much to keep her covered. It seemed to dishonor that, and him, to go against him.

Lowering the letter to her knees, she bit her lip until she nearly put a hole through it as she looked around. Although the idea didn't sit well with her, she would do as he wished. And she'd find some way to make it up to him. And she'd work even harder to make herself worthy of this.
* * * Beron,

You steal my words from me. I wish I knew how to express my feelings. I will honor your wish and keep working hard on my studies, and in the infirmary, to be worthy of what you've done for me. I still wish you did not have to endure this punishment because of the moments you and I have shared, but...it will not last forever. Our moments will.

I think of you often, and of our times in the gardens.

As you know, I was raised as a soldier. I was not raised as a girl, thinking of dresses and tea and marriage. Every man around me was a brother, and that was that. Meeting someone who would make my heart try to beat out of my chest was never even a consideration, and then after it all went bad and I came to the Tower, I was sure that it would never happen.

Yet here we are.

Stay strong. I cannot wait to spend time together again, and to go into Hama Valon with you like we spoke of that first time we met.

Isla

[Lugh]

Beron

Beron flinched as the ointment was spread across his back, the Ko’di wrapped around him like a blanket to keep from crying out as the ointment seeped into the marks on his back. He had to admit the Aes Sedai had been deft, her invisible weaves breaking the skin without causing undue damage.

“Light I’m sorry Beron. When they cornered the wagon at the Travelling Yard I thought we were sunk. I managed to save her letter, but only by hiding it in a distraction. I honestly had no idea that the bag held kaf and tobacco,” Laerel said softly as he helped heal Beron’s back. He had been Delved and deemed healthy enough to heal on his own. The welts would hurt as they healed, but he would not be injured, a fair penalty for someone who was smuggling. Though in this case I was only doing so with a letter Beron thought to himself grimly.

“Peace Laerel, I know you wouldn’t have done anything out of harm. You risk punishment out of friendship as well. I owe you, I do not think I could stand the Farm without word,” Beron stopped with a grunt of pain as his shredded shirt pulled.

“I know what it’s like to love, but be denied. That is part of it. Here’s the letter, I have to go but I will try and swing back soon,” Laerel said as he stood and headed out the door. After he was settled, Beron read the newest letter from Isla.

Relief warred with pain as he read her words. His smile split his face as he read her words about her heart, their moments both remembered and to come. He couldn’t believe a chance afternoon had blossomed into something so wonderful. He kept reading, remembering their early conversations and her words on being raised a soldier made him wonder. How could a beautiful woman not know how she made him feel. He loved her, and when this punishment was over, he could take her dancing or simply spend time with her.

That thought landed him right back where he started, the twinge in his back reminding him that the rule Riahana had spoken of was one of the highest at the Grey Tower. Beron ground his teeth in frustration when he realized that they wouldn’t be able to enjoy each other’s company. Not freely, and that was a knot he couldn’t untangle. Succumbing to sleep, he drifted off.

When he awoke in the morning, Beron once again read the letter. As his back moved better, with less pain he realized that he knew what to say. The rest of the day passed without incident, he was given lighter duties to perform, and after a long day of working, he took
advantage of his room to sit and write.

Isla,

Your words are perfect, they were a balm to me in a trying time. I want you to know I have only ever seen you as the woman you are. From the first time I held you, it awoke something in me. I know from what you shared with me that you’re life was devoid of a lot of warmth and simple joys. That I can give you those now, makes my heart feel like it might fly from my chest.

You are right, the weeks have already added up, and time will march forward each day. I have so many things to say, or share but it does not feel like the time. I cannot wait to see you again, and I too have duties to live up to once I return. You took a man who thought he was destined to wield a blade, and defeat the Shadow as a finely honed weapon. Now I see I can do that as a man.

When I return, I know there is more to share, more to learn about each other. One thing Ravak Gaidin said that made sense, was that I need to know where I see my path leading once duties are mine to choose. I know what my heart says, I would know your mind on this.

Beron

Beron found Laerel the next morning, and after passing him the letter paused the other man for a moment. “Please wait to give her this. If she asks, tell her you are serving somewhere else for awhile..” Beron held his hand up for a pause, “I would write her everyday if I let myself. It’s enough to know how she feels. I need to give this risk a chance to cool down.”

[Bella]

It was the day after she gave her more recent letter to Laerel that she sat in a secluded clearing in the gardens. She was near enough to the waterfall to hear its dull roar, but not so close as to attract the attention of the many people who went there. It made her think of flower petals, and it made her smile.

She was studying. She'd made a promise, to Beron and to herself, that she would work hard. And Isla Arkema did not break promises.

In between her reading and note-taking, though, she worked on her next letter. She didn't know when it would be time again to send to him, but she had an idea... It seemed hard to encapsulate all of her feelings when they built up for too long, and the little things were forgotten before she could them in.

And so, she would write to him...as if writing in a journal.

Beron,

I'm sitting out in the gardens today. It's my free period, but one of the few I'm not in the infirmary. I'm still studying, of course. I do that a lot. I still see my friends as well, though. I've actually made friends here. I'm not sure I can recall having friends before. Just brothers in arms, who I thought were all I needed.

I think often of you, though. Wishing you were among those I saw.

There is a tree directly over me that it casting its pollen down, and it's making me sneeze. So I've started a study of it, to learn what it is and what about it might give me that reaction. I know it does the same for others. I want to know so many things. I wonder if I have enough time in my life, even as a channeler, to learn them all.

I miss you,
Isla
* * * Beron,

I got to go into Hama Valon today. It wasn't the same as it would be if I'd been with you, but it was for work. Can you imagine? I got a chance to go into the city and work as a healer. On behalf of the Tower. We started at the orphanage, tending to the children, and then went to a few places within the city.

It made my path ever more solid. I know what I am meant to do in this world.

I hope you're doing alright. I'm sure the work much be grueling, and I hope the days will pass fast for us.

I miss you,
Isla
* * * Beron,

Today, I'm tired.

I didn't sleep well last night. Many dreams. None of them good.

I used to hurt myself, you know. After I came to the Tower. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was full of guilt. There's a lot to it, but I spent twenty-one days in the infirmary under the care of the Yellows. We burrowed into my memories and thoughts, helping me understand why I felt the need to draw blood from myself.

We did, and I've been better. It helped me know that I wanted to do what they did. I wanted to help people. But last night, my dreams seemed to want me to remember all the reason I used to do that.

Before you worry, I did not hurt myself. It's been a long, long time since I did, and I won't again. I would not dishonor the effort of Gareth Asha'man in his care for me. But those dreams were dark, and I do not understand them.

I hope that's the last of them.

I miss you,
Isla
* * * Several days had passed and Isla had written her letters. She stored them away, waiting for the right time, but she did not see the Dedicated in that time. Nor did she wish to send them before she heard from Beron again. Fortunately, her dark dreams had only come that one night, but there was still a lingering disquietude.

She was working in the infirmary this day, which was when the rumors reached her of a wagon that "contraband" had been found on, which was destined for the farm...

Her blood had run cold and she'd wanted to ask, but she knew that she couldn't show too much interest or she'd draw unwelcome attention upon herself. What had happened? Had they been found out? Had poor Beron been punished further? The worry was so strong, it was nearly painful.

It took every ounce of self-control that she possessed to not lose her focus for the rest of her shift, but she managed. If barely.

By the time she got to her room that night, she went straight to her little writing desk...

Beron,

I heard about a wagon and things found in it? I hope you're alright--

She paused, wondering if she would even be able to get these letters to him now. Probably not, but she had to write them. They were cathartic, and she still expressed herself... She could give them to him when he got home.

I'm worried. I miss you.

Isla
* * * Days passed, and nothing. No sign of Laerel. The worry grew, then ebbed with a concern that was more like disillusionment than anxiety. Not with Beron, not that she doubted him, but just that she would hear from him again until he returned. Had it been too much to hope to maintain that contact, even though illicit, though this time?

She threw herself into her work more than ever. It was all she could do.
* * * Beron,

I know now that these letters will not reach you until you're home again, but that's okay. They will still tell you how I feel, and let you know that I was thinking of you. Even as I work hard--I study hard and spend hours in the infirmary--I still think of you, and I worry, and I hope.

Today, I learned the harder part of being a Yellow. The One Power seems like such a miracle, that it should cure everything, but it doesn't. It was not my patient, but one of the other Yellows--Thea Sedai--could not Heal a man with an injury to his head. He died so suddenly once he was there. She was so stoic... I only hope that I can manage as much when I am Raised and should I be in that position.

It was difficult for the rest of the day, though. There was still that dark sense about everyone. But we got through it.

I hope you are faring well, as well as you can. I miss you,
Isla
* * * She was working in the infirmary, as she so often was, when Dedicated Laerel showed up. She nearly tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face when she saw him, but she didn't. Clinging to her composure with desperation, she walked up to him. "What can I help you with, Dedicated?" she asked, feeling the strain in every corner of her body.

"I have been fighting a headache all day. Can you help?"

"Of course," Isla nodded shakily, then went back to fetch one of the small bottles of tonic they kept for that. She handed it to him and as she did, she felt the paper in his hand. Her heart thrilled, but she kept herself level. "If your headache does not go away with this, please return immediately for more in depth treatment."

"Thank you, Accepted," he said with a small smile.

The letter burned inside her pocket until after her shift, when she could find privacy to read it.

As she read his words, she felt lightheaded and was glad she was already sitting on the edge of her bed. She finished and held the letter against her chest, over her steadily pounding heart. Isla closed her eyes until her breathing became more easy and her heart stopped throbbing to the point of pain.

His words circled her mind. He would know her mind, but on what exactly? His request seemed...oblique and she felt uncertain. She didn't want to assume wrong and give an answer that would embarrass her, but neither did she was to lie or obscure her truth. There was little time for that in this life, wasn't there?

Beron,

I am so relieved to hear from you. I worry I do not understand what you wish to know my mind on. Do you mean my thoughts on where your path lies? If so, well, I hope your path lies alongside mine. Is that what your heart says too? Because it is what mine says.

Isla
* * * Isla casually joined Laerel at his table in the mess hall the next morning. She set her books down and then her bowl, smiling politely at him as she ate. It was a little bit of a production, but she thought it for the best. She then took something from the top of her book pile and put it in the center of the table.

It was a little thicker than the average letter, since she had included all of them wrapped in the most recent, and then wrapped in fabric.

"I'm in your debt," she whispered softly before focusing on her food, and letting him take it to its destination.

[Lugh]

Beron

The week of his self imposed exile moved like stagnant water through a ditch. While knowing that he would likely not hear from her for a long period of time, Beron found that Isla was never far from his mind.

A lot of that came from the mind numbing nature of many of the tasks on the Farm. With the contraband he was blamed for, the extra space he had earned by dedicating himself to the tasks was quickly lost. And so instead of clearing fields or burning charcoal, which at least let him escape the confines; he was forced to haul water or help with the laundry. He spent three days working with the carpenter to help repair fencing, and paddocks. A pleasant enough task, when your partner isn’t watching you out of the corner of their eye all day.

In the evenings, there was little to do but read the letters he already had, or sit and whistle simple tunes he remembered from chores or nights by the barracks. He would have written Isla, but that came with the risk of obtaining writing material. And the whole reason he had asked Laerel to wait a week was to ease the chance of discovery.

After the week was over, Beron heard that Laerel was rotated over to the citadel for practice there; and doing some quick math in his head Beron realized there was a very good chance he would see Isla before he had a chance to send her another letter. With that thought came both a sense of sadness, but also a sense of gladness. She would be a little risk of further trouble, and with her words of affection warming his pocket, he knew he could endure.

He did however quickly swipe a small clerks pad when he was loading the wagons, the pages were small and cramped with his poor penmanship, but he found relief in taking the time each evening to write his thoughts down.

Isla,
I know this letter will not reach you, but the silence in my evenings has been driving me mad. I am too used to the bustle and purpose of the Grey Tower. I tried to keep up with the swordforms, or to practice in my spare time, but they quickly found chores for me to do which ate that up. And the chores have become increasingly pointless or menial, which makes it worse somehow. I guess I’m just chaffing at the collar to begin something that matters again.

But I don’t want to put that on you, so I try to spend my time thinking of how your classes and hoping you enjoyed a meal or two with friends. I feel stuck in a circle here, and I worried my letters would drag you into it. As Riahana Gaidin had said before I left, the fancloak is close for me to obtain, and if the feelings are true they will survive until then..

Beron paused as footsteps walked through the hallway, and he hastily buried the pad in the corner. His heart beat felt like marching drums in his ears, the footsteps steadily working their way down the corridor until he let the breath frozen in his chest relax.

Lying down, his mind too filled with panic and anger to continue writing the woman he cared so deeply for. Instead, he stood and moved through the few stretches and fighting stances the room could allow. As he moved and worked his muscles, he drew the Ko’di around him tightly. Feeding his anger, frustration and to the Flame. Once he floated in the Void, there was no distractions and he worked himself till fatigue made him seek his bed.

The next day he spent working, the exertion and exercise with the Ko’di helping to calm his nerves and improve his temper. As the day progressed Beron found himself recalling the conversation with Riahana, and now that the anger and worry for Isla had worn off, he realized that the Mistress of Training had been lenient and had taken a lot of time to explain her worries.

That night, Beron simply began fresh, the letter he had written scrapped into the cookfire. With his mind and heart looking forward, he realized that he knew what he wanted to say.

Isla, when I last wrote you I asked you your mind and I realized I was not clear. I can only say that being here had me in a very scattered place.

Isla I love you, I will stand beside you and support your work in any way I can. That was my question, I would walk to the heart of the Blight with you, I just wondered if you knew the path you hoped to walk yet. I know my feelings have not diminished in the time we’ve been apart, and if I have to keep you at arms length until I can serve as Gaidin I can weather that to. I was told that friendship is allowed but no more, though I will cut myself on that knifes edge if I must, I can see in my own actions a little of what they warn against.

Beron went to crumple the letter, he did not intend to mail it, but it still felt good to have written his thoughts down, even if only the moon shared them. Some small part stopped him though, maybe he should keep the letter, Isla would appreciate that he thought of her.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, Beron toiling away as they seperated the ewes for shearing. The ewes protested and bawled in the rising heat and dust but Beron was able to deftly grab one and pass her to the shearers. A familiar voice called over the noise, “When the songs speak of Saldaean sheperdess’ I don’t think you are what they had in mind,” Laerel teased as he sauntered past with a wave. “See you at the mess.”

The hours long shearing seemed to stretch two days as Beron felt tried to keep his focus on the task at hand. He knew the best chance to depart the Farm was to knuckle down and show them he had changed, and when the bell for supper finally chimed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Beron sat with Laerel and a few others for supper, doing his best to enjoy the conversation and the satisfaction that usually came from completing such a large task. Eventually the supper was winding down, and as Laerel handed him a much larger bundle, he smiled. “Seems like she is as eager for your time here to end as you friend. I am gone for a few days, but I can grab a reply for her after that.”

“Thank you Laerel. I will keep in touch,” Beron replied as he headed out towards the pasture. He had offered to take a late watch over the animals, knowing that would afford him more privacy. Soon he was seated on a small outcropping that overlooked the sleeping flock, and with a small lantern he had grabbed, Beron began to read her letters.

As he read the letters, it became clear to Beron that Isla had been writing them as if to share a snippet of each day spent apart. The thought of her, taking the time to stop and sit beneath a tree in the Gardens, or after returning to her room after a long day; made him realize the depths of her feelings as well. He smiled as he read about her spending time with friends, and getting to enjoy Hama Valon. He recalled sadly that she had mentioned arriving in bad shape at the Grey Tower, scared and on the run from family that had turned on her, and so had not been able to enjoy the city.

As he reached the letter that spoke of her dreams; the dark turn of some of them and the fact that she had once cut and harmed herself out of a guilt over the past, he touched his cheek and realized they were wet with tears. Emotion spilled over him as he wished he had been there to comfort her, but as he read through the rest of her letter, he realized that she had kept from harming herself, and he was proud of her commitment to Gareth and honouring his help and advice.

The letter on losing a patient made him pause and stare at the night sky. He had not thought of the loss and suffering that would be part of working in the Infirmary. In his limited experience, the types of injuries Drin and Ji’val suffered were dealt with, the bruises and fatigue a small price to pay. But to have someone you had worked so hard to save pass away, would be akin to losing a patrolmate or fellow soldier. It truly is one of the more intimate jobs, they work with our very insides and life thought Beron as he listened to the cold night breeze.

The last letter made Beron realize that he had not made himself as clear as he should have. A hazard of speaking to someone days away, and with bad light and poor penmanship to boot. Still as he read the words that she hoped his heart belonged alongside hers, he once again felt joy, tears and emotion spill over him. Holding the letter to his chest, he settled in to watch the flock and knew he would reply the next morning as his day’s labour’s caught up with him.

After returning to the farmhouse, he ate a quick breakfast and was given the morning to rest as a thanks for his night shift. As the other’s stumbled out of their rooms, Beron waited until the hallways were clear, then took quill to paper.

Isla,

This letter will arrive only a day or two before myself, but I could not wait till then for the words that are singing in my heart. Isla, I cannot tell you how much the letters you sent to me meant. Did you ever figure out the tree? Why it would make you sneeze and get watery eyes? The thought of you being able to puzzle out the meaning behind that and so much more makes me smile, as you said the world is truly a wonder.

Isla, I am sorry if I was not clear before. I am glad your heart believes our paths to lie side by side. I know I would serve as your Gaidin to the edge of the world and beyond, I have learned some small piece of healing myself, and I know the strength and knowledge it takes. I would stand by you, aiding you, helping you, being your rock while you cure and build what only you can. I ache to hold you Isla, to be near you, to feel your lips once more and I know that we must hold and wait to express some of our feelings, but every moment I can have with you will be treasure after my absence.

Isla, I am sorry to hear of your dreams, the darkness and the pain that still bother you sometimes. I know it must have been terrible, and I cannot begin to imagine how it felt before Gareth and you spent the time together you mentioned. But I am glad you kept from harming yourself, and I am proud that even in the midst of all that you kept writing, studying and working hard. I know we have a mountain to climb, and life at the Grey Tower will never be as simple as if you and I were innkeepers; but I know with your love and support I will conquer it all.

Love, Beron

The next morning Beron found Laerel, and as he fussed with the other man’s tack and saddle, the letter to Isla was placed in his bag. “Thank you friend,” he whispered as the Dedicated rode away.

[Bella]

Love.

Isla sat on the very edge of her bed, holding Beron's letter in her hands. It felt like it must be on fire, as warm spread through her hands and straight up and through her body. Her heart felt erratic, and she worried that she might just pass out...but no, she would not. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

Beron loved her. It shouldn't surprise her, and it didn't, and yet it did... For a time, she was sure she was not meant for anything love devotion. Not after her family turned on her. And she'd just never thought of love.

Yet he loved her, and she realized, as she read the letters, that her feelings had not diminished with his absence. They had only grown. The idea of the future did not scare her, or make her uncertain, as it once had...and she only felt more secure in it knowing that Beron would be a part of it.

She wanted to write back immediately, but she knew from his own words that he would be home soon...and then she would be able to tell him herself.

They would have to be just as careful, she knew, but if their feelings were true--and she felt sure that they were--they would wait. She would just have to work her hardest, so that they would not have to wait too long.