My Darling,
Seeing you in the stands, your raven hair a shocking contrast to the white snow of winter, the sparkle of your eyes, the beguiling shimmer of your smile…all of it coursed my blood in the tournament, made it flow with a rage like the flood of an old sea god.
I was determined to prove myself…but not so much to you. You have told me many times how worthy of your love I am. But you are a Lady of the Blessed Isle, and only one who has proved his worth in battle may wed you. Yes, I have been given the title of knight, but I have not yet earned the right for your hand. And this Tournament of the Blood Rose, of which Arthur presided over, this was my first step.
Though you saw these things, I cannot help but recount them here. Every enemy I came against was an obstacle to me, an obstacle that kept me from you. My lance was but to crack against the shields of those unwary knights, to take them down, one after the other. I could see it in their eyes, ever gleaming behind the visors of their helms. I could tell they had never seen such ferocity from a man before. But they did not know what I fought for. I fought not for Arthur’s praises, nor the gleeful adorations of the court. I fought for you, my Love. You and only you.
The only knight who daunted me was Lancelot. He is spoken of highly at the Round Table, and I find him to be a good man. But his swordcraft, his cunning in battle, were almost too much for me to contend with. As I fought him, I noticed a similar look in his eye. A burning in the irises that make them appear as falling meteors in a midnight sky. It disturbed me…though I don’t know why. I can only assume that he too was fighting for a lady, whoever she may be.
And you know the outcome of our battle. Sparks flew from the tongues of our swords like that of dragons. Heavy was each blow against one another’s shield. Sweat poured from our brows like rain. And then–one final strike, and both our swords shattered.
It was then that Arthur called a ceasing to the battle, and declared us both the winner. A draw in the Tournament of the Blood Rose…unheard of! Inconceivable!
My Love, I must confess, I felt a blossom of anger in my chest. A draw is not a victory. I felt wronged, and even as Arthur crowned us in our wreaths of red roses, one of the highest honors a knight can receive in such a contest, I felt a strong hatred for our king. He did not let us finish the fight. He did not offer me the opportunity to claim victory.
Ah, forgive me darling. Am I wrong in these feelings? I only desire to be with you.
Your Only Love.
I liked that he recognizes the driving force of love in Lancelots fighting style, it’s a nice reference to the infamous love triangle. Keep these coming!
This series has swiftly become some of your best work. From those first two letters which largely dealt with the deep-rooted love this unnamed Knight and his Lady feel for one another, highlighted by the great longing they have in their times apart, in just four entries total you've expanded this into what seems to be swift building into a gripping tale of resentment, pride, and inner strife. I really hope you plan to see this series full through. It's been an excellent change of pace, and it seems to be allowing you to flex your creative muscles in a way that wonderfully displays your writing ability.