Post by westernsunset on Jan 22, 2019 10:20:33 GMT 10
Title: Lonely Ribbon
Prompt: Letters
Summary: Coram didn't write Rispah while he was traveling with Alanna, and she's a little peeved about it.
“Been a long time Rispah.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” the pretty flower seller crossed her arms, indifferent to the man at her door.
“I’ve missed you?”
“A little too late Coram.”
The door shut in his face. He could have come up with hundreds of excuses. He was in the Southern Desert! Then a trip to the Roof of the World! Picking up refugees, one of whom was now the queen! He had to stop attempted regicide!
But those were all excuses and he knew it. He should have written more, tried to get in contact with Rispah, even answered one of her letters. She’d sent many and he’d carried them hither and yon across the realm but he couldn’t bring himself to send back an answer. Her writing was so beautiful, her feelings so intense, Coram was scared. Not because he didn’t feel the same way, but that he didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know if he could trust himself to share it.
He sighed. In the past, he would’ve walked away. Coram Smythesson didn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted. But this was different, a part of him said. He had done wrong to Rispah, treated her badly. This was an apology.
So he slipped the poorly wrapped package under her door. It wasn’t much, just ribbons he’d seen on their travels and thought would look nice in her red hair. Had he a quill, he would have written something on the package, a poor approximation at an apology. Instead he left.
—
Coram had to acknowledge how pathetic it was, but he couldn’t stop himself. Each night that week he found himself at the Dancing Dove, hoping to see Rispah. Hoping to tell her how sorry he was, how much he did care for her. To tell her that if she didn’t want to see him anymore, that was alright, but he wanted to make amends before she left his life forever. But she didn’t come by that first week. Or the next. It was five weeks, over a month of waiting, before a flash of red hair caught his eye.
“I heard you’ve been here every night,” Rispah said.
“I’m sorry,” Coram said. “For not writing, for taking you for granted, for not telling you how much you mean to me.”
Rispah didn’t respond.
“I just wanted to say that. I won’t come back here, not if you don’t want me to.”
Rispah heaved a great sigh, and sat next to him. It was then Coram noticed the flash of blue brocade in her hair. One of the ribbons he’d slipped under her door.
“Why didn’t you write me?”
“Your letters were so beautiful,” Coram said. “I knew I couldn’t match them. I kept meaning to write but every time I sat down, I didn’t have any words.”
“What about now?”
“Now?”
“What do you want to tell me?” Rispah said.
“I was a fool to ever let you go. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and you make me want to be a better man. I don’t want to live my life without you anymore and I want to marry you.” The last part just slipped out, but once Coram said it, he felt at peace. It was the big truth he’d been dancing around, the thing he’d been so afraid to say, the thing that had been standing between him and all those letters he should have written.
Rispah chuckled. “About time! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
“How long—Rispah you ignored me for weeks!”
“I mean in general Coram, don’t ruin the moment. I’ll overlook that you don’t have a ring,” Rispah smiled.
“Well, there is this,” Coram leaned over and gently untied the ribbon. “A placeholder?”
Rispah blushed as Coram tied the ribbon around her wrist. “For now,” she said, but she wore the ribbon every day until the wedding, long after Coram found a ring, and when it finally became too frayed, she tucked it in a safe place to remind herself that sometimes her husband was better with actions than he was with words.
Prompt: Letters
Summary: Coram didn't write Rispah while he was traveling with Alanna, and she's a little peeved about it.
“Been a long time Rispah.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” the pretty flower seller crossed her arms, indifferent to the man at her door.
“I’ve missed you?”
“A little too late Coram.”
The door shut in his face. He could have come up with hundreds of excuses. He was in the Southern Desert! Then a trip to the Roof of the World! Picking up refugees, one of whom was now the queen! He had to stop attempted regicide!
But those were all excuses and he knew it. He should have written more, tried to get in contact with Rispah, even answered one of her letters. She’d sent many and he’d carried them hither and yon across the realm but he couldn’t bring himself to send back an answer. Her writing was so beautiful, her feelings so intense, Coram was scared. Not because he didn’t feel the same way, but that he didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know if he could trust himself to share it.
He sighed. In the past, he would’ve walked away. Coram Smythesson didn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted. But this was different, a part of him said. He had done wrong to Rispah, treated her badly. This was an apology.
So he slipped the poorly wrapped package under her door. It wasn’t much, just ribbons he’d seen on their travels and thought would look nice in her red hair. Had he a quill, he would have written something on the package, a poor approximation at an apology. Instead he left.
—
Coram had to acknowledge how pathetic it was, but he couldn’t stop himself. Each night that week he found himself at the Dancing Dove, hoping to see Rispah. Hoping to tell her how sorry he was, how much he did care for her. To tell her that if she didn’t want to see him anymore, that was alright, but he wanted to make amends before she left his life forever. But she didn’t come by that first week. Or the next. It was five weeks, over a month of waiting, before a flash of red hair caught his eye.
“I heard you’ve been here every night,” Rispah said.
“I’m sorry,” Coram said. “For not writing, for taking you for granted, for not telling you how much you mean to me.”
Rispah didn’t respond.
“I just wanted to say that. I won’t come back here, not if you don’t want me to.”
Rispah heaved a great sigh, and sat next to him. It was then Coram noticed the flash of blue brocade in her hair. One of the ribbons he’d slipped under her door.
“Why didn’t you write me?”
“Your letters were so beautiful,” Coram said. “I knew I couldn’t match them. I kept meaning to write but every time I sat down, I didn’t have any words.”
“What about now?”
“Now?”
“What do you want to tell me?” Rispah said.
“I was a fool to ever let you go. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and you make me want to be a better man. I don’t want to live my life without you anymore and I want to marry you.” The last part just slipped out, but once Coram said it, he felt at peace. It was the big truth he’d been dancing around, the thing he’d been so afraid to say, the thing that had been standing between him and all those letters he should have written.
Rispah chuckled. “About time! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
“How long—Rispah you ignored me for weeks!”
“I mean in general Coram, don’t ruin the moment. I’ll overlook that you don’t have a ring,” Rispah smiled.
“Well, there is this,” Coram leaned over and gently untied the ribbon. “A placeholder?”
Rispah blushed as Coram tied the ribbon around her wrist. “For now,” she said, but she wore the ribbon every day until the wedding, long after Coram found a ring, and when it finally became too frayed, she tucked it in a safe place to remind herself that sometimes her husband was better with actions than he was with words.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!