Dawn. He could feel the sunlight streaming in the window, like a heavy weight upon his shoulders. "I have been sitting at this desk all night.." he said, quietly to himself. He stared at his shadow, cast across the sheets of paper strewn about his desk, as it slowly shortened and the sun drew higher in the sky. He rubbed his temple, and streaked ink over his skin once more. He smiled faintly, remembering her hands, as she'd cleaned the inkstains from his temple, just hours before.
"Finish your letter.."
He had agreed, of course. It would never get any easier to write. He did not want to leave this place, despite all of the horrors it held.. Did not want to return to New Dauntless, to become it's Prince.
"I have often thought, my.. dear.. that the best man to be such a thing is the one who does not wish to be."
He inhaled, slowly, and after a moment, exhaled in a soft whoosh of breath, letting her words echo softly in his mind. He flexed the inkstained fingers of his calloused hand, and picked up the quill again. He squared his shoulders, and prayed that sleepless inspiration for the right words would fill him... If only so that he might go home, to her, and explore the concept of -hats-.
Slowly, after three more false starts, the words began to spill from his hand. Elegant, his handwriting, of a man well trained to scripting, and he simply let the words flow from his fingertips. After the letter was signed, he looked back over it. Not quite right... Two more copies, and several small changes later, and he was satisfied. "That wasn't so hard..." He tried to admonish himself, and did not succeed. He shook his head, and finished sealing the small, official form he planned to send with the letter.
He leaned back in his chair, and looked at the parchment pieces sitting there. To be delivered to Gad Phuri, by a messenger...
"Goodbye, Myrken Wood..." he whispered, faintly, as he stood, picked up the letters, and strode towards the door of his office. He wasn't wearing his indigo tunic... It was, he supposed, a silent statement... of the very intentions of the letter in his hand.