A note, written on a neatly-folded scrap of old parchment and sealed with twine. Labeled with Gaius' name in a tender, trembling hand and slipped beneath his door in the first blush of dawn.
What a coward am I, that I cannot give voice to my sentiments as you have spoken yours. I would beg your forgiveness.
Truly, I would beg your forgiveness twice over, for I.... regrettably, I cannot be joined with you in the way that you might want. In the way that I believe you want.
Perhaps I am simply presumptuous. If that is the case... I must ask you to forgive me thrice.
However, if you do indeed bear such feelings for me, please understand that you honor me exceedingly. To be loved cared for by one such as yourself is more than I could ever have hoped.
The obstacle, the defect that prohibits me from walking by your side... is mine alone. You are inexpressibly dear to me, and I find no fault in you.
Pray, accept my sincerest apologies for any pain I may have caused. If you should choose to avoid my company from this point on, I will understand.
The forge is empty, just before dawn.
Empty, and quiet, and locked. As if such things had ever stopped Gaius.
The first sword that Gaius was ever given as a Shepherd, he used until the edge could no longer stay sharp. Most of the metal was reforged into other weapons, but he's always held onto a piece of the steel hilt. He's come here with the intention of finally putting it to use.
Except, when he holds it in his hand, it feels wrong. He thinks of Libra, his peace-loving heart, the silent tears he shed for the lives he had to take. This metal was once bloodstained. Even melted down and remade, its origin erased...it cannot sit on Libra's finger.
(Speaking of which, that dilemma aside, how big should he make it? He's barely ever even touched Libra's hand, let alone asked for his ring size. He figures...maybe his fingers are a little wider around than Gaius; and if it's too big, he can always make it smaller, not the other way around.)
Gaius has studied the letter for hours. He could take a class in deciphering Libra's neat little script. There are still words he can't quite make out, and that bothers him like nothing else. He gets the gist of it, or thinks he does. He's traced the shapes of beg your forgiveness and I find no fault in you so, so many times.
Even if he had stickier comprehension, Gaius' heart tumbles over what Libra has told him. That he's unworthy of Gaius' feelings, whatever the hell that means. That Gaius hasn't done anything wrong, which doesn't feel true.
If you should choose to avoid my company - if Gaius could talk back to the parchment and be heard, this is where he would start piping up. Gaius' greatest joy thus far at Garreg Mach has been finding Libra again - why would he ever give this up now? Over what?
Libra deserves a response, but...Gaius' skill with a pen is even worse than his reading. He spent a few days wandering the monastery trying to find him, doing a double-take at every blond robed monk, to no purpose.
So this...this is the best Gaius can do. Just, he decides, not with this metal.
He'll have to kill a few hours before the smithy will sell him some silver. He might have to bargain a bit, put on his most charming voice, offer his labor. He'll walk around aimless in the half-dawn like a stray cat, carrying the letter in his pocket.
And when he returns here, he'll cast his bit of silver in the forge. Perhaps all can be forgiven.
