Sincerely, Racked With Guilt

A letter sent from Richard Anwir, Governor of the Goldenleaf City, to his Bond, Willowdrift, advisor to the Dragon King.
At the time, both were Commanders in the Intercity Guard. Richard was back in the Cities, overseeing the forging of new weapons to aid Guards during the Draconic Invasion. Willowdrift had stayed on the front lines to lead their troops. The letter details the thoughts and feelings of Commander Anwir as he made the visit to the Cities.
The letter was delivered with a private falcon, and, per prior agreement between sender and recipient, burned once read over. No one besides Richard and Willowdrift ever had an inkling of the contents of the letter.

To the readers:
This letter is pretty long and goes into a lot of emotions and mentions a lot of people in a way that might not make sense. That's because this character has an insane backstory that I haven't really explained. Don't worry, I'll get to it eventually.

-author

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Sincerely, Racked With Guilt

Willowdrift,
First and foremost, I desperately hope that things are going well on the battlefield. The Cities haven't suffered an attack since I've begun my visit, so I hope that means things are going well and the legion is safe. I don't miss the bloodshed, but I do miss all of you.
Can you believe it? We're finally beginning to master the process of forging metal! Thanks to that strange little teenager, we're doing quite well. The forgers are even wanting to try a new process that they call spriteforging. They've successfully made a sword aided by ice sprites, as well as an edge with the help of fire sprites. I believe they're moving on to weapons with lightning sprites for some of our other commanders. I must confess, I'm a bit nervous. I know how dangerous lightning sprites can be, if you believe the stories.
I've tried to send previous letters, but they won't let me include anything but a formal strategy. I finally managed to get a messenger falcon of my own, and I'm so excited to get into contact with you that I'm afraid you'll find this letter devoid of all strategy save for this: keep our troops well rested and well supplied, and keep the ranks firm. I know you've probably already been doing that, but I couldn't send this letter without fulfilling some form of my duty.
That being said...Willowdrift, I don't miss the battlefield at all. I know you find glory in victory and can still take sorrow at bloodshed, but I hated being out there. I'll do what I must, but the flashbacks...
I'm terrified to go back. I head back in three days, and I have no idea what'll happen if I keep being exposed to the fighting. I've done so many awful things, and you're the only one I can tell about them. So, please excuse me while I rant.
These past months have been the worst of my life aside from the times...before. I've seen Guards who I love die, innocent citizens watch as their homes are destroyed, and I've been forced to take the life of wyrm after wyrm. I have to do it to protect the Cities that I care so much about, but every strike reminds me of the strikes I've taken before. The people I've killed. The lives I've ruined. 
I don't know why I signed up for this job. Some twisted sense of duty. I knew I had to do something good, something momentous with my life, and I couldn't go into academics, because it would bring me too close to her, and I couldn't bear to be a charter or a monitor, because it would bring me too far away from my home.
So, like a fool, I became a Guard. Apparently, I make a howling good one, too. And I won't regret that it brought me to you. You've been one of the three lights in my life, and the only one I can be vulnerable around. The one that gives me hope, that keeps me strong when shadows threaten to overwhelm me.
But I hate it so much. Even the cheers of victory and the praise I receive is poison in my ears. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of it. I'm terrified that if I'm forced to fight enough, eventually I won't be able to stop - I'll just keep killing and killing until everything and everyone I love is dead.
Even that guilt, that torment, is failure in and of itself, because it prevents me from doing my job, from fulfilling my duty.
I have to stop ranting now. If I don't I'll never stop. So I'll give you a few more updates about my visit to the Cities.
I visited 'Lev's grave. That was bittersweet.
I saw her, too. Her and little Rog. Falls, my heart aches when I think of them. Because I didn't just see them, I talked to them. She saw me, walked up to me. We've been so distant, only meeting up a few times a year, and after the Invasion, we've barely even kept writing our letters. But she saw me, and she walked up and talked to little Rog, who's maybe three years old, about the brave man who was fighting to keep the Cities safe.
Willow, that little boy smiled at me with such earnestness that I nearly broke down. It's a good thing I've been practicing my acting every day these past years, because I actually managed to speak with him a little bit. It was maybe the most bittersweet thing I've ever experienced in my life.
Then I had to leave. It was too much.
I don't know if I can keep this up.
I'll see you soon, Willow. I love you.
Yours, Richard

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