A Missive Returned, Equally Confessional
Aug. 1st, 2018 07:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iodhadh posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
lostcorrespondenceA letter, as unassuming as the first, scribed on plain paper in a hand whose grace is careless and intimate rather than showy or purposeful.
Kerr—
You said that I need not bother to respond to your most recent letter, and indeed I questioned whether it were enough merely to bear witness to your words. And yet I find my thoughts continuously circling back to what you told me. Perhaps if I put pen to paper I will be able to exorcise them, myself.
Sandoreale is a circling shark. You will have heard by now, no doubt, that my clan has called off our alliance in the wake of their breaking faith with us: no matter who takes the throne, Antyre remains unbowed. We find ourselves aligned now in purpose with both Oake and Dillestoné, though you should not count on this accord to hold. I no more expect Antyre to willingly give up her claim to the throne than for either of your houses to meekly step down—which of course applies as much to Laurence's notion to push for democratic reform as to this contest for the monarchy that is already in progress.
You know my opinion of your beloved's politics. While it's true that his idealism speaks well of his character, to propose so radical a political change on the eve of war would be both reckless and unwisely naive. To propose it immediately after the succession is settled, I fear, would only start another war. I am sure you know this as well as I. And yet, there is no fault that I could possibly find in your loyalty to him, and nor would I wish to.
I can only imagine you are surprised at this, given my vocally held opinions on the relative positions of Oake and Dillestoné, but it is not your houses I speak of now. While Dillestoné may have used you ill in the past, I could no more believe it of Laurence than I could believe him willing to throw himself purposely into battle. For your sake, however, I am sure he would submit himself to all manner of trials. Such care would be worthy of loyalty on its own, but more than that, it is your own love for him that demands it. Devotion is the only appropriate response to such depth of feeling.
I have always thought that loyalty was Oake's greatest strength. It heartens me to see that strength at last aimed true.
As to your concerns for your beloved's life: it is true that he may yet die. We may all yet die. To prepare yourself for that eventuality is, as you say, not fatalism but realism, and under the circumstances only sensible. But recall as well that it is not Death who stalks us now, but her sister War. That distinction may mean little to a lowlander, but to my people it is everything—for War invites us all to stand. There will be death in Banteave, certainly. Perhaps also in Resshe. War will sweep over us all, and her sister will pick her way through the wreckage. But those who keep their feet in her onslaught will walk out the other side, bloodied but alive.
Your task lies not in keeping Laurence from all harm, but in convincing him of this truth: that it is better to be bloodied than dead. No simple feat, I know, against his stubborn idealism—and yet I find myself with the heartfelt wish that you will succeed. And in the case that you do fail: my solemn oath as a warrior of Antyre that I will hold the truth of your efforts in my heart.
Ask your Laurence to write to me. I believe I may have some suggestions for him on the subject of democracy.
Yours,
Idony Antyre
Kerr—
You said that I need not bother to respond to your most recent letter, and indeed I questioned whether it were enough merely to bear witness to your words. And yet I find my thoughts continuously circling back to what you told me. Perhaps if I put pen to paper I will be able to exorcise them, myself.
Sandoreale is a circling shark. You will have heard by now, no doubt, that my clan has called off our alliance in the wake of their breaking faith with us: no matter who takes the throne, Antyre remains unbowed. We find ourselves aligned now in purpose with both Oake and Dillestoné, though you should not count on this accord to hold. I no more expect Antyre to willingly give up her claim to the throne than for either of your houses to meekly step down—which of course applies as much to Laurence's notion to push for democratic reform as to this contest for the monarchy that is already in progress.
You know my opinion of your beloved's politics. While it's true that his idealism speaks well of his character, to propose so radical a political change on the eve of war would be both reckless and unwisely naive. To propose it immediately after the succession is settled, I fear, would only start another war. I am sure you know this as well as I. And yet, there is no fault that I could possibly find in your loyalty to him, and nor would I wish to.
I can only imagine you are surprised at this, given my vocally held opinions on the relative positions of Oake and Dillestoné, but it is not your houses I speak of now. While Dillestoné may have used you ill in the past, I could no more believe it of Laurence than I could believe him willing to throw himself purposely into battle. For your sake, however, I am sure he would submit himself to all manner of trials. Such care would be worthy of loyalty on its own, but more than that, it is your own love for him that demands it. Devotion is the only appropriate response to such depth of feeling.
I have always thought that loyalty was Oake's greatest strength. It heartens me to see that strength at last aimed true.
As to your concerns for your beloved's life: it is true that he may yet die. We may all yet die. To prepare yourself for that eventuality is, as you say, not fatalism but realism, and under the circumstances only sensible. But recall as well that it is not Death who stalks us now, but her sister War. That distinction may mean little to a lowlander, but to my people it is everything—for War invites us all to stand. There will be death in Banteave, certainly. Perhaps also in Resshe. War will sweep over us all, and her sister will pick her way through the wreckage. But those who keep their feet in her onslaught will walk out the other side, bloodied but alive.
Your task lies not in keeping Laurence from all harm, but in convincing him of this truth: that it is better to be bloodied than dead. No simple feat, I know, against his stubborn idealism—and yet I find myself with the heartfelt wish that you will succeed. And in the case that you do fail: my solemn oath as a warrior of Antyre that I will hold the truth of your efforts in my heart.
Ask your Laurence to write to me. I believe I may have some suggestions for him on the subject of democracy.
Yours,
Idony Antyre
