A bundle of letters arrives in Parnassus, the first of them sealed with the official stamp of Augustus and the insigia of the Aegis to ensure that the correspondence arrived safely. A flawless, familiar script is immediately apparent upon cracking the first seal.

December 12, 3903

Elidi,

This is my sixth attempt, and I vowed that I would send this letter regardless of what I wrote. I tore up all the other pages that I had started. Some were accusing, some contrite, and some were outright lies. But I told someone recently that a marriage had to be built on trust. And I can no longer engage in this hypocrisy -- we started with a shaky, crumbling foundation, but perhaps something can be salvaged, at least.

Those pages you found were never meant for your eyes. At first I was angry when I realized you had read them. You had no right. And yet, I suppose there are a number of things I had no right to do, and I did them anyway. This entire sham of a marriage, for one. At least now you know my reasons. You saw the truth, Elidi. You read it. Perhaps you could never believe the words coming from my lips, but those pages I wrote were honest. I've often wondered why I feel the need to unburden my conscience on paper and write down my innermost thoughts -- it is a dangerous practice. But I have no confidante. And I always suspected that my prayers to the gods fell on deaf ears.

So, now you know that your husband is a lonely recluse of a man who spends his time scribbling away, and writing the things he would never admit. Can you sense my sarcasm? Not because these words are false, but because they're all too true. I wanted you, Elidi. Like a possession. You asked me that once... whether I loved you or wanted to own you. I didn't have an answer then. Perhaps I can give you one now.

I have been alone for nearly twenty years. Ever since my wife died. I have few friends, and even my own family is not close to me. Can you blame them? You know more about the dark secrets of Augustus and my past sins than anyone else. I cannot imagine what you must think of me. And I hate the fact that it matters to me.

But it does. Before I met you, I felt that my position, my views, and my past ensured that I would never enjoy popularity or lasting happiness. I threw myself into my work because it was all I had left. And I had become reconciled to that. I never expected more. Loathe as I was to allow it, I accepted the fact that Augustus would eventually pass into the hands of my brother, and it would lose what tenuous standing I had provided. We would no longer have a position in the Aegis, my name would be relegated to some dusty family archive, and my lare would eventually be forgotten. A sad fate, is it not?

You offered some hope of an alternative. I thought I could succeed with a male heir where I had failed with my daughter. And not only that, but you offered me hope, Elidi. Hope that perhaps I could find happiness after all. That perhaps the gods had forgiven me my past sins and were offering something besides the bitter, lonely years that lay ahead of me. I never stopped to consider your own happiness until it was too late, and I had already destroyed whatever feelings you may once have had.

I am a jealous, possessive man, Elidi. I warned you of that at the start. Perhaps if I tell you something I have never told anyone else, you might begin to understand why. It is not a justification or an excuse; merely a fact. But it might, at least, explain why I reacted as I did.

You asked me once about my former wife, Kalyca. At the time, I dodged your questions. My family probably suspects that her death planted this coldness in me, and in a way, they are correct. But it was not sowed by grief. I mourned her, yes -- I am not the heartless bastard you must believe me to be -- but I was angry, too. For my former wife -- lovely, gracious, soft-spoken, well-mannered Kalyca -- was an adulteress.

It must have been my fault, you are probably thinking. Perhaps it was. Perhaps I made the same mistakes with her that I made with you. But I don't know what those are. Had I ever mistreated you, Elidi? Before that night when my jealousy got the best of me and made me say those things I regret, had I ever given you reason to hate me? I concealed things from you, yes. Not because I have some grand scheme of which you are merely a pawn, but because I did not want to acknowledge those parts of my past. Not when I was with you. I wanted to enjoy a little slice of happiness without the ugly intrusions of past decisions and mistakes to ruin it.

I wish I could see your face while you read these words. At least so I could have some idea what must be going through your mind. You have such an expressive face -- from anger to sorrow to joy, you allow it to show so plainly -- not like me, who hides everything until sometimes I forget what it is I'm supposed to be feeling after all.

I do not even know where you are now. Parnassus -- a place I have only been to a handful of times. Is it colder there? Are you staying in a tent and reading this by candlelight? Ahh, I wish there were not so much anger between us, at least so that these words would bring more comfort, while you're alone and so far from home. Perhaps the other letters I've enclosed will. One is from your cousin, Oriane. She came to me and asked me to send a letter to you, and I promised I would. And here it is -- unharmed and unopened. You see, I can keep my promises after all.

And another, from the healer who restored you after my brother's crossbow bolt nearly sent you to join the lares. Cynara. She told me that you are old friends. You never spoke of her, but I suppose you must have your own secrets, just as I have mine. I wish you would confide in me, though. I know -- I myself insisted that you should not trust me. And maybe that is impossible, now. But I've found that I can tell you things on paper that I could not say directly. Perhaps you could do the same.

And the last letter, that is from little Celia. She came to see me, just hours ago. She brought her mother's "peachies," and I would have sent one along, but it would have been stale and rotten by the time it reached you. If you hold her letter close though, perhaps you can still catch the scent of them lingering on the parchment. Your young "helper" misses you.

And so do I.

Come home safe, Elidi. You may not be moved by my own confession, but there are others here who miss you. Your father, Celia, Oriane, the others in Tritonis. My own daughter. Come back for them, if not for me. Don't let your anger at me cause more unhappiness. That may be one of the few truly selfless things I have ever said. But it is not entirely without my own interests at heart, for I do miss you, and I do want you to return safely.

And I do love you, even if I have a poor way of showing it. Not as a possession or an object, for I realize now that I can never "own" you. But as the one person that I want to spend my remaining years with. However many more the gods will grant us.

Yours, tenderly,

Cassius

This letter arrives with one from Cassius. It is sealed in lavender wax with the imprint of a thistle upon it.

Dearest Eli,

Your husband has been kind enough to allow me to send you a missive along with his own. I do hope this reaches you safely and finds you in good health.

Though I know you have trained for this sort of event all our life, and I know you are well equipped with the skill and knowledge to have rightfully attained the esteemed position you hold, I still shudder at the thought of you being so close to danger when I am not near to insure your safety. The tragedy of losing you so quickly after having found you is a possibility that turns my blood cold. I regret that I was not there to see you off, or to speak to you much before this all began, but I pray that you will be returned safely home and soon.

You should know that Cassius has asked me questions as to our friendship, and I have told him that it is not his concern, that we've been acquaintances a long time. This letter has been sealed by my own hand with lavender wax and my own seal of a thistle, this way you will know if it has been read before reaching your hands.

Be safe, dear Eli, and come home alive.

Evie

Arriving with correspondence from Cassius is a neatly rolled letter sealed with a wax imprint of the Tritonis seal overlaid on mountain wildflowers.

Elidi,

It is amazing how quiet the Palladium, and especially House Tritonis, has been since the advent of the war. I sit by the fountain with my writing equipment and I hear not a sound but the faint musical chime of the falling water. Duty has called so many I care about away. I miss our conversations, cousin.

As of this time, there is still no word on my sister and mother from Callisar's Eyrie. Refugees from Duropolis have arrived, but none from my lost home. Every day I go to the Cella to pray for so many I care for and miss, and even those that I have never met.

In my naïveté, I thought I understood what war was from the studies I have pursued, but these long, cold, worry filled days have taught me that no words to paper could ever describe the aching lonliness of fear, worry and waiting. And this is not even taking into account trying to describe the true horror of the Battleskies.

Your father has taken a certain curmudgeony shine to your young helper. Though it is taking her quite some effort, young Celia is learning to read with your father's assistance. Beneath the bookish, reclusive exterior, he is a very kind man, Elidi. He is a good man.

Though I should not, I write to Drusus as if I were truly allowed to express my love openly. Why must it be so complicated? Are we not taught that those in love should be together for always and forever? The more I learn, the less I understand.

No matter what, please keep yourself safe, Elidi. There are problems in this life for so many of us, but we do need one another.

Fondest regards,

Oriane

The last letter in the bundle is a rolled piece of parchment tied with a shiny orange ribbon. Unfolding it, you are greeted with an awkward, childish scrawl.

First Page
Second Page

After a long while, Elidi decides to push past her grief enough to respond to some of the correspondence from her family.... This first rather nondescript parchment is sealed with wax and impressed with an image that might be familiar: crossed swords behind a round shield upon which is depicted an owl. Within, the ink is black and the words are written in a quick, terse, slashing style.

Dear Father,

Forgive me for not writing sooner, but the days seem far too short for the tasks at hand and I am often too wearied to take pen in hand at night before I sleep. It is cold here in Parnassus, but it is winter and that is to be expected. I trust you also feel the chill in Haven at this time of year. When I arrived there last year, I was surprised to find that snow is not uncommon there in the winter.

Oriane tells me in a letter that you and Celia are getting along quite well. That makes me glad for I am, indeed, very fond of her. It is difficult not to like her, I find. Never did I think myself the sort to get along well with children, but Celia's proven me wrong. Either that or she's exceptional enough that even someone such as I can deal with her. Check on her mother for me, if you have the time. Maralah is very quiet, but that quiet sometimes hides intense pain. Would that I had soldiers with her stout heart in my command. We'd be marching home victoriously by now, I'm certain.

Do not worry for me, Papa. Things are very quiet in Parnassus. I try to keep the men watchful, however. It wouldn't do for us to be lulled into a false sense of complacency after a time. There have been no signs of the Varati since my arrival. Perhaps they shall not come at us through this way despite our location near the northern border. Take comfort in that I am in no immediate danger and keep hopeful that none will be forthcoming. Do not worry for me. I am ready, if trouble does come.

Your loving daughter,

Elidi

This rather nondescript parchment is sealed with wax and impressed with an image that might be familiar: crossed swords behind a round shield upon which is depicted an owl. Within, the ink is black and the words are written in a quick, terse, slashing style.

Dear Evie,

It was a pleasure to receive your letter here where I now find myself. It has become quite cold here and, with the recent news that I have already lost someone close to me to this war, hearing from you was a comfort. I apologize that I did not have time to seek you out before I left. Do not feel badly that you did not find me for I understand that entering the Palladium might not be something you relish. I hope that my gifts to you have been of use and that they have not ceased with my departure. Before I left, I tried to make arrangements for them.

Do not worry for me here. Though it is cold and only to grow colder, we have yet to see any signs of the enemy. Thus far, my duties have been little more than what they were in Haven - only now I handle things from a tent instead of my new home. Keep yourself safe, Evie. No matter what happens. Of the people I love, I've already lost too many.

Be wary of Cassius. It matters not to me if he should learn of us, but safeguard yourself from him, if you desire. Keep that secret only so much as you wish to keep it. I am not ashamed of you, though it must seem that way from my lack of contact in the last weeks. That, my dear, was not because I do not care. No, preparations for war and my marriage kept me far more occupied than I would like. Perhaps, when I return home, I shall tell you of just what has transpired in my life. Until then, may the gods bless you and keep you safe. If I cannot return, know that I am at peace.

Love,

Elidi Eleinos Tritonides Augustin

Another letter arrives in Parnassus, sealed with the Augustin symbol. That flawless script is once more apparent upon unrolling the parchment.

December 29, 3903

Elidi,

It is late. I should be asleep, but my dreams have not been pleasant ones lately. Had I the seer's gift, I might be more concerned with what my dreams portend, but as it is I shall attribute them to poor digestion and troubling times.

These are troubling times, that much is certain. In less than a week, I must return to Civitas Dei, but not for some happy homecoming. No, it is business that draws me, and unpleasant business at that. The Aegis is divided, and not just on the war. I fear that this letter might be intercepted, and so I cannot say more. But great changes are ahead for our nation as a whole. I don't need the seer's gift to predict that.

You have not written to me. I reassure myself by saying that you are busy, and surely you must be. Overseeing an entire camp of men restless for battle must be wearying. And while your soldiers may wish otherwise -- while you yourself may yearn to wet your blade with Varati blood -- I cling to the hope that Parnassus will not be targeted. Every day that I read over the reports from the front lines, I hold my breath; and every day that I find no news of a skirmish near your camp, I let it out in relief. Do not take that to mean that I doubt your skill or competence -- but only that I am worried. The waiting is excruciating.

I trust that you received my last letter. I cannot think of what more to say, and I don't want to think of the way we parted. So I will not speak of that. Instead, allow me to indulge myself. I will pretend that things are the way they were, months ago, when I "courted" you. Was it only months ago? It seems so much longer.

I will pretend that those angry words were never spoken, and that we have not yet learned how to hurt one another. I will pretend that I can still make you happy. I did once, didn't I? I remember your laughter -- that spark of mischief and warmth that would come to your eyes, your sly smiles, your teasing remarks. You did like to tease me, even before we were anything other than casual acquaintances. Once you told me that I smelled "quite good." Do you remember? It was after your battle with the god-king... when I think of that duel now, I feel a stab of uneasiness about what could have happened. And mingled with it, pride. As if I had something to do with your accomplishments. I didn't, of course. But I am proud to call you my wife -- despite everything else between us. Proud of your fiery temper and willfulness, your independence, your strength... proud of every trait that makes you so impossibly frustrating... and that makes me love you all the more.

You see, now I have grown sentimental, and write these impassioned words as if I hoped they might move you. I shall blame it on the late hour. And I'll continue, nonetheless, because it is easier to write these things than it would be to ever say them.

I didn't know what to say then, either. But I remembered it. And when I came to see you, days later, my motivation wasn't solely for courtesy's sake. I was intrigued by you. And maybe my vanity was to blame, for you had flattered one who had all but forgotten the novelty of it.

I would anticipate our infrequent visits. You roused something in me I thought was long-dead. Do you remember our visit to the Rialto, when you "rescued" me from that barbaric Varati warrior who so rudely stepped on my foot? Perhaps it was merely your duty, but I wanted to attribute a deeper meaning to it. You see, there is something of a dreamer under this cynical, pragmatic exterior after all.

Then when that warrior started to strike you, I didn't think -- I merely acted. I hadn't fought anyone in years, and yet I punched that Agni-Haidar in the face. What a ridiculous image that must have been. I was probably fortunate that the skirmish was interrupted, else the Empyre would be short one Aegian. I was surprised by my reaction. Do you know... that was probably the first time I realized that my feelings for you had deepened into something more than friendship? I never had friends. And yet I enjoyed your company, and I would watch you sometimes, from afar. Does this news flatter you, or merely make you angry? I shall hope for the former. After all, I am still pretending.

All those moments, those brief conversations, occasional visits... I valued each one. And yet I could never say anything. You would laugh, I thought. Maybe not to my face, but later, with your friends, your fellow soldiers, or even your family. While my lack of popularity has never concerned me overmuch, I wanted to avoid that embarrassment. And besides, I never imagined you might reciprocate my feelings. So I relegated them to some pleasant, idle dream which I could indulge in from time to time. Much as I am doing now.

I lied to you. The night I confessed my feelings, I told you that I had realized how I felt the night you came to me. It wasn't then. It was before that. It was during the skirmish in the Northern Pass, when you were wounded and I all but carried you back. I held your hand while the healer tended to you, and I tried to pretend that it didn't mean anything -- that it was just a courtesy I was extending to a fallen comrade. What a lie. Do you know why I joined the guard that night at all? Not because of my cousin, whom I barely knew, but because of you. I had these silly delusions, you see... of "protecting" you. You never needed it, and you don't now, but I suppose it is just something a man feels toward the woman he loves.

Perhaps this letter will amuse you, at the very least. And while my pride is wounded at the thought, I find that the price is worth it. If I can entertain you, ease your mind, grant you surcease from your responsibilities, and help you forget, at least for a little while, the rigors of war, then I have met my goal. Smile once for me, Elidi. I sit here and imagine your smile, light and warm and teasing, and the pleasant illusion I have created by these words is complete. Things are as they were.

Ahh, but we must return to reality all too soon. I must blow out the candle that has burned too long, ready myself for a bed that is so much lonelier without you in it, and reconcile myself to another day of reports, preparations, and planning. And you will fold up this letter and put it out of your mind, return to your own duties, and the pleasant delusion I have indulged in will be forgotten. Things have returned to the way they are.

Think of me from time to time, Elidi, and try to do it without anger. Perhaps the distance will give both of us a little perspective. I will write again soon.

Yours, always,

Cassius

From Parnassus, another letter arrives. This rather nondescript parchment is sealed with wax and impressed with an image that might be familiar: crossed swords behind a round shield upon which is depicted an owl. Within, the ink is black and the words are written in a quick, terse, slashing style.

Dear Oriane,

Thank you for your letter. Your prayers are appreciated more than I have words to express. I am so sorry to hear that you have had no news of your family, but I am yet hopeful that you shall and that the news will be good. After all, those of Tritonis are supposed to be somewhat protected now. Above all else, I know that the Amir-al is honorable. I have experienced it myself. Do not fear overly much for your family, cousin, simply pray for them as you have been doing. Everything will be well, you'll see. I am not a seer, but I have a good feeling about your mother and your sister.

It is cold in Parnassus, but I suppose it is cold in Haven as well, is it not? The worst part is that I feel so cold inside as well, Oriane. I assume you have heard that the XIII Velites fell at Stygios. He's gone. He's gone and I can't grieve. When I saw that report, I wanted to cry out my pain and rage, but all I could do was sit here at this small, overloaded desk in this cramped tent and open another piece of official mail. At night, I weep. When I am alone. I am alone, though I pray that his lares will haunt me.

Forgive me. I do not need to put this upon your young shoulders. Xanthiel is here. He suspects there is something wrong, I'm certain, but I dare not speak to him of it. If I do, I shall lose what tenuous control that I have upon myself and my men do not need to see their female commander in tears.

Cassius writes to me much as you write to Drusus, I imagine. His words are touching. I will admit that. He is making an effort, Oriane, but I hurt so much right now that I am almost numb. He asked me to smile in one of his letters, but all I could do was weep. If only I knew whose idea it was to send the XIII Velites to Stygios. If it was Cassius, I do not know that I can ever forgive him. But I can't assume that it was, for in war these things happen and it very well might have been sheer coincidence that those Velites were not stationed with me. I want to think that so badly. Pray for Dante still, Oriane. Pray to Aidoneus to give him peace. Pray for me, too.

Love,

Elidi Eleinos Tritonides Augustin

Some of the ink near the bottom of the letter is smudged and paler in spots as if tears had wet it.

This letter arrives in a sturdy message tube with the outside latch sealed with the Tritonis symbol overlaid with mountain wildflowers. Inside is the parchment containing Oriane's careful, delicate penmanship, but also inside the tube is a small pin. Fashioned in the figure of an owl with wings spread as it soars through the skies, two swords are criss-crossed behind it. Though it's made of a strong metal, it has been exquisitely painted with utmost attention to detail.

Dearest Elidi,

It occured to me recently that I never had a proper chance to say good-bye to you, and that if I had been able to see you before you left, I would have thought of some token to send with you. While such things are usually exchanged between soldiers and their loves, it is not unheard of for family members to do such things. When I saw this piece, I thought of you. I hope you like it.

I hope it also warms your heart to know that my sister Riana has been found and is safely within the walls of the Palladium now. Mother sent her away at the first sign of troubles, but Riana somehow lead her escorts astray and went to Civitas Dei before coming to Haven. Oh, how I love her, but she is such a simple girl. While in the golden city, she did not even think to contact my father and let him know that she was well.

At this time, I also know of my mother's fate for the most part, and while the news is not completely tragic, it still chills my heart. When the Varati invaded my home, she stayed to ensure that all of our people escaped unharmed. In staying to the last minute, she was injured by an arrow to her wing and was unable to fly away. As I write this, my beloved mother is being held as a prisoner of Clan Messala in her own home. Your husband has assured me that the Aegis will do all in its power to secure her release.

I wish that I were with you, cousin, to give you a shoulder to lean upon in these dark times. Your Dante was a brave, honorable man whose time upon this plane was too short. He is someone I felt a kinship with, even as different as our worlds were. Beneath his brittle anger there was a gentle kindness. It is no wonder that you loved him.

The other man in your life struggles not to show his own grief as you are so far away from him both physically and emotionally. Deus Cassius is not an easy man, Elidi, but I think at one point you came close to loving him. It is so obvious that he does love you, as much as he may wish that vulnerability had not come into his life. I have seen him watch as correspondence is delivered to the Palladium, and the faint flicker of something on his face as there is nothing from you.

No one would begrudge you trying to make your marriage work, cousin. No one. If you find it within yourself, write him. Share your heart honestly. It could, perhaps, be a beginning.

If you will forgive me, let me speak freely of my own heavy heart. I write to Drusus as often as I can, speaking of how I long for him to be near. The longing I have for him to be near, with his arms and wings around me, is like a hole through my center that can be filled by nothing but him. But at the same time, I am afraid for him to be near. So much has happened and just when I think I am well, something happens to send me shivering to the quiet corners of this place I may hide in. I simply do not know what to do. Even when he does return to the Palladium, events could change so quickly and will make our love even more impossible than it already is.

Enough of such talk. Know, cousin, that you may burden me with whatever your heart needs to express. They may not seem so, but my shoulders will be strong for you. Write often.

Your cousin,

Oriane

FIN  

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