A letter arrives for you, sealed but with no insignia other than the thumbprint of the sender. Perhaps it is this simple and unostentatious method of sealing that has prevented anyone from being curious enough to open it, for the seal is unbroken, the letter unopened. It reads:

My dearest Oriane,

I should not address you as such, but at the moment it is my heart guiding my hand and that is the way I feel about you. So it is. I have arrived in Praxis and am settled with the XI Martia. More I cannot tell you except that the rains have ceased, the stockade is built, and almost all of the tents have dried out.

It is good to be out in the field again. Praxis is a lovely city, new and well-built; it is obvious that the hand of a competent civil engineer was behind its design, and yet the artists and architects have had their say. The result is both efficient and graceful. It is surrounded on all four sides by fields, each one with a different crop so that the city seems to be floating on a patchwork quilt. All in all, it is very homey here.

You may be amused to know that I have received something of a field promotion: Domina Galatea Acesian was kind enough to donate a lares medallion to the Acies but, in looking it over, I failed to notice that she had written "to Drusus' Acies" on it. The Centurion himself has congratulated me on my rise through the ranks and the men do not fail to salute smartly. Please do not tell her, though; I fear she would be embarrassed and I am sure it would be difficult to convince her that levity amongst the soldiers is a good thing and very necessary, even when it is at my expense. I laugh with them; I do not mind.

The seasons are turning a bit more slowly here; the leaves are only beginning to fall. It reminds me of our practice sessions, of trying to pick up the leaves with wind and send them on calculated courses, of using the leaves to track the progress of the whirlwinds.

I hope you will send a letter soon and let me know how you and your family fare. I miss you.

Arriving days later than expected comes a letter from Haven. Sealed with a wax imprint of a mountain wildflower and the House Tritonis mark, the letter has neat, delicate handwriting on the front addresses it to 'Optio Drusus Marcus Jove, XI Martia.'

My love,

Here of all places I have chosen to address you as my heart feels. Society requires certain decorum and behavior, but why must the pen carry such things to paper? Especially this particular pen -- how else could it bring words to paper except with the honesty of the heart?

Your letter warmed me more than anything else could in these dark days. Most word from the Western Empyre arrives for the ears of the Aegis, and precious little is shared with others here. It is likely that it would be too easy for unfriendly ears to learn that which they should not, here in the Palladium, but it still makes the waiting and worry difficult.

Though we have begun to receive word of Duropolis, I have yet to learn the fate of my family or my beloved Callisar's. My mother is a resourceful and intelligent woman, so I reassure myself that they are safe. You would like her, my love -- her humor, her intelligence and the compassion that fills her every thought. What other type of woman could have the patience to be loving mother to both my sister and I, different as night and day that we are.

Although I have yet to hear of my home, I received a letter from my father the other day. He is formal and proper as ever, reciting the facts and little else. As of yet, he has not received news either, though, he did take a brief moment in his writing to reassure me that all will work out for the best.

With the coming of colder weather, the Palladium has been incredibly quiet and still. The flowers are gone from the garden, and a small number of the temperate bushes have lost their leaves. Green still colors the garden enough to provide the sense of paradise, but the only sound is often the music of the fountain and the whisper of the winds. It is times like these when I most miss your quiet voice and gentle presence. But your strength is needed so much more by the Empyre in these days than it is needed by one girl.

Your words of Praxis have made me think of the many beautiful places within our Empyre. Perhaps one day when the fates are willing, I will be able to travel to many of the places I have read of in my studies. Civitas Dei may have the most wealthy libraries, but there are many places of learning under Empyreal skies. Those are thoughts for another day, though.

As I near the end of this letter, my pen falters. There is so much I wish to say to you, so much I wish to share. Your home now is in the field, defending the lands beneath our skies with the rest of the Praetorians. Know, though, that you have a place waiting for you within my heart no matter what the days ahead may hold.

I miss you more than words can possibly ever express. Keep yourself safe my dearest one.

O

(It is signed only with her initial, but her script is unmistakable.)

Another letter comes to you, folded up into a neat square and sealed as before, looking utterly plain.

Oriane,

I wish, upon reading your letter, that I had news to give you. I cannot imagine how it must be for you. I never would have expected ever to have said this, but with your letter in my hands I wish I was there instead of here. Refugees pour into Praxis and I have searched through them, but none come from your home. I will continue my search.

It is as if we smell the war coming, but there is nothing on the horizon. There is a tension all through us and the great desire is to rush out and blindly rage over the hillsides in search of the enemy. We dare not. Though news of your home and of Duropolis makes us so wild with anger and grief we know that this passionate foe is one we must meet with our strength: rationality. Level-headedness. Precision. Efficiency. Perhaps one day there might be some kind of reconciliation -- one day, when the Varati people are free from the yoke of a god -- or not-god, who knows? -- who demands not only our subjugation but the stripping from us of our lares and tradition? I can only pray that it will be so, because my quarrel is not with the people but with the creature who drives them against us so. This world and its people could go anywhere, do anything, make anything, achieve anything, if they would only work together under a common government, a just government.

The light grows dim. Night is a good thing; in the darkness, I dream of you. One day I will be free of all of this and perhaps we can speak to one another again, perched on the edge of the rooftop and looking over a Palladium not so alien or as full of evil scheming.

I miss you.

This one arrives much sooner after your last letter than the previous one. Sealed with the same sigil of Tritonis mingled with mountain wildflowers, but also, there is a faint scent of flowers lingering on the paper.

My Dearest Love,

It is quiet and cool this evening and I wonder if the warm days of fall have passed us by. In the past, I had always enjoyed the crisp, sharp weather of this season. Though it is a time of endings, there is still that sense of life only going to sleep for the cold winter. This year, though, it is so much harder to find that glimmer of hope. Perhaps when and if the snows come, I will be able to appreciate the pristine cloak of white that cleanses everything. Does it even snow in Haven? Or is it much too far south? These are things I have yet to discover.

As of yet, there has been no word of my mother and sister, but Kalypso has returned to Haven for at least a brief time. She has told me she will speak with her brother, the Archon, to see if perhaps something his gifts might be able to tell them something. It is bitterly ironic that Khalid has declared no Tritonides will be harmed in this war, yet the first of all Empyreal lands to fall was my Callisar's.

I thought that with more time, I would come to accept that my family may be lost, yet instead, I feel that they are still out there, alive. Perhaps I am just fooling myself to preserve my heart, but I do not know. I pray daily that they are safe and that you remain so.

Though Kalypso will only be in Haven for another week or so before returning to Civitas Dei, she has brought a new member of the family with her. Her Griffons are like her children, and now she has added this rather rambunctious pup to our House. While she is home, at least, the House will definitely not be quiet. His barks and yips are rather joyful in a puppyish sort of way. I have never been one for pets, but I imagine you would like this new 'cousin' of mine.

There is so much I wish to share with you, but pen and paper are so dreadfully inadequate. Often I wish I was allowed to be at your side, even with as much danger as a Legion's camp might pose in these times of war. But, likely, I would only prove to be a distraction.

When night descends and I allow myself to seek out sleep, I close my eyes with an image of you to comfort me. Though I should not think these thoughts, all I wish for is your arms and wings around me in a sheltering, loving embrace. Thoughts that should remain hidden bring a flush to my cheeks, but make me miss you even more desperately. Perhaps honesty guides my pen this evening, but, oh, how I long for you to be near.

Keep yourself safe, my love.

O

Another message arrives, this one wrapped very deliberately around something hard and wrapped and tied tightly with wax-sealed ribbon to make sure it does not go astray. When you open the letter you find a chased silver brooch: an owl, so detailed that the feathers seem on the edge of ruffling, with bright and wise silver eyes. It is a miracle, perhaps, that the letter made it all the way here without being opened and its treasure stolen. As usual, the letter is unmarked although the plain, practical hand makes its sender obvious. The letter reads:

Sweet lady,

Has it snowed in Haven yet? I wonder if you have had an answer to the question you penned in your letter last. It has snowed here in Praxis and I think that it would please you; the world is vague and soft and white, but it is cold also lest we be lulled into a sense of complacency. The snow about our stockade has long since been trampled into black mud but the forests and fields still have their blanket. When the sun shines the light glitters off of the snow as if the gods had sprinkled diamonds on it; many a time I have walked across it thinking to pick a bouquet of these gems for you. Alas, the light shifts when I am there and it is once again just snow. If you were here, I think we would be more successful.

Cold: the heads of my men are surrounded by magnificent white plumage whenever they exhale. And, interestingly, so are the heads of every creature around here that breathes. It reminds me that all creatures have a part to play in the world unified under Empyrean rule, and that every role -- even the least and lowest -- is honorable and deserves respect.

I hope that the brooch I have had made for you is still with this letter. The Varati Khalid's proclamation may come too late for your home and I am not sure that I trust it or his Warlords to obey it. But I will take no chances and will grasp at every opportunity that might keep you a little safer than before. If it pleases you, please wear it and I will hope that it will offer you some means of protection. But do not rely on it.

And I am sad to say that there is still no news here, either of the goings-on at Callisar's. As near as I am able to determine, the refugees from there went to Duropolis, and from there -- if not captured -- on to cities other than Praxis. I hope the Archon has been successful, and your family is in my prayers at dawn and dusk. You are too -- you suffer too much as it is, my love, to have additional burdens heaped upon you which only become heavier still with the passing of every new day. I would gladly shoulder whatever I could and I, too, wish we were together so that I might shelter you for a time. I would not make you weak, love, through overprotection, and it is likely that what respite I could provide would be both false and brief. But if only to give you a moment of peace.

Do not stay your pen. I am with you.

The letter comes perhaps two weeks or so after you expect your letter might have arrived in Haven. It is another fine piece of parchment sealed with a wax imprint of the Tritonides symbol combined with mountain wildflowers. Again, there are the soft, faded petals of garden flowers are included.

My heart,

How I wish I had some token to send along with this letter, to show the boundlessness of my love for you. Instead, I can hopefully ease your worry some -- I know what has become of my family.

Riana arrived in Haven this very day, escorted by some very frazzled servants of our House. They made it safely away from Callisar's, but Riana could not quite comprehend why they did not go to Duropolis. Rather than allowing her escorts to take her to Haven, she insisted they go to Civitas Dei. Oh my love, how I adore my sister, but sometimes wish to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. While in Civitas Dei, she did not even alert my father to her presence. His knowledge of her safety will be because of the letter I have sent him. But... the important thing is that she is here now, and safe.

Though my news is not as happy, I do know of my mother's fate. She is alive, but she is in the hands of the Varati who now hold Callisar's Eyrie with a relentless fist. Kalypso has informed me that Clan Messala is the one that has claimed my home.

My heart is so torn. On the one hand, to know that my mother is alive is weight off my soul. But then to know that the Varati keep her against her will and soil the land and home that I love... It makes me want to go up into the sky and call for the fiercest storm to descend upon on Atesh-Gah.

I know I should not write these things, but I long so for your touch and the sheltering embrace of your wings. When with my family, I try to be strong and wise, but when I am alone... Oh love, I feel like a child, lost and alone longing for your warmth.

And your kiss. Again, I know I should not write this, but yearn for the time when we can steal away together and be alone, seperate from this world. A place where only we exist. I know it does not exist, but like the diamonds of snow you write of, I will keep hoping.

Know, my love, that no matter what this life holds for either of us, my heart will always belong to you. For me there will be no other.

My love is with you... keep safe.

O

FIN  

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