A Letter left for Elias Astor

[Hierophant]

Elias,

I know what you must be thinking now and I will not try to dissuade you of thinking less of me, as you should. I thought I was ready to step on that floor again, but the scorn of Domhnall only reminded me why I left politics in the beginning.

I acted hastily, and my night will be riddled with a mirage of much regret, fret but also clarity. As I write this, I am in some hovel in Qadira, a fitting squalor for the apparent shame I am told my life means. I am sorry, my young friend, I am sorry that I've disappointed.

To tell you the truth, I had an entire vision outlaid before me when I met you. I considered the great means we could go and reach to see this Gilded Gold make of Ephia's Well a resurgence of all that is good in the world. A true wonder, a true relic of a bygone era of which we have survived and persevered.

I imagined you by my side as Legates twin under the League of Gold, and I imagined you as Prelate in the early days, but most of all I imagined the legacy that would be given. I have not had a friend as you in some time, and those who knew the mind well might say it is for you are impressionable, and I am an old dog past his prime. I considered adopting you as a son, for such is what I began to see you as.

You may find me By-the-Sea always, with my god and the flock I mean to gather and grow, as I blink the thoughts of my sins in Ephia's Well away, thinking I am a good man. The truth is, I do not think good men exist anymore. Only righteous men.

Perhaps I'll return to the Well, but if I do it will not be in toga, but maille and many others. For when you know a renaissance cannot come by the hands of the few and what laws men speak, many hands are forced to ensure a lasting legacy.

Until then,

Eamon

[AboutThyme]

The young Sandstone student happens to catch the courier dispatching the letter; he pays the man well to wait while he pens a tidy reply, and sends him into the Sands with a full canteen of water, a piece of fresh fruit, and a heavier purse.

The letter smells lightly of cardamom oil and just a trace of jasmine.

Eamon,


This is all quite dramatic just to get out of paying my tuition... (I jest, of course. My way is paid and you needn't worry.)

Your words bring me many things: relief, chiefly, that you are alive and well where you've landed. Perhaps slightly less so, that it is in a pirate's paradise. Your letter, too, arrives with a sadness—that you did not at least say your farewells before departing, or that you'd speak with such finality of what once was, where I'd myself found friendship and admiration begin to sprout in otherwise unwelcoming soil.

I will not try to sway you, or guilt you, or tame the impetuous thunderheads of your impatience. I know your story here goes back so much further than mine, and I can only attempt to understand or even offer true empathy for what I see now: the Well has wounded you, so.

For now, however, I decline your invitation to think less of you. Instead, I counter: think more of yourself.

Perhaps you will think of me, as well, as I pursue my Green Tassle; perhaps you will still see us, someday, side-by-side. I don't know what awaits on the other side of Sandstone, but in this, I am dedicated. And between my classes and coursework, I will read the works you have gifted me, and study your John Syter, and I will watch and I will learn. If I cannot be good, then I will be great.

Write if you're able, won't you? I will practice a fine recipe for next we meet, and we will share a meal. You do, after all, owe me (at least) that.



Your friend yet, despite your best efforts,

Elias

[Hierophant]

[Received]

[Hierophant]

A freshly penned letter, the ink barely given time to dry and thus making for a rather smudged and hastily written message, smells nothing of the sort, as sweet as jasmine nor cardamom but a whiff of something foul that you cannot quite place.

Dear Elias,

I feel almost ashamed to have penned you what is only a frustrated man's declarations that he means to wage war on his former home; and to that, I give retort to my own folly and say Ephia's Well is still my home and I steel my thoughts.

In Assembly, I had almost forgotten you were right there, standing behind me. Was it the words of Domhnall that drove me to the brink or was it that my neck was stiff and could not turn to face you and see what you make of this ordeal.

But it is true, as you and many others have told me, I must think better of myself. Theatrics have no place in purpose, I think, and perhaps you would be appalled to know I have only raised my Voice so in that very Assembly. For so long I was known as quiet, so quiet as I said to you that many thought Ariel was the candidate of Kanon Hray, not I.

Yet it matters not. The seat of Legate means little while the Consulate breathes down upon their necks. If the seat of Legate meant anything, a monochrome government of Lily White should have been as terrifying as some thought it may be. It is not, and their hands are strung by little strings, held up by Baz'eeli bureaucrats.

I have returned home, Elias, and if you do indeed consider me a friend yet, call for me and I'll answer, and we shall break bread and embrace again.

Your friend,
Eamon