The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Posted: **Fri Oct 03, 2014 4:03 am**

The parchment containing the letter was of fine quality indeed; the very sort that might have easily been drawn from a lady's writing desk within stately drawing rooms. The crimson wax that secured it, however, bore no official seal, and it would not be carried by a courier of the Duchy. Instead, the letter would be borne by a young stable hand touched by the kindness of the quiet woman who'd handed it and coins worth half the payment to see it delivered to Darkenhold, both tucked into a simple satchel, over to him. She knew that he would see the message to its destination safely, without so much of a word to anyone else of the errand assigned him, and he knew that she would make good on the remaining payment when he returned.

Ariane,

Dearest and oldest friend, I realize now as I sit to pen this letter, that far too much time has passed since we last spoke. I make no excuses for that now. I only pray that you can see right to forgive me for this long silence as well as for what I must ask of you.

Tonight, I dispatched not only the stable boy who arrived at your door, but a trusted member of my household staff, along with her daughter, sent to deliver something most precious to me into your care. By the time you receive this letter, they will be well on their way. Their destination, however, is not your doorstep. Their journey ends where their cargo's journey first began, some fifteen years ago. A birthplace of so very many things--our friendship, for one; an impossible romance, for another.

Forgive my cryptic words, but they are currently the only protection the cargo they carry is offered. I know that you will understand their meaning, as well as my intention--which may be questioned when others find out what I have done, what I have sent away without so much as a word to anyone else. Not even Burel. I know, too, that you will protect that which is most precious to me. That you will keep it safe--better there, I think, in my home, than in Thessilane where so much is so very uncertain for all of us.

They have been instructed to remain until their cargo has been collected. I believe that you will recognize it immediately, and that you will know what must be done in order to keep it safe.

With infinite gratitude,
Lenore

Posted: **Fri Oct 03, 2014 1:26 pm**

"'Siris - !"

She'd almost dropped that pretty missive, when she'd began to realise its meaning; damned near did when she reached the name at the end.
Actually answering it, though, was an entirely different caliber of challenge.

Condense the details of several particularly turbulent years into the span of three sentences. Oh, into three paragraphs, if you must - but no more than that, for we are constrained here by the limits of page-size and time; this is, after all, a matter of some urgency. Describe Myrken's state of constant flux, heightened as it is in recent years; detail Ashfiends and cultists and Dreamwakers, but spare only a few words for each of them, for there's only so much room upon the page. No. This is an impossible task, by any reasonable standard. A former Governor might manage it, or a certain scribe - but neither of them is present and neither of them can be made to be; the only person to whom she would entrust the whole origins of this letter and of her sentiments besides is miles from here, and his return is far from imminent.

So in the end, it can only be Farsiris - a woman frighteningly competent and generally overworked. 'Siris - accountant and customs-manager and general household wrangler; onetime Secretary General besides, and entirely familiar with the business of translating a swordswoman's intentions into legible words....

Lenore,

The years have been too many; the occasions too few. There is nothing whatever to be excused, nothing to forgive: we have had word intermittently of Thessilane pursuits, and I can scarcely imagine what shape your days must have taken throughout these last years. I suspect, though, that we are alike in lacking the time and opportunity required for journeys, even those involving destinations of which we are very fond.

- and already it seems so clinical, so cold; so ill-suited for receipt by a woman like Lenore. Duke's wife she might be; Thessilane Duchess, she very much is. But long years ago she was a delicate shape upon worn, dusty steps, soft-eyed and silent; in those days she was the most gentleness a northern mercenary had ever seen.

"No - no, we'll not start it over again. Just - here, perhaps if I - "

But you haf been missed, and beyond anything I hope that these haf been kind years for you and yours. By your letter I fear they haf not been, and this I truly regret.

I will seek your cargo at its destunation. But I recie receive it with this caution: there may be better homes for a thing truly preshucious

" - no; no, enough of that. My mistake. Perhaps it's better you see to that boy, mn? Something hot, something to recover him from that ride - "

Should it become necissary my home can and will shelter your cargo from pursuit. Understand, Myrken does not share the Crown's sentuments towards Burel. Certain of the Crown's repreesentatives are nonetheless stationed here, for what duration I do not know. Myrken itself is, off course, as difficult as you haf known it to be in the past. But this home is our sister's work, and its walls do not know how to be weak.

Such measures may not be necissary. You know off course that I hope that they will not be, and that even so I prepare in case of the worst.

What can be done will be done. In memory, and in gratitude alike.

- Ariane

A pause, when she has signed her name to it at last. A silence, long and considering.
And with tightened lips and a hand grown tense, she scrawls an urgent addition:

I hope that danger is not iminent, to you or to he.
That you will both remain very, very safe.

and it is all, absolutely everything, that she can manage to do.

They keep that courier for some hours: time enough for rest, following a ride which could only have been exhausting; time enough for nourishment as well. When he departs through Darkenhold's tall gates, he rides beneath the pallid light of a morning's early hours and upon a horse that is not his own; with a new jacket for his shoulders and a scarf against the autumn chill, and -

"Carefully," they'd bade him at the gate. "Carefully, now."
And showed him those roads which were certain to be safe.

Posted: **Sun Oct 05, 2014 1:55 am**

The journey from Thessilane to Myrken Wood was no quick jaunt, especially when care had to be taken to travel only the safest of roads. Venturing through Derry was absolutely out of the question, and one does not turn south from Meadowford when Crown troops have been steadily advancing from that very same direction. So north they went towards Edirne in New Dauntless for the better part of a day and a half, then west again along the Dauntine Road for a period of at least that, before finally turning south along the North Passage Down towards the end of the fourth day, all within the confines of a commoner's cart where a pile of straw made a very poor excuse for a cushion, as bones compared its lack of comfort with every jaunt, every jarring, to the thick, down-filled velvet seats of the carriages that she had become accustomed to riding in over the course of a privileged childhood.

Everything had happened so quickly. There had been no time for understanding through the haze of half-sleep--there had been no time for real questions, for any real protestation. Moments had been spared only for a firm, and seemingly final, embrace from her mother. A second spared only for the Duchess to press paper into her daughter's hand as she placed a kiss to the child's forehead and urged her into the back of the cart, tucked between trunks which, judging by their size, might have housed only a fraction of her things, but were not her own. Instead, they were old. Plain. -Common-.

It was only while watching first her mother, then her home, as they slowly faded from view in those wee hours, that Vara realized just what had happened. It would be hours until she could see right to read what her mother had written. Hours until the sun would afford her the light; hours until green eyes stopped shedding frightened tears.

Posted: **Sun Oct 05, 2014 3:09 am**

My dearest Vara,

My darling daughter, my precious girl: it is in an effort to keep you safe that I must send you away from us now, but I pray that we will not be parted long. Though it pains me to send you out into this world on your own, I know that you are old enough to understand both why it must be done and what you must do. Please do not be afraid; you will be well looked after, for I send you home to your place of birth.

Regardless, I must caution you to be careful with your name, for we cannot be certain of where anyone's loyalties lie, save for a very select few. One of these trusted friends will be calling to collect you--Ariane; you will remember her, I think. She will most certainly know you, and she will, I have no doubt, look after you with the utmost care. And if ever it becomes necessary, she will protect you as fiercely as if you were her own.

Know that you will be safe within her home. Know that your absence is felt keenly in Thessilane even now. Know that you are loved by your family. Know that we will be reunited very soon.

You have my word.

Posted: **Wed Oct 22, 2014 1:23 pm**

What good were words when they were the only thing left to cling to?

In an empty room upstairs, a maid and her daughter had left only more of the same behind:

Lady -

We cant stay behind and wait no more for yor mums frend to fetch you. I sent word ahed to my sister in the south and we were ment to be there a week ago.

Its gettin colder by the day and stayin in Mirkens Woods wasn ever part of or bargan. Its not a good place for Thessals to be and why yor mum sent you on alone I cant ritely understand, but she done said youd be safe there.

She gave her word.

Lilja

PS - Theres sum of yor things under the bed hid and mor in the maids closed tucked in back.

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