Chapter Text
Lord Commander,
I hope this letter finds you hale. I do not know when I will send it, or how long it will take me to write enough to be worth sending. But I have started writing because you said that I could and Count Edmont saw me off with stationary that would have cost me two moons worth the allowance that Tataru doles out to me.
And I am finding Ishgard lingers with me. Maybe that shouldn’t surprise me. I suspect it won’t surprise you. I suspect, maybe, that’s why you said I could write to you.
I admit that I didn’t think about it much before we parted ways. I feel like I should apologize. You have been more thoughtful from the very first and have twice as much on your mind. I’m not of the illusion my place in things is simple, but it’s not yours either.
Gyr Abania is beautiful. As much as I wish I weren’t here I think you’d like to see it. The furious red of the trees reminds me of my childhood home. The foliage is different, but the specter of the same paths run along the roots. You asked me about where I grew up and I wish I’d had more to say, at the time. It was beautiful too. I spent moons behind the same set of paper doors. My feet remember the dances better than they remember the earth.
I didn’t hurt people then.
I would be pleased to show you someday, when we are finally afforded a moment to take a collective breath.
The Garlean constructions are vulgar from this side of the wall. Or, I’ve noticed them as intruders in a way I hadn’t before. I keep wondering why I hadn’t before. But, at night, the harsh metal rises melt into the dark and I catch myself pretending that they’re the shadows of Camp Dragonhead instead.
Would you fight another war? I keep looking for shadows.
Are you getting enough sleep? We crossed paths as often after the peace as before, or maybe more, and at all bells of the day. I have never been one to sleep through the night, but Ishgardians seem not to follow similar habits. I admit I worried for your health from time to time. You have done enough, I think, but I know you’ll still do more. I hope you will take as much care as you’ve impressed upon me that I should.
We haven’t been asked to share the evening watch here. The Scions are treated carefully on most invitations, though Yda Lyse has been insisting on doing her part and I think Alphinaud misses the schedule Estinien held him to. For my part, I am asked to help with menial things, which I don’t mind except that it’s as often a distraction as it is a need. I don’t know if it’s become widely believed that my nature demands constant occupation, but I didn’t go looking for gods or wyrms to slay. For better or worse, I have been sent to them again and again.
I know how to keep quiet and still. I can be left until I’m needed or called upon. None of it helps me sleep any better.
I don’t know if stillness is what I want, or if it will feel foreign now, but I know I’m asked to help carry messages and furnish supplies and I’m rarely asked to speak at any table and I’m still set apart. I have to remember that if I am helpful, that’s good enough.
But I can admit that I appreciated your interest in my thoughts on your war, when I was asked to be a part of it, and that for as frigid as you and your people have told me Ishgardians are inclined to be, I was just another soul laboring under a shared fate. I realize, perhaps too late, I always shared meals in the Camp’s mess and at House Fortemps’ table. I was not simply fed them. I think I preferred that sense of commonness. Or commonality.
I have been hunting with M’naago for a sennight since I unfolded this parchment last. Rereading what I’ve written, I fear that my letter will sound to you like I regret leaving Coerthas or I am unhappy to be useful or that I miss you. I think maybe I don’t know what is meant to feel normal anymore, that’s all. I didn’t hunt when I was young, but M’naago treats me as if this is something we both do as naturally as breathing, and I appreciate it as long as I don’t think about the way it doesn’t feel violent.
It should still feel violent.
It feels like it could be normal. Do you feel like peace is normal? I have felt as if you must have been looking toward it since you were of age to understand what it wasn’t. And I wonder if that want makes the having of it sit with you more easily. Now, I know peace is not easy. But does it feel normal to you?
We are meant to meet with General Raubahn at the castrum soon and I wonder if I’ll be asked to take back any news to Ishgard again. I could deliver this to you in person, then. If this letter arrives with a moogle, I have likely been asked to head into the fray again. I will tell myself it will be because they want me to be ready to help the other healers. And I am sorry if the post moogle is fussy.
Please feel no obligation to respond, and do take care. I would be grateful if you could convey to Ser Francel I will do my best to bring back news from the Gridanian markets soon and to House Fortemps that I wish them well.
Respectfully,
Rinh