Curs Family/Lucius and the late Martana
The letter had troubled Lucius dearly.
Only a day ago, a dark-skinned foreigner had come to see him, speaking in the name of Martana Curs. He had known her to be his real mother, ever since his foster parents had given him the letter written by his real uncles. He had never met her though. He had not tried to find her. But then again, neither had she, did she?
She had become the Queen of a Desert Nation, named Heen. Lucius had heard this from merchants some time back now. Apparently, she had lived quite a life without the worries about her son. Or so he thought.
The announcement of her death and the foreigner delivering her last will to Lucius had turned his world around.
"This is the will and last words of Martana Curs, Great Malika of Heen. It will be send forth, four-fold.
First, to the Heenite people, my people, who I loved above all. Second to my brothers Cartor and Foreign, who -- even though how things turned out -- I know to have tried to always take my best interests at heart. Third, to all rulers, who have been my companions throughout this whole journey.
These words being read by you, means only one thing: I am no longer with you to tell them in person. Undoubtedly, the great warrior realm that Heen is, I have perished in battle, and I would not wish to end it any other way. I hope I died on the desert soil, the lands I would shed all my blood for. I do wonder whether I would hear the mourning song of the desert when I die. The song that all Heenites heard too many times, carried high through the wind, touching the harts of all it reached.
"A silent voice, flies overhead, speaking of words, that cannot be said. Only in dreams, they can be heard, when thoughts are pure, and left unstirr’d.
The lonely sleeper, within cloth held, the voice speaking, of what we felt. So will he, in his peaceful sleep, know the tears, shed while we weep."
Let me start the rest of this will by saying that I will not direct my last words to anyone specific, as there would be too many to say and too many to say it to. I go with the hope to have lived my life in such a way that those who I loved already know what I had wanted to say. Save one, who I will address later on.
My last will shall count four requests, which I hope to see fulfilled one day: The first would be not to bury me in any way. Find my remains on the battlefield and bring them to Taghalez. Then burn them on a fire so great it can be seen over the entire desert, and let the people be relieved of work to mourn. When the fire dies out, take my ashes, and spread them in the desert wind from the walls of Taghalez. Let my final resting place be my own country, so that I am always with you. So that I can guide those who I loved home in their times of need, and so that I can scorch the skins of those who trespass on my soil.
The second would be to place my armor and scimitar in one of Taghalez' caves, as a shrine for my people. In case of sorrow and despair, they can come to the cave and remember me, but more importantly: remember what I stood for.
Third, let the sword or arrow that ended my life, or the horns or scales of the Inferus lest the invasion had gotten the better of my old bones, be placed aside them. We must not fear it, but face it so we are always remembered of the Heenite way: strong, unwavering, and eternal, no matter what we face.
As fourth, I had hoped to have this will delivered to the fourth person I failed to mention above, and who I will address in person: Lucius Curs, my son and only child. Rumors have reached me that you have finally been acknowledged as a noble, which is all I ever wanted for you. I want you to know that I had wished to see history go differently. I want you to know that I regretted giving you away more than anything in my life, regardless of what the letter might have said that my brothers left with you as they gave you to the shipper's wife. I saw you sail away from my life, and it hurt me more than anything. I want you to know that I love you, always. Do not blame my brothers, as I learned to forgive them, in time. I can only hope that you will once forgive me too.
There is in fact a fifth wish, my only true last wish to which I will bind every Heenite in an irreversible oath: Never to forget me and what I stood for.
Whereas King Scion the Skilled Twinblade gave Heen life, I, Great Malika Martana Curs gave Heen a culture, an identity. Something worth dying for.
Martana Curs, Great Malika of Heen"
He had always wanted to believe she was a heartless, boring person. One who didn't care for him and who he did not care for back. She had to be an object of indifference; something he could hate, something he could resent. But not a person, not a woman with so much love in her. Love that he never had the chance to see. And it tormented him ever since he got the letter.
Her feelings had been so intense. Her love had been so righteous, he could tell.
First he had been angry. How could she dare to bring these feelings of agony upon him, after never even having tried to reach him? Did she wish to confuse him further? Turn him darker? But he had soon realized that the words of a dying woman were not to be doubted. Not meant to irate. But to repent. To find peace. And as she had found peace, he found only confusion and a turmoil of thoughts.
Why had she given him up? Why had he been condemned to the life of a commoner? Who had she been? How would they have been, if still together?
It was a torment. Greater than not having know her at all.
Lucius had been surprised to receive the letter carrying the duchal seal.
"Sir Curs
I apologize for your loss. I did not know your mother, but from your grief I can tell she was a great leader, and a loving mother.
I know little of the shifting sands of Heen. I know more of my eldest, now deceased, brothers exploits in the area before Heen existed, but not much since he left the realm of the living some time before Heen was created.
Word has reached me recently, that my eldest still alive brother, has moved to the realm of Heen. I shall probably receive word from him in a week or so. Such long travel times between the islands and all.
Once again, I mourn your loss, should you need anything, you need only ask the Fallan Family.
Zyrrin Fallan Duchess of Springdale"
After an hour of silent staring into the darkness, Lucius composed a reply.
"Dear Duchess,
I'm very... humbled by your letter. I do not know how to react, nor how to accept your condolences for the death of a woman I have never met nor hardly knew. But it means something to me, oddly enough. It's somehow less confusing now, like a weight lifted from my shoulders.
I still have trouble acknowledging her as my mother, but I see that I must, as her blood is mine and as you have addressed me as her son, others will too, soon enough.
I thank you for your sympathies,
Knight Curs"
