Curs Family/Correspondence between Foreign and Cartor after the death of Martana
Cartor was sitting in front of his study filling out the paperwork of Henk's capture in Hamadan, when a dark-skinned man came in, flanked by Cartor's guards. He was broad and tall, wearing exotic jewelry and foreign clothing. A large, curved sword was hanging by his side and a small, equally curved dagger stuck to his belt.
Cartor turned to the man, "Yes?" The voice was loud and imposing, "I come for Sahib Cartor Curs, are you him?" Worried, the Caligan judge got out of his chair, "Yes, I am, state your business." To his surprise the foreigner did not respond immediately, yet he knelt slowly, head facing downwards, "Blessings to His Majesty." "What?!" The man looked up, "I have come here in the name of Your Sister Martana Curs, Great Malika of the Desert Nation of Heen, the Desert Rose. It is only appropriate to address our royalty's family with their proper title." Cartor's face grew dark in fear, "What message did she order you to bring? I have hardly corresponded with her for many years now." The men took a parchment from his vest, closed with the royal sign, "Her last will, Your Majesty."
For numerous seconds, Cartor stood motionless. In utter silence, he took the parchment, "Leave me." The men bowed and left the room.
Breaking the seal, Cartor nervously unrolled the parchment and read it.
Foreign was sitting in front of his mobile study filling out the paperwork of Dsinanas while he was stuck in Ortedail, when a dark-skinned man came in, flanked by Foreign's guards. He was broad and tall, wearing exotic jewelry and foreign clothing. A large, curved sword was hanging by his side and a small, equally curved dagger stuck to his belt.
Foreign turned to the man, "Yes? I don't have much time for traders right now..." The voice was loud and ithe sound boomed through the tent, "I come for Sahib Foreign Curs, Baron of Dsinanas." Slightly irritated, the baron got out of his chair, "Well, you have found him. Do you care to tell me why you were looking for me?" To his surprise the foreigner did not respond immediately, yet he knelt slowly, head facing downwards, "Blessings to His Majesty." Slightly amused, a smile appeared on Foreign's face, "I'm sorry? Blessings to whom now?" The man looked up, "I have come here in the name of Your Sister Martana Curs, Great Malika of the Desert Nation of Heen, the Desert Rose. It is only appropriate to address our royalty's family with their proper title." Foreign's face grew dark in irritation, "I haven't spoken to her in years, I think whatever she send me will interest me." The man took a parchment from his vest, sealed with the royal sign, "Her last will, Your Majesty."
For numerous seconds, Foreign stood motionless. In utter silence, he took the parchment, "Very well then. Leave me now." The men bowed and left the room.
Breaking the seal, Foreign steadily unrolled the parchment and read it.
"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"
Cartor swallowed slowly, "Foreign, what have we done? Our poor sister..." Foreign sighed and put the parchment on his study, "Still so terribly naive. We did what was best for her. For all of us..."
After several hours of silent pondering, Cartor began to write a letter,
"Dear Foreign,
Undoubtedly, Martana's couriers have reached you too by now.
What have we done, my brother?! We have condemned our sister into exile and left her to whatever fate that took her from us now. We made the wrong decision based on the wrong reasons! Sure, my career survives still because of it, but at what cost? What price did we had to pay -- what price did we force our sister to pay -- for all of this? And her poor son, Lucius, we ruined his life with hate towards us.
She may have said to have forgiven us, but I can forgive myself.
What have we done?"
Foreign sighed and composed a reply, "Dear Cartor,
Quiet yourself and remember the reasons why we did what we had to do. This is not the time to lose yourself over guilt. It was her choice to leave us and the family into exile. It was her choice to break all bonds.
Besides, as it turned out, she had become Queen of a nation. That's not that bad, is it? She didn't even go look for her child, as I read it.
I met him recently. The boy. All grown up and newly ascended to nobility. I will not doubt that we made the right choice. Not after meeting him.
Just stay calm."
Cartor's hand went through his hair, and he started to compose a reply,
"Dear Foreign,
The reasons were wrong and selfish, you know that. We should never have forced her to obey our corrupt will. John knew it, our dear brother John knew it all along. But he was too old and marginal to stop us, wasn't he?
We are monsters, my brother, and you dare to deny that on the eve of our sister's burial?
I can only take comfort in the fact that she found something else to love again: her people. She didn't die bitter, or alone. But we are not to thank for that. Doesn't that bother you? Our poor sister...
I hope to meet Lucius once. Undoubtedly he must have been hateful towards you. What had you expected then? You -- we -- dumped him on a ship!"
Foreign's reply was short, "Don't try to make me feel guilty about something that's just as true today as it was then. We had every reason to do what we did. Leave it at that.
And don't you dare involve John in this matter. He suffered enough."
Cartor threw the message aside and buried his head in his hands.
