[Filter: Moirine Burrell]
[the writing is shaky; the entry is a long time in writing]
my lady occia moirine,
the citadel is nearly silent now. there is much work to be done in rebuilding.
have any else of your former cancellari written, i wonder?
there are rumours of you everywhere. i half expect to see you popping around every corner. i half expected you to take asher with you. the other half wonders if you even liked him much at all.
what i have wondered the most, this past month, is where i've gone wrong.
do you remember much of the occia before you, my lady moirine? by the time i ascended to my seat on her council, she was far past her waning point. it was like watching a flower wither. and then came you. big eyes, white hair, never much a peep out of you. the world was filled with possibilities.
i do not know what zafer, what avith, or joshua felt. but i cherished you, in my own way. you were cita's wife. a child then, but you would grow to be what an image of his earthly bride should be. strikingly beautiful. gentle. seemingly untouched by the evils of this world. no, moirine, i never thought of you in a carnal way, but perhaps i still sinned. i was proud. too proud of what you became.
when was it, the moment we began to stray too far? i've tried. cita (the real cita) knows i've tried. i've nothing but time now. brother rath keeps a tight eye upon my door. i can walk now, down stairs even, but it is tiresome and i need help. i am in the courtyard right now. the flower that turned purple to your liking stubbornly refuses to die. it is a constant reminder to me of what has happened.
what was the moment that i began to think of myself above others (and Others)? when did my oaths of protection and service become so tainted that i held deals with assassins and employed unwilling spies? that i began to believe that every word that wasn't your council's was a threat to you? even that of your own brother's. why couldn't i spend an ounce of compassion for him, when instead i spent one of cruelty? no, i can not even bring myself to lie now: large amountS of cruelty.
the day you tirelessly worked to dye ourledgers, avith and i watched. i'm still not sure you knew we were there, in the doorway. snickering like children over the properties of the colour teal and how it might benefit allen. we had accepted his sickness then and thought it a threat. yet you, you could do no wrong. you presented me with my ledger and i could not have been more warmed.
i was too proud to treat you as you ought have been treated. i shouldn't have trusted a teenaged girl to command me to spill blood, or been so pleased to hear it. i shouldn't have believed my god had come before me. it sickens me now, to know my own belief tainted the image of my god.
you knew he was an other. is that why you ran? or were you finally sick of us? you are not without fault in all of this, i realise. there are decisions you made and lies you told that led to the Other leading most of us to our near-deaths.
mostly, i think, i am writing this because i want you to understand that i realise that as one-seventh of the people who raised you to adulthood, i have ruined you. i'm sorry for this. i do hope, that if you're still alive, one day you'll forgive me.
just as i have forgiven you for your part in ruining me.
i hope you're much happier wherever you are now. there is much of your life you haven't lived yet. i have devoted myself to this citadel, and i will remain so even if i am no longer fit to serve as a cancellari. i am a broken man, i will freely admit, and old now, too. rath says i am still very weak. should i survive this long winter there will be nothing ahead of me but repentance. the list of wrongs i have committed will never be truly paid for, i feel. even against my own blood.
i suppose i would very much like to hear from you, if you are alive and still within this ledger's reach. you do not have to tell me anything of where you are or what you're doing. you may wish to be harsh with me. that's fine. i only want to know if you still breathe, and if you are happier.
if you should happen to cross the golden hour's path in your travels, there is a boy named tristan wellington there. please greet him warmly for me.
he is my son.
sincerely,
tobias
[Filter: Cance
[Filter: Avith Rempel]
i am with tulipa! we wrote a letter to moirine.
i wonder if she'll respond.