ARRAMY

[Addended From the Personal Correspondence of Brenorra Warring]

35th of Uirra

Brenorra

Today I stumbled upon the ship that took you to the colonies.

She looked like any other rustbucket, and I was going to keep a low profile and slide on by beyond her horizon, but something about how she sat in the water seemed off. She was too light to be bringing a load south from NimK, and she was on the wrong heading to have come from the mainland.

I can't really find the words to tell you what it did to me, seeing a sylvo of you as a line item in the manifest. It was at once a sweet relief and a new form of torture, as much proof that you survived as if was proof that I'm too late. You are well and truly beyond my reach, now.

The captain was relieved to tell me the hashmark next to your name meant you were alive when he made delivery of goods. I wasn't surprised – you're one of the strongest people I've ever met.

But then I made him show me where they kept you.

It might as well have been a metal coffin.

It reeked of death.

All I could think was that you had to breathe that air.

The chains you wore were heavy.

There was the outline of a dead body stained into the floor. That corpse could have been you, dying alone, in pain.

There was dried blood on the wall. That blood could have been your blood.

So I stripped the captain and his crew, chained them up in the same shackles they put you in, and then one by one, I executed them.

I left a message for the Coventry that wouldn't be missed, and then I set the freighter on a northward course and fired up her engines. She should cross into Coventry waters in a few days.

I told myself they would never face a judge if I let them go. They would only come back and keep right on working for the Coventry. They needed to be stopped. I was the only justice you and all the other people in those bins would ever see.

Then once they were dead, I thought their deaths should be useful.

But that is a scant comfort. I can feel myself slipping, Bren. I'm teetering on the edge of a bottomless abyss. There are things I've done that I don't deserve to get away from, things the High Council pardoned me for so they could keep using me. I know what sort of monster I'll have to become to bring the Coventry down, and it will be as easy as putting on an old coat. And that? That is what frightens me. I'm more terrified of what I'll become without you than I am of all the fighting ahead of me.

I've never wanted anyone to think well of me, before. It never mattered. Things needed to be done, so I did them. What other people thought about it didn't make any difference. Now, I'm still going to do what needs to be done, but I find myself hesitating. The man I was wouldn't have hesitated. There is only one difference between then and now, and that is you.  

What have you done to me?   

Rathe

~~~

4th of Thyris

Brenorra

I'm not sure why I keep writing to you. You're never going to read these unless I'm dead. That's my agreement with Kyro. He's to keep my pipe collection and my maps, and the rest of it is to go to you. As of this moment, I am worth approximately one pair of boots, a pair of sailor's mittens, about seventy lyr and change, and perhaps my Captain's uniform if it isn't ruined. Maybe my socks. Congratulations.

I'm writing to tell you we met up with the Illyrian forces today.

Things are much bleaker than even I had anticipated. There is a reason the Coventry is so eager to paint them as the villains in the newsreels back home. They've been fighting the Coventry for a decade, ever since the Coventry began helping themselves to Illyrian children.

For a long time, the Coventry stayed inside their own borders. Two years ago, they started pushing a new objective: using the Illyrian settlements for target practice.

The Illyrians fought back, but the Coventry has proven to be a formidable enemy, with an almost limitless army and weapons that make the Illyrian's best rifles look like toys. It took less than a year for the Coventry to pound the Illyrians into the ground, and now the Illyrians are clinging to their last fortress in the mountains. If that falls, there will be nothing keeping the Coventry from launching attacks on the Illyrian islands.

To make matters even more grim, the Coventry has been harrying the Illyrian ships as they cross the straight, making it almost impossible to get reinforcements and supplies to their encampments in the colonies.

The Stryka has been tasked with escorting the next Illyrian troop convoy.

We leave before dawn.

We're one of only two ships with a full complement of guns.

Knowing what I do about the Coventry sparked the 'which lucky person should benefit from my demise' conversation with Kyro. He told me I would have to give you my things myself because I wasn't going to die, and then he walked out with my last bottle of brandy.

Flaigha.

I just had a thought.

What if you don't want my things? The money, sure, but what would you do with the boots? Probably just get in your way. I'd ask you if you want them, but you're not here.

Rathe

~~~

14th of Nima

Brenorra

We made it across the straight to the colonies, but the Stryka took heavy damage. We're currently attached to what's left of the Illyrian's ground forces, holed up in the network of caves they're using as a base. The supplies we brought over are dwindling, and the spring thaw has turned the ground to mud. We are trapped here, with little room to maneuver. The Coventry is dug in just over the ridge. Their flying ships have us pinned down, and they brought in heavy artillery during the wee hours.

I won't lie. Whatever today brings, it is going to be hard.

I've never written a 'last letter', before. How does that old soldier's saying go? 'A word left unsaid will stay the blade of death.' I'm more of a realist – I've never had anyone to write a last letter to. My mother wouldn't have wanted one. But now, realistically, I don't have much time left, and I have something left unsaid.

Turns out I'm a coward. Give me an uphill battle and I know what to do, but one look at those dark eyes and I can't string two words together. Good thing you're not here.

Would it shock you to know I dream about you?

I have for a while. This foolish heart, wishing for something I've no right to, but you're like a candleflame in a window, one bright spot of sanity in the storm, and I can't help longing for that warmth. I dinnai expect it, this longing, but that is Brenorra Warring, all unexpected.

I haven't had anything good in my life for so long I had forgotten what it was like, having someone care what happened to me. I can count on one hand the number of people who have thought my life worth saving, and I'm not even one of them. But you came back for me, over and over. Even when you knew what I was, you didn't run, and now you're everywhere. Waking, sleeping, it makes no difference, you're always on my mind. I miss you. I miss your laugh, I miss talking to you, I'd give anything to hear your voice again. The thought of you is the only thing that keeps me moving forward — you, safe and well on NaVarre's island, teaching at the school. Or wherever you want to go when this is over. You can do whatever you put your mind to, lass, and if I could, I would go with you. I don't dare hope for more than that, not after everything I've done. I would never ask more of you. Nai. I would be content to simply be where you are, because Rathe is nothing without Brenorra.

In a moment I am going to leave this place and lead a team over the ridge to break into the Coventry camp. Then we're going to take as many of them with us as possible while the rest of the Illyrians make a run down the valley and out of range of the Coventry long guns.

It won't be easy. We'll be left behind enemy lines, fighting ten-to-one. There are only so many times a man can dodge a bullet before one of them finds its mark, and I have dodged my fair share already. I've made peace with that death long ago, but I don't want to face it without saying what I should have said while you were right in front of me.

Thank you.

Love,

Rathe

................................................

AN: 

So, I went back and forth with this one several times. Is it too angsty? Is it too much of a jerk from Bren's POV to have an entire chapter of nothing but Rathe? Does it read like he would have written it? Should I just concentrate more on Bren and less on Arramy? 

Gargh! 

Welp, it's what I've got, so I'm posting it.