Chapter Text
11/28
Ajlor Eldiris, Eldessa,
They say distance brings perspective; that a puzzle left alone long enough bubbles up in the back of one's mind like an underground spring, the fresh clues waiting for you to revisit them, drink deeply, and be refreshed. Perhaps that's so. Perhaps it is just that I have little enough to do currently, here between the sea and the sky, the future before me so unknown and unbidden that all my mind can do is return to the past, over and over again, picking at all the things I only now realize that I have left undone. I wonder if this is how my mother felt, so many times in her life; the long and unbroken silences that stretched out before her death. Maybe that's why I took her letters with me, when I left: to understand her a little better; what she said, and what she did not say.
I imagine my mother sitting in the big chair in the Den, staring into the fire while all the clocks tick and tock around her. In her hands I see a letter, neatly unfolded in her lap; the same one I hold in my hands now, far as I am from any house of any kind. The letter reads, in elegant handwriting:
Ajlor, Oveldareiiris-in-law,
I wish I were more fluent in the tongue of your youth, my dear Clara. I've always been fascinated by it, particularly its capacity for ambiguities and double entendres. A language is a kind of puzzle, isn't it? And Erajan, in many ways, is a key to the most intriguing of all puzzles, that of the past: our own history. I don't specifically mean that of our soon-to-be-joined families, though that too. When I was in college in Corarica, the department of Erajan linguistics was far more active and intriguing than you might suppose. I was always very focused on my studies in architecture and drafting, perhaps unfortunately, to the detriment of other worthy skills. The curse of Lydia's blessings: mastery of one skill or art too often leads to the woeful neglect of another. In every life, as with every path, and every plan, choices must be made. One path is taken, another is abandoned, perhaps forever.
Or perhaps, just for the day.
All of which is to say: welcome to Mount Holly, dear girl. Though large enough indeed, I choose to welcome few enough jeaires into this place, but my beloved Simon has chosen you for his own, in pursuit of his own dreams, and such love is sacred, I well and firmly believe. As you may have heard, I value truth and honesty above all things, and this you should expect from me, likewise-- in all things. If sometimes a touch obliquely. For as I am very sure that Simon has told you: I do like my puzzles.
Naturally, you will want to prepare for the wedding in the traditional manner, in keeping with the customs of your native land, I expect? I respect and honor that, but I hope you will permit me to suggest a little variation-- not such a deviation as to sink to the level of sacrilege, I hope you will agree, more a kind of... initiation, of sorts, the sort of game I have long played with my sons to varying degrees, and a great deal of mutual enjoyment. I hope you too will see it that way.
In lieu of the usual accoutrements of weddings (something old, something new, etc...) I suggest the following:
- Something odd
- Something hew
- Something orrddo
- Something true
I will be most interested to see what you come up with. If you find yourself puzzling over my meaning, considering my aforementioned lack of facility with Erajan, I have provided some tools for you. As you know, I am at heart a draftswoman, and see things largely in the hues of my profession. I am admittedly curious to learn whether your understanding of these shades of meaning is on the order of mine with Erajan, or if you come to this house with some aptitude in the matter of your own. I hope you will forgive me my little game, such as it is, and appreciate it in the spirit intended.
Lorja, Uldareijora-in-law,
Baroness Auravei
I imagine her considering this letter, how she might have read it, in the form of objects spread on the coffee table before her: a pair of tinted spectacles the hue of roses, a round, darkened monocle, and a magnifying glass with a lens like the sky. The rough and turbulent train of her thoughts, barreling forward...
First, through rose colored glasses,
Then through a glass darkly,
Last, though sea and sky...
Like I, like I.