WAR AND MERCY

[trinn 5128]

 

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A public missive: contemplations of Imperium and War

9th of Aurelian’s Glory, 637

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Death claimed my mother early into my life. The Empress-Consort Circe Horen, remembered so vividly in my mind for the love which emanated from her as naturally as she breathed. You, my reader, perhaps will recall her. Perhaps it is a memory buried and nestled uncomfortably in your mind, as a memory of an Imperial who spoke only from a kindness now scarcely attributed to our names. For myself, it is a memory of my mother – a memory of, when all things otherwise find themselves disturbed in uncertainty, how I truly know myself at its beginnings.    I wondered, as our Imperium finds itself upon the precipice of expansion, how she might feel. We find ourselves before the turning point of history, as armies gather united against our treacherous foes – and we might feel, at every coming sunrise, the bitter kiss of steel and stench of blood for every stand we take united. It is an honourable thing to serve in your Imperium, to protect a legacy that has not been seen since the ages of our forebearers; but then, as well, it is a heavy thing to defend and bear the burden of violence upon ourselves. For in our Earthly Kingdoms we remain beneath the auspice of our Lord, and war makes heavy upon our souls.  So when it is that I see my brother return from battle, and his face is parched of youth, I think again; “what would my mother say?”   If she had lived, she would see upon our horizon the Imperium we have made, and how far we have come together. She will see that humanity sees itself settled firmly in the unity of our Imperium, that houses lost to time have found themselves rooted, a common banner stands amongst us, and we are kin again. Lorraine, I would have urged her to visit, and the warmth of the hearth it has rekindled. Tarnavon, as I would lead her down the river, where the remnants of old foes now found themselves settled with new-found love in marriage. Idunia, perhaps if our journey would go so far, where the one she would have known only as a boy in his youth, ascended so far as its High King. Therefore if she had lived till now, we would have found ourselves beneath the summer sun again, gladdened by the legacy of an Imperium that would have found itself absent if not for the deeds of a collective, greater humanity.    But her gesturing finger would have raised further than our borders,where our foes gather and lurk, and pry at the weaknesses of our fortitude. She would see those who would reject this Imperium, those who would flee and those we call other. I would tell her, they will be our foes in this war, and we will see them behind iron shields or walls of stone; in blood and viscera, or enlocked in chains. But she would urge me, you, to look again, closer still, and see them beneath the iron and themselves laid bare. Through our eyes, which we share as inherited gifts from the Lord, and see untowards their redeemable souls.   So as I sit here lost in my memory, and you find my writing upon this missive, I daresay that she might bid mercy. My father loved her for her compassion and heart, and she spoke to us these lessons under oaken leaves hiding glimpses of sunlight. Her hair vibrant beneath afternoon suns, so vivid that in my youth I thought it comparable to gold itself.  Joan, she had bade me: It’ll be a troublesome thing, to let yourself feel. It will hurt to hope, and more so to open your heart to it. But you must promise me something – you must never stop daring to. It will be our promise alone. Yet it is my hope that in my sharing of this, this promise will not stay ours alone.

 

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Ser Misha, the Watcher

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Mercy is an easy thing to miss in this time of strife, a small action that might otherwise be deemed unnecessary or unearned. Heed ourselves to my newly found friend, the newly Knighted Ser Misha, the Watcher. On the eve of my return from Idunia, a snow elven traitor was brought to execution within our lands. At its completion, it was a simple thing to burn the dead as our customs dictate. The head was to be piked as example. Yet, on this eve, he pleaded mercy for the traitor’s corpse. There is a custom, he begged, for those of his ancestry. His remembrance of customs for even the traitorous dead, that bid my hand to stay. At his urging, I asked for the return of the elf’s corpse, the head included, and he laid it to rest in burial; a return proper of his own, at no benefit to himself. Ser Misha, who asked only for a simple grace, for a stranger he knew nothing of and undeserved.   Hence, again we stand at the precipice of a march. Abide by your Emperor, abide by your oaths; it is a dignified thing to pursue a legacy of man, and find the light of the Lord banishing the darkness of these lands. The soldiers of this Imperium are a testament to a legacy that has not seen itself returned for many-a years until our forefathers found themselves victorious. Yet I beseech you at this precipice to, as well, heed the words of my mother, an echo of all mothers. Pursue this war with the burden of merciful justice in our minds, and the daring to hope for the redeeming of our foes. That we might meet them upon the battlefield in the inevitability of our victories, but greet them thereafter with the conscience to handle our laws mercifully and kindly. Wherefore we may leave this time of war better than we had begun — not merely triumphant, but justly kind.    Let us, when drums fall silent and our banners place to rest, say we had not surrendered our souls in exchange for conquest. Peace will return, it is a bud which grows and will find itself in splendour with each rising sun: so wherefore we are triumphant in battle, let us not raze this bud of peace. Let us remain unyielding in our duty to this Imperium, but humble still in the judgement which comes thereafter. The hand of mercy is a generous one, and we may impart it even when it is not given in kind. Stay your hand, not at my command but upon the command of virtue.Victory is assured in our unity, but the measure of our souls remains in the keeping of our deeds alone.          Joan Mariana Horen, Imperial Princess of Man Daughter of Circe and Tiberias Horen

Proofread by Mayelasiol Aen Tarem (Thank you Johann for proofreading for me)

 

 

 

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A Private letter is penned to Johannes Horen, alongside a copy of the  missive.

 

Spoiler

 

 

To my brother, the Imperial Justiciar Johannes,

 

It was an accidental thing, to have seen the world as far as I have. I had not intended to, content as I was to remain in the seclusion of our family’s company. In my youth, I would have said us twin flames; it was predestined that our path would be joined, wherefore this world had gifted us together, we would naturally see it as one. Yet I find myself reckoned by the reality of our present and I know this is not so. Our paths have forked, and words are scarce. 

 

The world I have seen without you was a foreign one to me, and my role as Emissary has not been kind in shielding me from its strangeness. It is the world of other: things which are not us, who speak without our interests and tell me things I otherwise wish not to hear. I will not write it, for it is words of hate against our own that you may envision without. Initially, I justified these deeds for the greater imperium and the collective safety of our family as a consequence. The business of the other was not my concern to be held to heart.  But the expanse of this world is wide,  within where I have met many great people in my travels, and I cannot remain without change for it. I sometimes think myself a stranger when I return to our fair capital.

 

There is an apathy which grows within this imperium, an apathy to violence and a greater path that we might otherwise pursue. It is a natural thing that many must numb themselves in times like these. And as I have, many justify crueler deeds because it is the safest and easiest path – a dead man cannot fight us again. It is a contradicting thing — the wider our expansion, so shrinks our tolerance to those other. But I do not wish to end this war with a people numbed to violence, that greater deeds are deemed weakness, and our nephew Marcus inherits an imperium without its soul. Have we, Johannes, grown numb to cruelty? 

 

I bade you once to return to me as heroes, in your first excursions with Hadrian into battle. It was a childish ask. But now, my brother, Justiciar of our empire, I must be a child again in my writing. These laws of ours are being exacted by men who are numbed to this war’s evils – ourselves included, I dare to argue. Entertain me as you did my fits of nightmares when we were children, and tell me that there is still a gentler road before us; that our justice need not be stripped of mercy to endure this war. 

 

I do not ask you for absolution, nor an answer for soothing silence. What we have done, is done. The blood of Iryalen is on my hands; blood upon yours, as well, perhaps. We will return unto this dreaded dirt with crimson hands. But if there are still choices to be made, laws to be exacted under your care, I ask you to entertain my delusions of mercy. 

 

 

Your sister,

Joan Mariana

 

 

[kuerbis 3802]

A gentle frown played upon Valentiná's gaunt countenance as the asturian manor stood empty. Who would she vent to when she was lonely or unsure? Thank GOD for the messenger pidgeons... That Imperial started penning a long letter...

[Kenzo74 755]

A gaze laden by heavy thought did a high elf cast upon this missive, and with each stroke of the Imperial Princess' quill upon the paper his heart grew, and the shadow upon his brow diminished.

 

"How should the failing plead for a new chance and forgiveness when so enchained are we ourselves by revenge and bitterness, and not learned to lay it aside?"

 

So asked he, and the guttering candle he counseled with would give no response of its own, swayed merely by a gust, though in its wisdom still Arasdir found a truth to keep.

"In each wanton strike of cold steel against flesh bitterness is kindled and festers, and the wheel is so churned, and doom gathers. Wroth ever begets wroth, and in yielding to it we stray ill from The Path. "

[kuebiko 684]

Spoiler

Seeing trinn art is always a treat. Beautiful post

 

[Turnipian 203]

Spoiler

Reading a post and finding myself mentioned is always a treat.

 

[Frisket 4538]

Elis watched as some guards butchered an elf. To her this was routine, if no one was watching. Who cares, another elf dead, a bit more air for humanity to breath. There was a time where Vincenzo’s words echoed in her mind, about how humans must exterminate the rot that is Malin, Urguan, and Krug. Humanity must alone reign, and she still believes such.

 

yet when there are no more enemies?

 

no more rot?

 

where will a soldier find purpose?

 

when there are no more weak, who shall the strong eat?

[tasty_cheesecake 2298]

Enrique performed last rites habitually, even for the disgraced and damned, he didn't think of who was being cremated by his blade beyond how reverential the litany he offers to the deceased ought to be. He has only ever explicitly refused to perform this ritual twice: once with the Cardinal Alaric (returned to his family for a burial in his tradition), and once, as he recalled upon reading the missive issued by Joan Mariana, for an elf, on behalf of another elf. He initially wasn't moved by frantic complaints about the intactness of the body for some strange elf religion, but eventually the argument shifted from differences in faith to respect for the service of a man. And this, Enrique reasoned, he could abide.

 

Reading the second-party description of the execution, he quibbled a bit internally. He wasn't 'asked to' with any force, a request was made and he fulfilled it. Not exactly important quibbles, to be sure, and nothing he bothered to vocalize to anyone. But he supposed, at least, it embodied a mercy which he often found himself lacking for his enemies, and maybe the old man would take something away from it. 

[Ninjay 1184]

Somewhere in the world, amidst a semi-retirement that saw him decently removed from the strife and war which engulfed the rest of the continent, did an aged man read an errant copy of the missive. In an age some decades past, he had known and been known amongst those leaders who had laid the foundation of the current day, the Imperial Princess's own father and grandfather being two of them. His role had been small - he was but an ally and friend to many of them, doing what minor contributions he could - but still, he had served a role in it, and thus some fragment of responsibility fell to him, so he reasoned.

Mercy.

As he often did when reading a publication from the Imperial family, his mind drifted to another writing, the final of the former Emperor.

'I was a child shown no mercy who chose to give mercy.'

You were certainly inconsistent with such, and seemed to have done a horrid job at instilling the virtue into your progeny.

He had never met Joan, and likely never would. Still, the Princess's writing resonated with him, and thus some thoughts were had on her behalf.

Innocence has been made a victim already. Mine, yours, everyone's, even if they will never see or admit to it.

Still, perhaps mercy may not be destined for a similar fate in our times. I certainly hope you are not left disappointed in your own hopes, Joan.

[Nectorist 12869]

@KBR

 

"My lord, might we say, in undertaking this evil, that being the act of killing, we may redeem ourselves with the higher good in the eyes of the Lord?" Spoke the young Prince Valentin, fresh from his first battle at White Cavern, where his blade had felled a man. Chilled an unsettled by the life of another that now stained his hands- a deep crimson no lye soap could rub off- the young boy shivered as he talked. "I search desperately the light of God in the eyes of the dead, but I see only empty, hollow sockets."

 

"Do not seek your ablution in the bloodshed, my ward," said Sir Lothar d'Amaury, the golden knight of the Lotharingians. "There is no salvation from the Lord in these we do, for that comes in what we bring about through the use of violence. Instead, find goodness in reason, our logic of chivalry, for righteousness strengthens our arms and softens our hearts. It is the remedy for the natural evil, that we may regulate our passions and stray from wanton slaughter."

 

[Luto 439]

Noiye can recall instances she hesitated. Instances where that hesitation costed her. The bid for mercy at the last mile when already knee-deep in lives claimed had anger swell in that leal, though jingoistic errant-squire. Mercy is what took the EMPEROR'S eye. It is what they expected from her when she stared down betrayal in the whites of eyes she thought comrades. It is everywhere. Marching on all the serf loved. What she saw out in the lawless vistas could not understand the world that Joan earnestly hoped for. To her, all Noiye knew of mercy is that it was a second chance for evil to hurt her again.

One thought struck her at the end of this spiral - What could a princess know?

 

"No," a deep growl refused, tense grip rattling the vellum copy in her hands. "No more of this. I will make the hard calls for you, princess. It is what I am for."