The Epistles of Eithne & Eowain

The Eighth Missive

Dolgallu, 9th Day of Fearn, Year of Settlement 1496

Dear Eowain,

Greetings, and a belated Happy Damara to you and your kin. I hope the feast of the equinox and the Goddess of Flowering found you all healthy and well. Here, too, we are gladdened by the arrival of spring. The mountain flowers, in blues, golds, and lilacs, have blossomed, and though the air is still chill, there is a vibrancy to the land that bodes well for the coming harvest season.

Your last letter, dear Eowain... Well, it overwhelms me. I am beside myself thinking of you and the prospect of our marriage. I felt sure I would resent this arrangement, for I do so love my home and my people, and I don't consider leaving here lightly. I shall miss my father and my brother dearly, and all the good folk here. We are all of us like family, even those who don't share blood, and it is no small thing to consider saying them "farewell."

There are days when I struggle to forgive the Gods and the Ancestors, and even my father and my Aunt Fidelm, for putting me in this position. It is not my destiny to be little more than a brood-mare to serve some strange man's pleasure and dynastic ambitions. Your most recent letter suggests you have such ambitions yourself, and these thoughts of mine harden my heart somewhat, rather than melt it.

So I hope you will understand when I say that it's difficult for me to know my heart and mind in this. Your words speak of great dissension and strife in your lands, and suggest that I would be something of a fickle-pawn in your games of kings and warriors.

Yet, I do believe you when you say you never expected to be king, but only ever a husband and a father. And surely, there is nothing ignoble in such homelier ambitions. Who is to say that our marriage would not have been ordained even if you had not become king? In the counsel I've sought from the old drymyn woman Alva, she has told me she thinks it would have been so. She believes the Gods, however forgetful, do have plans and aspirations of their own for the betterment of the Abred and the plight of Men, and work subtly through the world to see their stratagems achieved. So perhaps we might have been paired, will we or nil we? Perhaps some noble adventure would have brought you to our mountain home. Or the aspirations for peace between our tribes persuaded our elders to this match in spite of some less-kingly rank.

And I must admit, something in your words stiffens my sinews, conjures my grandfather's blood in my veins, and bids me cloak modest stillness and humility with a hard-favored rage for battle. Would it not be something for our half-Gwynn, half-Donnghaile son to subdue the east and take Aileach, to rise and become High King of All Iathrann? Aye, and why not lead his war-bands all the way to Khûr-Tin and pluck the Qedar's beard? Surely, with the strength and courage of our Ancestors in our blood, should we aspire to any less for him?

So what am I to do? The flattery of my eyes and the fire you a-light in my heart pull me toward you, even despite a homesickness I know will be terrible to bear. Even though I know the deceits that lie upon men's tongues where women are concerned.

Yet the time draws near for me to make at last some final decision. My father and my aunt, even my cousin-king of Ivea, they all tell me that a wedding must take place soon, if it's to take place at all. The Cailech between our two kingdoms have grown restive, and this is surely one cause for the banditry continuing to plague your borders. I am told their raids on our own lands have even increased of late. Father warns me that their king has had news of our impending wedding and has sworn to prevent it. The ban-drymyn Alva reminds me that ignoring her dire portents will lead to dire consequences if we are not wed before the Cétshamain feast. That is little more than a month away!

My father counsels that if yet my heart is still uncertain, we should journey thence once more to Droma, and soon, before the hour grows too late and the way too treacherous. He says we should depart no later than the dark of the Fearn moon, six days hence, if it is my desire to be yet more certain of your troth. Scarce time enough for this letter to reach you and be returned, I should think, though your herald has proved his courage and swiftness time and again these last several weeks.

For his sake, and the sake of my village, my people, my clan, and my tribe, should I not heed this counsel? And for your own sake, should I not risk the journey once more, to know for certain whether it is my heart or my doubts that I should better trust?

And should I not challenge you with yet another assault upon this mighty tower of mine? Shall I not see what new tortures I can devise for you?

Did you have a childhood dream? An ambition that knew nothing yet of experience and worldly cares? I should like to know, whether in your next letter, or when next we meet. And tell me also, what would you call a perfect day? It would please me well for you to have one, so tell me true what one might do to make it so. Whether your honeyed tongue pledges true or false love, I would wish peace on your heart amid your sea of troubles.

Yours in truth,

Eithne.

—33—