Dear Old Friend

     We missed you at the International Charity Ball last night. Galgorroth told me that you weren’t feeling well; he said you respectfully declined the invitation but wanted to come. Knowing how much you love to dance I know it is so.

     Wishing you the speediest of recoveries.

      Perhaps when you rebound, we two could walk in the courtyard gardens again. A walk down memory lane, if you were, like when we were younger rulers. Starry-eyed and excited for the future. Unaware of what would befall both of our nations.

     There are times when my mind drifts back to those peaceful days spent joking with one another—not as leaders—but as friends. You know as well as I how rare it is to have a genuine relationship when others adore you—even deify you.

     I sent a small bag of healing herbs in the beak of this faerie Weewoo. May it aid in restful sleep.

     Yours sincerely,

     Fyora.”

     ~x~

     “Queen Fyora,

     I apologize that it took me this long to write back. Galgorroth tells the truth—I’ve been sick in bed since the latter part of the last week. With what, I cannot say, but I surmise that it is in no small part due to stress from the Lordship. Mind you, I would not want it any other way. Most of my adult life has been dedicated to the well-being of my people… or at least, I like to pretend it is so. You and I both know how badly I slipped before. They could say that the orb was tainted by dark magic, that I was but a puppet dangling by its strings, but it showed me exactly what I craved at that time—power. And as much as I loathe to say it, I had been wanting it ever since that oaf and his renegade knight stole from our people. I felt like it was owed to us—owed to me—for the hardships we faced.

     At least now I know how wrong I was.

     Your herbs soothed my throat and gave me restful sleep when I needed it most. Thank you, Fyora, and thank you for your kindness before, during and after the Wars. It is a rare thing indeed to have a real relationship with anyone in positions such as ours. They either see you as a means to an end or treat you like you are miles above them, a living manifestation of greatness. At least for you, there is understanding. You know what it is like for others to want you but not to want you.

     I should rest. Galgorroth insists that I eat for the first time today. There is homemade soup and I feel that I must eat it, appetite or not.

     I will write more when I can.

     Lord Darigan.”

     ~x~

     “Darigan,

     You must eat—Galgorroth is right. How else will you improve? I hope you ate two bowls, even three. Your frame looked gaunter the last time we met and I do worry. Would that I could visit myself. If not for my endless duties and appearances, I would in a wingbeat. At very least, I hope the dehydrated soup packets that I sent with this delivery Weewoo help. (Don’t worry, we are feeding Nimbus two of our largest grubs as thanks). If he would like to spend time with your Weewoo, Sally, I can use Lyra’s messenger petpet for later today. I know how much Nimbus enjoys her company.

     You speak so harshly about your actions, friend. There is a time for guilt, for shame, but that time has passed. Your actions now speak volumes about the world that you wish to create. I’ve heard great things about trade negotiations between Meridell and Brightvale. A few of my sisters mentioned that a Tri-National Summit took place not too long ago—one that had incredible success. Your choice of a keynote speaker was a wonderful one. I owe Rohane a great debt for his bravery during Terask’s invasion. He and his comrades are truly a paragon of strength and cooperation. May the four of them continue to inspire generations to come.

     How lucky we are that there are Neopians who see us for us. I see the way you and Galgorroth gaze into each other’s eyes; it makes me happy each and every time.

     Be well. I hope that we might see each other soon.

     Fyora.”

     ~x~

     Queen Fyora,

     Your kindness knows no bounds. My deepest gratitude to you and your chef for your generosity. I ate every last morsel of the soups that were made these past few days and have been feeling much better. Was there magic in the mixture?

     There is a tray next to me that I have used to catch up on documents the Council had need of my notice. Even when I rest, they never stop working. I fear that it will take me over a week to find myself anywhere near their pace again.

     Speaking of your kindness… I remember a time when we would trade with your then sky-bound city, ours a prosperous, landlocked clan in a sprawling urban landscape. Even after the curse afflicted us and our nation rose into the sky, you continued trade—added humanitarian aid, even—for those suffering from the disease’s ill effects. So, of course, it was by the same token that we would come to the aid of Faerieland when your nation crashed. We saw it all happen—watched with horror as the clouds sunk lower and lower towards the ground. How odd it seems to me that our roles have switched. Never could I imagine our nation towering above a landlocked Faerieland. Then again, in my youth, I never thought that our Citadel would become a giant, floating fortress.

     But here I am, prattling on. Know that I am well enough. When I am in brighter spirits, I shall take a stroll down memory lane with you. And as you mention Galgorroth and I, know that I strive to model what I see between you and Aethia.

     Sincerely,

     Lord Darigan.”

     ~x~

     “Darigan,

     We remember well the kindness that your people offered us after Xandra’s attack. Your land was the first to help after Brightvale, so quick to ferry food, clothing, and medicine to our wounded and scared. My sisters and I will never forget your kindness then, either. And some from Meridell could call it a “publicity stunt,” but we know better. There is compassion in your heart, Darigan, and in the hearts of your people. No curse could ever change what’s inside; we saw full well how much goodness shone through during those terrible days.

     Make sure you are pacing yourself, lest you fall back into old habits. Rest is what your bones need to feel rejuvenated again. Rest is what you need so that you might dance on the ballroom floor once again.

     I, for one, enjoy looking up at the stars. When we had them so close for so long, they became just another feature of the night sky. Grounding us has shifted our perspective; now we see the same eventide while the Citadel hums peacefully in the distance. Perhaps Xandra was right about one thing—we were floating above for too long. We had never experienced life on land before, like your people had. Now we can be equals.

     And yes, there was magic in the soup mixes. I sent some more for good measure.

     Nimbus returned your letter with merry chorus. It looks as though he enjoyed his visit very much.

     Be well.

     Fyora.”

     ~x~

     Eleven days after the last letter was sent, Fyora sat in her study, tapping her quill idly against the ink well. There would be so much to do today, so much to do for the next week, and here she was telling Darigan how to relax... She shook her head and sighed. But at least, with her, she had faerie magic. Lord Darigan, as a Neopian, was not gifted with such a blessing. He had grown noticeably older over the past decade and it saddened her greatly. Not to say that she was young and spritely—surely time had taken its toll on her, too—but her years were still plentiful. Fae far outlived the average Neopian, especially those in the royal family. Such was the blessing and curse to be a faerie, to make such deep friendships and to see them melt away like thawing snow. But perhaps, that was why she worried. Why she was especially concerned when he cancelled an appearance for one reason or another.

     He usually wrote back by now. Maybe he we writing an especially long letter, or—

     There came a knock.

     “Yes?” Fyora called.

     That was odd. She wasn’t expecting Illusen for at least another two hours… did she get into another spat with—

     “You have a guest, my Queen,” said a heavily armed faerie named Aethia. “He says it’s urgent, and that he apologizes for the sudden appearance.”

     Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be Galgorroth? Did something happen to worsen Darigan’s condition?

     She stood up with a start and straightened her posture, taking firm hold of her staff. Schedule be darned, if she was needed at the Citadel, she would—

      “My Queen? Is everything okay?”

     Oops, she realized, noticing the Aethia’s uncertainty. I never replied.

     “Let him in.”

     Aethia bowed. “As you wish.”

     As the door opened, Fyora gasped. Never had she seen him in such fine royal blue formal wear. It made his yellow eyes shimmer in the pink light of her low lamps.

     “Darigan?”

     He wore a smirk that suggested amusement from her response.

     “Figured I would save on postage,” he said wryly. “I asked Aethia to keep my visit a secret.”

     All of her rigidity dropped then. All of that formality and expected sense of duty fell like a brick from the top spire. She rushed over to him and gave him a strong hug.

     “I thought… I thought that…” from all of her charm school training, she was told to never let emotion bleed into her words. To always stay impartial, a pinnacle of strength and fair judgement… she wiped away a tear. “I’m glad you’re here,” she finally said.

     “I should have written back, Fyora, but I thought…” he gave her a gentle pat on the back, “I thought that coming in person would be better. It’s been so long.”

     “It really has.”

     The two took a step back from one another, both of them grinning widely. There were wrinkles above Lord Darigan’s mouth that made him even older than he usually did. Such muscles were so accustomed to frowning, to staying neutral, that it almost hurt to keep them turned up.

     The Darigan Korbat offered his right hand, which had wrinkled some since Fyora had seen it last.

     He bowed slightly, as if he was on the ballroom floor.

     “May I ask for this dance?”

     Fyora took him by the hand as the two of them strolled into the twilit garden together. As she passed Aethia, the faerie only nodded. If anyone asked, Fyora had a sudden engagement that needed attention.

     “It would by my honour.”