[A letter arrives in the hands of a mildly bewildered, well-dressed young Trenchie, who gives it to whomever (or whatever) opens the door first with instructions to 'deliver it only to the captain'. It is written on thick, cream-colored paper and sealed with red wax impressed with the emblem of a hawk. The writing inside was done by quill and ink, each letter shaped to exacting calligraphic perfection.]
TO HIS DIVINE IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE EMPEROR OF THE NINE HOUSES, HALLOWED IN NAME, THE RESURRECTING KING, NECROLORD PRIME, A SUPPLICATION FROM PAUL ATREIDES, DUKE OF ARRAKIS,
I write this missive to you under the seal and covenant of my House, which has never been broken, and in the spirit of respect and reparation, praying only for the consideration of Your Divine Imperial Majesty of my words.
I will not burden you further with apologies for my conduct in your presence, except to say that they were and remain sincere. I have reflected often since on your magnanimity in the face of my inexcusable presumption, and I may only again express my humility at your grace in answer to my offenses.
I ask this grace of you once more, knowing that it is undeserved, for my lapse in seeking your blessing for my pledges to your Houses of the Sixth and the Ninth. They, who surely number among the best and most dear of your subjects, have done me great kindnesses, and I am sworn to their service, their interests to me as my own.
Kindly Prince, King Undying, I humbly ask your leave to continue my association with your loyal servants, to serve as their ally, and therefore, to serve as yours. May your reign last eternal, your crown undimmed, and the Tomb ever sealed.
Paul Atreides
[There is a folded note as well, tucked into the letter, written with the same precision on thinner, paler paper. When opened, it reads:]
To the captain of the good ship Lonely Island, from Paul, navigator,
[ Across Trench, a man unfolds a letter and exhales an immediate little sigh. He leans against the table and rubs a thumb at his temple. At my inexcusable presumption, he sighs again; at the Tomb ever sealed, he makes a noise.
Later that day, a skeleton goes clattering politely down the cobblestone road. (A Hunter smashes it, which is deeply rude, but it waits for a quiet moment to reassemble and then sets off again.) It arrives holding a rolled letter, bound shut with a thin organic filament and a tiny clasp of bone. The material looks uncomfortably like vellum.
Printed there, in a tight and messy scrawl, is the following: ]
TO THE NOBLE PAUL ATREIDES, DUKE OF ARRAKIS, EXCELLENT NAVIGATOR AND HONORED FRIEND OF THE NINE HOUSES, WHOSE PENMANSHIP IS FRANKLY ASTONISHING AND I DO MEAN THAT IN A GOOD WAY,
I find that I so rarely write my own missives I have wholly lost the art of it. I acknowledge and respect the effort, Paul, but there's no need for such formality here.
You will be doing me an immense favor by standing beside my adepts and their cavaliers, who number among the most skilled and stalwart heroes of the empire, and who are very likely to charge off towards danger with little regard for their own safety. This is a deeply commendable trait, and one that will turn my hair grey. Harrowhark and Gideon, though born to the Ninth, are members of my own First House: they are my hallowed saints, arbiters of my word and will, my divine family. I am relieved to hear that, should need arise, you will be at their side.
If ever you have need of me or want for conversation, my door is open.
a letter
I write this missive to you under the seal and covenant of my House, which has never been broken, and in the spirit of respect and reparation, praying only for the consideration of Your Divine Imperial Majesty of my words.
I will not burden you further with apologies for my conduct in your presence, except to say that they were and remain sincere. I have reflected often since on your magnanimity in the face of my inexcusable presumption, and I may only again express my humility at your grace in answer to my offenses.
I ask this grace of you once more, knowing that it is undeserved, for my lapse in seeking your blessing for my pledges to your Houses of the Sixth and the Ninth. They, who surely number among the best and most dear of your subjects, have done me great kindnesses, and I am sworn to their service, their interests to me as my own.
Kindly Prince, King Undying, I humbly ask your leave to continue my association with your loyal servants, to serve as their ally, and therefore, to serve as yours. May your reign last eternal, your crown undimmed, and the Tomb ever sealed.
[There is a folded note as well, tucked into the letter, written with the same precision on thinner, paler paper. When opened, it reads:]
To the captain of the good ship Lonely Island, from Paul, navigator,
If you'll still have me.
no subject
Later that day, a skeleton goes clattering politely down the cobblestone road. (A Hunter smashes it, which is deeply rude, but it waits for a quiet moment to reassemble and then sets off again.) It arrives holding a rolled letter, bound shut with a thin organic filament and a tiny clasp of bone. The material looks uncomfortably like vellum.
Printed there, in a tight and messy scrawl, is the following: ]
I find that I so rarely write my own missives I have wholly lost the art of it. I acknowledge and respect the effort, Paul, but there's no need for such formality here.
You will be doing me an immense favor by standing beside my adepts and their cavaliers, who number among the most skilled and stalwart heroes of the empire, and who are very likely to charge off towards danger with little regard for their own safety. This is a deeply commendable trait, and one that will turn my hair grey. Harrowhark and Gideon, though born to the Ninth, are members of my own First House: they are my hallowed saints, arbiters of my word and will, my divine family. I am relieved to hear that, should need arise, you will be at their side.
If ever you have need of me or want for conversation, my door is open.
I'll keep you posted on more boat trips.
O CAPTAIN YOUR CAPTAIN
A FRIEND