It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I suppose I should start by saying hello, though that feels too small a word for how much I’ve missed you. I hope you’re somewhere cozy as you read this, maybe with a warm cup of tea. Is it still as cold in Ferelden as I remember? I always liked how the frost made the trees sparkle, though I suppose not everyone enjoys icy toes.
I’ve been… well, not quite anywhere, and also everywhere, if that makes sense. The Free Marches are bigger than I imagined, and Antiva is so warm it feels like the sun is trying to wrap itself around you. But none of it feels like home. It’s strange, isn’t it? To long for a place but be afraid to return. It’s as if there’s an invisible thread pulling me toward Ferelden, but every time I follow it, my feet stop moving. I think it’s because of the shadows. The ones that follow me, even when the sun is shining.
I’ve tried to be brave, Rosie. I really have. But there are nights when the walls seem too close, even if there aren’t any walls at all. Do you know what I mean? And when I close my eyes, it feels like I’m back there. I’m running, still running, even though I know I’m not. I’m sorry if that’s confusing—it’s all confusing to me, too.
But then I thought of you, of how you always seemed to know just the right thing to say, even when things were upside down. Like when you’d find a book to distract me, or share some bit of wisdom wrapped up in one of your lovely smiles. I guess I just wanted to write, to remind myself that the world is bigger than the shadows, and that there’s still someone out there who knows the real me—the me from before.
I’m not ready to come back yet, but I wanted you to know I’m still here. Still trying. If you write back, I can’t promise I’ll stay in one place long enough to receive it, but maybe just knowing you’ve sent a letter will be enough. Like carrying a piece of home with me, even if I’m far away.
Take care of yourself, Rosie. The world needs more people like you in it. I’ll try to be brave, and maybe one day, I’ll be able to visit. Maybe you’ll even have tea waiting.
It’s been too long indeed, receiving your letter has been one of the best parts of the week. I miss you too and indeed Ferelden is as cold as before, it hurts to admit this but I had gotten used to the milder weather of Val Royeaux and now that we are hitting this time of the year I find missing kinder temperatures.
“It’s normal to be afraid, it’s a part of being human. If you ever bring yourself here, know that you have a warm bed and food waiting for you. My home belongs to my family, and for me you are like a little cousin at this point.
It’s normal to feel that way. When I lost Vincent, Maeve and Lucien I was tempted to flee, and I am not someone that thinks that lightly. What grounded me was that I had to take care of Maeve’s and Lucien’s child. Find what you need to ground yourself and cling to it, that’s the best advice I can give you in times like these.
You are a mage, do you know any way that we could train an animal or a magical device to speak so that we can make sure of that the letters reach you? When you come here, I will make a chocolate cake like the one we baked to Cullen, I have polished the recipe of the years.
Hello Rosie, Asha’s voice, soft and dreamy as always, carries through her quill strokes like a melody that might float on a gentle breeze.
You’re so kind to write back. It’s funny, I could almost feel the warmth of your words before I even opened the letter, like they were waiting to wrap me up in something soft and safe. Isn’t it strange how a letter can feel more like home than a place sometimes?
Asha pauses, the ink pooling on the page as her thoughts wander.
I think of Val Royeaux sometimes, though I’ve only ever seen it in stories and paintings. It seems like a city where dreams and reality might touch. But I imagine Ferelden in winter would still tug at your heartstrings—icy toes and all. I hope your hearth stays bright, though, and that you have slippers thick enough to keep your feet warm.
There’s a hesitation in the writing, a slight tremor in the ink.
Your words about grounding… they stayed with me. Like a small light I can carry in my pocket, just for when the shadows stretch too long. I think, maybe, I’ve been looking for what grounds me, without realizing it. The stars help sometimes. Did you know they’re the same no matter where you go? Even here, in the parts of the world where everything else feels too big, the stars are small and familiar.
She leans back, staring at the letter as though speaking to it directly.
An animal or magical device that can carry words sounds like the sort of thing a fairy tale would have, doesn’t it? I’m not very good at enchanting—my magic always feels a little wild, like a bird that doesn’t want to stay in its cage—but I might try. It would be nice to have a way for letters to find me, even when I don’t know where I’ll be. Maybe I’ll find a clever raven or a sparrow with a sense of adventure. That would suit, don’t you think?
Her tone shifts slightly, lighter, with a trace of a smile.
Oh, and the chocolate cake! Rosie, you’re too good to me. I still think about that cake sometimes, the way Cullen’s whole face lit up when he tasted it. It’s like sweetness can cut through even the deepest gloom, isn’t it? I’ll dream of it tonight, I think—a warm kitchen, the smell of chocolate, and the sound of laughter. I wonder if dreams like that are a kind of grounding, too.
Her writing softens as she closes.
Thank you, Rosie, for being you. For reminding me that there’s still a home to come back to, even if I can’t quite see the path yet. I’ll keep trying to be brave, and maybe one day, I’ll find my feet moving again. Until then, I’ll carry your letter like a talisman, something small and strong to hold onto when the world feels too big.
Take care of yourself, won’t you? The world feels less sharp, knowing you’re in it.
I have the same feeling about your letters; words have power in them. I remember back when Vincent wrote to me while he was with the Wardens, I already could feel my heartbeat accelerating just at the thought of reading his words.
If you had asked me yeards ago I would have told you that despite of missing Ferelden, my home was in Orlais. I was ready to start my life there but as you can imagine after what happened Val Royeaux was no longer a home for me. West Hills is small and cozy, it feels like I have come a full circle back to Honnleath in a way.
The stars are beautiful; whatever helps you will be wonderful. For me, lavender helps; my mother used to use lavender oil on her skin so when I lay down in a field it is as if my mother was hugging me, if that makes sense? Your stars are my lavender.
That would work for sure? Can’t pigeons be trained for that? I might ask my brother how do they send letters to the soldiers whenever they are out in the field.
I can’t send you cake but I have, as you can see, put a small tablet of chocolate in the envelope; is not as good as the real deal but hopefully it will be a nice dessert for the colder nights.
Write me as much as you wish and can, let my words caress and calm you as if I was singing a lullaby, nothing would make me happier. Take care my dear Asha and come back to us someday
Your chocolate made it! It arrived a little melted—though I suppose even letters don’t escape the sun here—but it was no less lovely for it. Thank you. You always manage to tuck so much kindness into such small gestures. I broke a piece off and let it melt on my tongue while I read your letter. It was like having you here with me, even if only for a moment.
Your words are a balm, Rosie, truly. I could almost see you sitting in a lavender field, the scent of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace. I wonder if it’s the same for you as it is for me with the stars—how something so simple can feel like a tether, pulling us back when we might otherwise float away. I think that’s why I keep looking up. The stars remind me that no matter how far I roam, I’m still a part of something vast and connected.
West Hills sounds peaceful, like a place where breaths come easier. I can imagine the firelight dancing on the walls, the sound of the wind through the trees. Do you ever sit outside and watch the sun set, the sky shifting through its palette of colors? I used to love that as a child. It felt like watching the world exhale.
As for pigeons—well, I’ll admit I don’t know much about them beyond the fact that they’re remarkably determined little creatures. A sparrow still seems more my style, though. Perhaps I’ll find a particularly brave one to carry my letters, or maybe just a feathered friend to keep me company.
Your mention of Vincent made me pause. I wish I could have met him. From the way you speak of him, I think I’d have liked him very much. I don’t know what I’d say to someone I’ve lost, but I hope they’d feel the same warmth I feel when I read your letters. Do you think they’d know, somehow, how much they’re still a part of us?
I’m trying to take your advice, to let your words settle over me like a lullaby. Some nights, I even imagine you’re reading them aloud. It makes the darkness feel less daunting, as if the shadows might step back for just a little while.
I’ll write again, Rosie. I promise. Your letters remind me that the world isn’t just shadows and silence—it’s also lavender fields, chocolate, and stars. And when I do come back, I hope you’ll tell me all your stories by the fire, with that chocolate cake waiting on the table.
Take care, my Rosie. You make the world gentler, just by being in it.
Admittedly I thought about that possible problem but just hoped that it would make it in one piece, I am glad of that it didn’t arrive completely melted so that you could try it. I wish there was a magical way to send things cold for a longer time.
Perhaps at the least once we were connected by calmness, do you imagine us at the same time with you looking under the stars and me laying on a field of lavender? Perhaps we could lie on a field while watching the stars, that would be the best experience.
It could be your home too you know, if you ever need a place to stay and if you want to law low, I wouldn’t tell a soul that you are here. I do that a lot in my porch, specially when I am putting Lucien to sleep.
I hope that you do, receiving letters more often from a dear friend sounds magnific.
I know that Vincent watches over me, wherever his soul is resting. He is with his sister and Lucien and they smile and wrap me in the coldest nights with reassurances, or that’s why I tell myself when I finally manage to get a good night of sleep.
I wish I could send you a message with my voice. What I miss the most is hearing someone speak while I go to sleep, Vincent used to do that when we were together, and I miss it terribly.
Then I will wait for your letters my dear, and you will have always a warm embrace and a soft piece of cake waiting for you.
Take care my dear Asha you make the word sparkier by just existing.
Yours my little dear
I love the thought of us both looking up at the same sky—me tracing constellations with my fingertips, you wrapped in lavender’s embrace. Maybe distance isn’t quite so vast when we share the same stars. One day, I hope we can lie in a field together, with the scent of lavender in the air and the stars stretching endless above us. I think that would be the kind of quiet that fills instead of empties.
Your words about Vincent stay with me. The way you speak of him, of those you've lost, it’s like you’re weaving them into the fabric of the world around you. Maybe love is a kind of magic like that—something that never really leaves, just changes shape. I hope, wherever they are, they feel it.
I wish I could send you my voice, too. Maybe someday, I’ll find a way. But until then, I hope my words carry even a fraction of the warmth yours give me.
For now, I’m in the Free Marches. I don’t know how long I’ll stay—long enough to catch my breath, I suppose. The road still calls, but I find I don’t want to wander quite as much when I know there’s a home waiting, even if I’m not ready to step through its doors just yet.
I’ll write again soon, Rosie. Until then, take care of yourself. And if you look up at the stars tonight, know that I’m looking too.
