I hope this letter finds you well. It feels like an age since we last spoke, but I wanted to take a moment to update you on my condition and, more importantly, to extend my heartfelt condolences. I heard about the losses you suffered during the Blight in Orlais. Words feel inadequate, but please know that you have my deepest sympathies. The burden you bear is heavy, and I only wish there were more I could do to lighten it.
As for me, I’ve found myself in the Free Marches, reconnecting with old friends and enjoying a life that feels surprisingly free without the ever-watchful eyes of the Grey Wardens hovering over me. It’s strange, but in a good way—almost like I’ve found a piece of myself that had been buried under all that responsibility and duty.
Regarding the treatment, I’m pleased to report that the side effects have been far more bearable this time around. The changes you made seem to be working well. However, I’ve noticed an unusual side effect that I wanted to ask you about. Lately, I’ve been experiencing an excessive thirst—so much so that I feel like I could drink the entire Waking Sea and still be parched. Is this something I should be concerned about, or just another quirk of the treatment?
I’m content for the most part, more so than I’ve been in a long time, and I have you to thank for that. Without your help, I’m not sure where I’d be, but it certainly wouldn’t be enjoying the simple pleasures of life the way I am now.
Please take care of yourself, Rosalie. I know you’re strong, but even the strongest need time to heal. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. I owe you that much and more.
Thank you for your condolences, the loss is a heavy burden but luckily I have my nephew Lucien and the research to keep myself busy. I have adapted quite well to the life in West Hills, its quieter and similar to Honnleath which reminds me of home. I am happy to hear that you are alright and I am happy to inform you that next time the dosis should come without the thirst that you sre experiencing now.
I am extremely happy to hear that my remedy is helping, it makes the effort worth it and I bet that Vincent would have been glad to hear it too.
Time will heal me, just keep in touch will you? I have gotten used to your letters abd I'd niss them terribly
It was good to hear from you, even though the circumstances are far from ideal. I’m glad to know that you’re finding some peace in West Hills. I’ve always believed that places can hold memories, both good and bad, and it sounds like West Hills is offering you a bit of both—enough to remind you of home, but also enough distance to help you heal. It’s good that you have your nephew and your work to focus on. Sometimes, that’s all we can do—keep moving forward, even when it feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders.
I’m relieved to hear that the next dose will be free of the thirst. It’s a strange thing, feeling like you’re constantly parched. I’ve taken to carrying a flask of water with me everywhere, just in case. But I suppose it’s a small price to pay for the relief your remedy brings. I often think of Vincent when I take it—how he would have been pleased to see that your research, is making a difference. It’s a comfort, in a way, knowing that your work lives on and will go on to help so many people.
Rosalie, I want you to know that I’ll keep in touch, as often as I can. Your letters have become a bright spot in my days, and I find myself looking forward to them more than I care to admit. You’ve done more for me than you know, and it’s a debt I can never fully repay. But I promise you this: I’ll always be here, whether you need a friend, an ear, or just a reminder that you’re not alone in this.
Take care of yourself, Rosalie. I’ll write again soon.
Thank you for your words. The arrival to West Hills was shaky but indeed coming here was the best that I could do. I miss my old life but I am finding peace within this one and I can’t wait for some well earned boredom. I hope the same for you (to find peace, not to get bored of course!)
Vincent shall live in each warden that I cure. I don’t know if he would have taken the remedy but I know that he would have approved of the wardens that will be helped thanks to it. I am sure of that he would have been glad to hear that you are alright.
Your letters cheer me too, they are beams on sunlight on cloudy days and often I reread them whenever I am more down. Your happiness is my payment and a bright hopeful future for you is the most satisfactory reward I could have. Thank you for being with me in these hard times and I offer you the same whenever you need it. Hopefully we will met in person again and it won’t be for medicine but rather for enjoyment.
Take care you two, I have already lost too many dear people to me.
*Your letter found me in the early morning hours, and I can’t tell you what a relief it was to hear from you. There’s something about these quiet dawns in the Free Marches that feels timeless, as if they belong to no one. It seems you’ve found a similar calm in West Hills. Strange, isn’t it? That peace finds us in places where we least expect it.*
*I can picture you finding purpose in the quiet of your new life, just as I am trying to here. It does me good to know that you feel some of Vincent’s approval in the work you continue. You honor him, Rosalie, and I am certain he would be proud to see how you’ve carried on, how you’ve given his legacy new life. Your remedy has become a steadying hand on the helm, helping me navigate days that once felt out of reach. I’m grateful to you for that.*
*I hope someday soon to take you up on that offer of a meeting under better circumstances, with no talk of medicine or burdens between us. Though I’ll admit, it may take me some time to adjust to such a luxury as visiting purely for enjoyment. If we’ve ever earned a respite, it’s now. And if I have my way, I’ll make sure to secure it for the both of us.*
*Take heart, Rosalie. Every dawn brings its own chance to begin again, and I know you’re as capable as ever of making the most of it. Until then, you have my promise: I’ll write as often as I can and be here whenever you need, though I know you’re as resilient as the best of us. Still, as you remind me, it’s good to know there’s someone at your side, should you need it.*
*Take care, my friend. And know that you are thought of warmly and often.*
My dear Nathaniel.
Do you know that I have never been in the Free Marches? I have heard that some cities like Kirkwall are a bit…uhm not tourist friendly but I have heard wonders of Wycome; will you tell me about them someday when we met in person?. I am writing now late at night because your reply cheered my day so brightly that I couldn’t help but to get to the reply as soon as possible. West Hills is indeed a place of peace, reminds me of Honnleath before the blight.
If my remedy did that for you then all the effort is worth it. All of the wardens hold an special place in my heart, but admittedly you are one of the dearest to me.
I can share the sentiment of finding odd the concept of a leisure visit but I think we both deserve it as you said. Just be careful while that meeting happens alright? It would hurt too much to lose you after just loosing so much.
Thank you Nathaniel, I am absolutely unable to put into words how much your support and letters mean to me. I hope life treats you kindly and you get all the good things you deserve in life; peace, love and happiness.
Take care Nate, you will be in my thoughts until the next letter.
I cannot help but smile at the thought of you, pen in hand, writing late into the night. It seems we’ve both found solace in these letters, a small but vital thread connecting our lives across the miles. Your words are a balm in ways I hadn’t expected. Thank you for them, and for the kindness that you so freely give.
The Free Marches are… diverse, to say the least. You’ve heard correctly about Kirkwall. Its beauty is overshadowed by the scars it carries—political and otherwise. But Wycome? Wycome is another story altogether. It has a certain charm, bustling and full of life without the darkness that seems to cling to other places. When we meet—and I say when, not if—I’ll tell you all about it over a bottle of Antivan wine. Perhaps we’ll make a list of all the places worth visiting together, if you’ve a mind to travel.
Your remedy, and your determination, have done far more than help me. You’ve reminded me what it feels like to hope again. For that, Rosalie, I am forever in your debt. Though I would argue that the wardens who are fortunate enough to know you are far more indebted than I. You carry so much, and yet you do so with grace. It humbles me, truly.
I promise you, I will take care. I have no intention of being reckless, especially now that I know how much it would pain you if anything were to happen. And I will hold you to that meeting. The thought of seeing you again, in a setting far removed from duty or grief, is a light I will keep in my heart until that day comes.
Until then, I will continue to write, and to hope that you are finding the peace you so richly deserve. Your nephew is fortunate to have you, as are all those whose lives you’ve touched. As for me, I count myself fortunate to call you my friend.
Take care, my dearest Rosie. You are in my thoughts, always.
