Jaysehn (prime)/Reflections/A Man of No Country

The smell of ink was heavy in the air. All day long, his wife, Akenna, had been at her writing desk. Letter after letter has been written, more letters were brought in from the post, only to require responses of their own. All for her. Only for her.

She worked at a frantic pace, proudly declaring how she was writing to everyone. Every favor she had. Every connection she knew. She had 'coverage', she called it.

Friends, old and new, in Ta'Nalfein. Her father as well, another Nalfein 'professional'. Then there were her new allies in Ta'Loenthra, friends in and around the Mirror's Court. Close allies in Vaalor besides. Then there was the West, where the Silver Gryphons claimed connection to the Empire itself, a sanctioned Order of the Northern Sentinel's domain. Mistreatment by her interrogators could spark an international incident. She even wrote to her Grandmother in the Wyrdeep, in the hopes that she might shelter the two of them if it came to it.

Not the least of her many layers of political armor was her own long reputation in the region. She had made shoes for the Mirror herself weeks ago. She did not touch nor even interact with Lady Kasendra at the Ball. Almost certainly, the only suspicion that had fallen upon her was being married to Jaysehn in the first place.

"I've been writing all day, everyone who can help me.", she had said.

Jaysehn smiled at her warmly, accepting the wisdom of her decision. When she had left their home to take the air and rest her hands, Jaysehn thought it sensible to follow her lead. He sat down at the desk, took out some of their paper, drew forth his valravn quill and used its darker-than-black inky residue to supply its own ink as he wrote.

"To...."

He stopped.

Who? Who would he write to, exactly?

Everyone who can help me, his wife had said. Jaysehn felt the word 'me' hang in the air around him. A monster of the mind, created from his own insecurities. Like a wave, it struck him with enough force to cause him to physically stagger in his chair.

The cold oppressive weight of momentary shock and panic fell over him. Quite different than any of his typical reactions. The magnitude of the question which lingered before him loomed large in his mind.

He had no one.

His mind searched frantically, town by town, city by city. Surely, someone, somewhere would be a useful and willing ally in this.

He tried to calm his mind, to force himself to think and reason and to ignore his surging emotions. He found himself resorting to the earliest days of his Voln training, reciting mantras for the calming of the heart and the soul, allowing the reemergence of the sound vessel of reason that was the mind to it's proper place of prominence and control.

The calm came. With it, came the truth.

He had no one.

Jaysehn had many allies and a precious few he would even call friends. But, he had kept his vows and served only the Order of Voln. When others had compounded those vows with new duties and titles, Jaysehn had focused on them, embracing them and expanding them to his very being. His oath was his duty and his duty was his life.

And in that process, he had kept himself unaligned with the great political powers of their era. In doing so, he had become a man alone. His wife, who was his soul and his heart in one, was a woman of uncommon grace, beauty and kindness. She was the very essence of his joy. But she was just one woman. She did not have the power of Imperial Orders, Elven Houses and ancient family lines. Even she sought those in this dark time.

For him, he was nothing here. A man of no country and no home. A foreigner with a fleet of ships, proclaiming himself an upstart Grandmaster of his own seafaring Monastery. Even the local Voln authorities were not fond of him. The Landing's Grandmaster dispised him, just as Jaysehn did in return. Voln's Fotress in Vaalor was likewise alien to him. Jaysehn had saved many over the years. But those he had saved were refugees and orphans and wretches with no status or power. They were the sort of people Jaysehn gravitated to. Simple, fair and honest folk caught in the webs of Fate around them. He had released tens of thousands of souls to the Gatekeeper's grace, but not a single one could help him in return when faced with a foe his powers could not overcome.

He had friends, and even employees, but friends could not fix such a dilemma as he found himself in. They could not rise up to question the Mirror, her attendants, her court, or even eventually the Malwinds, when the man who had danced with Lady Kasendra minutes before her death was brought before the court. He stood truly alone in this, and he was the perfect scapegoat. A human, so as to clear any elves of wrong. A non-Imperial, meaning the Empire would not care if he was hung here or in Vornavis. Oh...people would protest, certainly. But do protestations stop an axe blow to the neck. Jaysehn doubted it. Here, he was a man others looked to as a patron. He didn't notice when that happened, but it did. There was no shadow in his world that he could shelter in. He was alone.

His hand hovered over the paper like a dog on the leash ready for the master's grip to slacken so it can chase down a wounded stag. But there were no stags just as there was no one in all Jontara he could write to. He was, in this trial, alone. Well and truly alone.