28 July 3015

My Dearest Mother,

I write to you from Port Esperance, having just completed what I can only describe as the most extraordinary and overwhelming three days of my life. I arrived here two days ago after a sea voyage that was itself full of new experiences, attended the opening of the Cape Esperance Naval Museum yesterday, and have spent today trying to process all that I have witnessed and learned. I write to you now in part to fulfill my obligation to keep you informed of my activities, but also because I find myself in need of the connection to home that writing to you provides, especially after experiencing things so far removed from anything in my previous life.

Let me begin with the sea voyage itself, as that was my first real adventure in this journey to Bravia. I boarded the Steadfast Fortune on the afternoon tide, as I mentioned in my last letter to you, and we departed the following morning with favorable winds. Captain Hargrove proved to be exactly as competent and experienced as his reputation suggested—a gruff but fair man who ran his ship with quiet efficiency and who showed appropriate courtesy to his diplomatic passenger without making any undue fuss over my presence.

The first day at sea was difficult for me, I must confess. I had never been on the open ocean before, and the constant motion of the ship, combined with the confinement of my cabin and the rather different odors that pervade a vessel at sea, left me feeling decidedly unwell. I was not precisely seasick—at least not in the sense of being unable to keep food down—but I felt a persistent unease and disorientation that made it difficult to read or write or do anything productive beyond simply enduring the experience.

By the second day, however, I had begun to adjust to the ship’s motion, and I ventured out on deck to observe the sea and to watch the crew at their work. There is something both terrifying and magnificent about the open ocean, Mother. The vastness of it, the constant movement, the sense that one is suspended between sky and water with no solid ground anywhere in sight—it produces a feeling unlike anything I have experienced before. I found myself thinking of all the generations of sailors who have made their livings on these waters, and marveling at their courage and their skill.

Captain Hargrove was kind enough to explain various aspects of navigation and seamanship to me when his duties permitted. I learned about how ships are sailed, how courses are plotted, how weather is predicted, and how cargo is managed. The Steadfast Fortune is primarily a merchant vessel, and her hold was full of various goods being shipped to the Free Port of Bravia—timber, metalwork, cloth, and other products of our nation’s craftsmen. I was impressed by the careful organization of the cargo and by the meticulous records Captain Hargrove maintained of everything aboard his vessel.

On the fourth day of our voyage, we began to encounter other ships with increasing frequency, a sign that we were approaching the Free Port of Bravia. It was then that I had my first encounter with people I had only read about in Uncle Leonidas’s letters—the Fremen, who are the swamp-dwelling people now under Bravian protection in the Eastern River Delta Province.

We passed a small convoy of vessels traveling from the Delta region toward the Free Port, and Captain Hargrove identified them as Fremen boats by their distinctive design—flat-bottomed craft built for navigating shallow waters and swamps. The boats were laden with goods, and I could see people aboard them who looked quite different from the Bravians I had been reading about. They were darker-skinned than most Bravians, and their clothing was adapted to wet conditions in ways that our own clothing is not. They moved about their boats with an easy confidence that spoke of generations of life on the water.

What struck me most, Mother, was how normal it all seemed. These were simply people going about their business, transporting goods to market, navigating their boats with skill and efficiency. Uncle Leonidas had written about the Fremen being brought under Bravian protection after their lands were invaded by our neighbor, and I had imagined refugees in desperate circumstances. Instead, I saw what appeared to be competent, self-sufficient people who happened to be traveling under Bravian auspices but who retained their own distinct character and customs.

Captain Hargrove told me that trade with the Fremen has increased dramatically since Bravia established its protection over them, and that the Fremen products—particularly certain medicines and dyes derived from swamp plants, as well as fish and other aquatic products—are highly valued in Bravian markets. He said that the Fremen have adapted to Bravian commercial practices with remarkable speed, and that they are considered honest and reliable trading partners.

This observation about the Fremen has stayed with me, Mother, because it illustrates something about Bravia that I am beginning to understand: they have a capacity to incorporate diverse peoples into their commonwealth while allowing those peoples to retain their distinct identities and ways of life. The Fremen are now part of Bravia’s political structure, but they remain Fremen. They live in their swamps according to their own customs, governed by their own leaders, yet they also participate in Bravian institutions and benefit from Bravian protection. This is quite different from how most nations approach the incorporation of foreign peoples, and I confess I do not yet fully understand how it works or what its implications might be.

We arrived at the Free Port of Bravia on the twelfth day of our voyage, two days earlier than Captain Hargrove had estimated, thanks to favorable winds throughout the journey. My first impression of the Free Port was one of overwhelming scale and activity. It is vastly larger than our own principal port, Mother, with docks extending along the waterfront for what must be miles, and with hundreds of ships of various sizes and origins crowding the harbor. The noise, the bustle, the sheer volume of commerce being conducted—it was almost overwhelming after the relative quiet of the sea voyage.

I was met at the docks by Jakob Petersen, the guide Uncle Leonidas had arranged for me. He is a man of perhaps forty years, with the weathered appearance of someone who has spent much time outdoors, and he speaks our language with remarkable fluency though with a noticeable Bravian accent. He was courteous and efficient in helping me navigate the procedures for entering Bravia—there were customs officials to deal with, though the process was surprisingly straightforward compared to what I had expected—and he escorted me to the inn where I would be staying for the two nights before the museum opening.

Jakob proved to be an invaluable resource, Mother. Not only did he help me with practical matters, but he also spent considerable time explaining Bravian customs and preparing me for the museum opening. We reviewed Uncle Leonidas’s guide to military etiquette together, and Jakob added his own observations and suggestions based on his experience. I could not have asked for a better guide or a more patient teacher.

The evening before the museum opening, Jakob took me to dine at a restaurant that he said was typical of Bravian establishments, so that I might begin to understand something of how ordinary Bravians live. The restaurant was plain in its décor—nothing like the elaborate dining establishments in our capital—but it was clean, well-organized, and clearly popular with local residents. We sat at a common table with other diners, which felt quite strange at first, but Jakob explained that this is normal in Bravian restaurants and that conversation between strangers at table is not considered inappropriate.

The food was simple but well-prepared—roasted meat, root vegetables, fresh bread, and a local beer that Jakob recommended. What struck me most was the dignity with which ordinary Bravians conducted themselves. The other diners at our table included what Jakob identified as a shopkeeper, a clerk from a shipping company, and a teacher at a local school. All of them spoke with education and intelligence, expressed opinions with confidence, and showed none of the deference toward social superiors that would be expected in our own country. When they learned I was a foreign diplomat newly arrived in Bravia, they asked thoughtful questions about our nation and expressed genuine interest in what I had to say, treating me as an equal in conversation despite the difference in our stations.

This casual egalitarianism that Uncle Leonidas has written about is quite real, Mother, and it is both impressive and somewhat unsettling to witness. These were ordinary working people, yet they comported themselves with a confidence and self-assurance that in our own country would be found only among the educated classes. I found myself wondering what produced this difference—whether it was their education system, their political culture, their religious beliefs, or some combination of all these factors.

Now I come to the main subject of this letter, which is the museum opening itself and what I learned there. Mother, I must tell you that this experience has affected me profoundly, and I am still trying to understand and process my reactions to it.

The ceremony began in the morning at the museum, which is a substantial new building constructed on a promontory overlooking Cape Esperance itself—the actual location where the battle took place. The building is designed in the austere Bravian style that Uncle Leonidas has described—functional, well-built, but without unnecessary ornamentation. There were perhaps three hundred people in attendance, including various Bravian officials, military officers, representatives of Bravia’s allied nations, and foreign diplomats including myself.

Jakob had prepared me well for the protocols, and I was able to conduct myself appropriately throughout the ceremony. There were formal remarks by several officials, including a naval admiral who had commanded forces in the recent battle that the museum primarily commemorates—what they call the Second Battle of Cape Esperance, in which our neighbor’s entire fleet was destroyed. The admiral’s remarks were measured and professional, focusing on the training and coordination that made the victory possible rather than glorifying the destruction of the enemy. He spoke of the battle as a regrettable necessity brought about by an unprovoked attack on Bravian citizens, and he expressed hope that other nations would learn from this example that Bravia will defend its interests with overwhelming force when attacked but seeks no conflicts with those who deal honestly with them.

After the formal ceremony, we were invited to tour the museum exhibits. This is where the experience became truly overwhelming, Mother. The museum contains not only displays about the recent battle—what I had expected to see—but also extensive exhibits about an earlier battle that took place at this same location some 150 years ago, just before the Bravians settled in this land. This First Battle of Cape Esperance was something I knew nothing about, and learning of it has given me a new perspective on Bravian history and on our own nation’s relationship with Bravia.

The museum contains maps, declassified military documents, personal accounts from participants, and even an epic poem written by one of Bravia’s landlocked allies about the First Battle. From these materials, I learned a story that I believe is of considerable importance for understanding both Bravia and our own situation.

The Bravians, it seems, arrived in this region 150 years ago not as conquerors but as refugees fleeing persecution in their homeland. They were accompanied by their families—women, children, elderly—and by various allied groups who had thrown in their lot with them. They arrived at this coast having been pursued for weeks by what the documents call the “Great Dragon Fleet”—a powerful naval force intent on destroying the Bravian people utterly.

The Bravians, knowing they could not simply flee forever with their families in tow, chose the location of Cape Esperance for a defensive stand. They spent weeks preparing the site, bringing together their own ships, privateers and pirates who had allied with them, and forces from other groups who shared their predicament. Meanwhile, their women and children waited on the shore, watching and praying, knowing that if the battle was lost, they would all be killed or enslaved.

The Dragon Fleet arrived with overwhelming force—warships, troop transports full of soldiers, and logistics vessels to support a campaign of complete destruction. The fleet had three allied contingents. The battle began with a long-range artillery duel that lasted through an entire afternoon and evening. During this initial phase, one of the Dragon Fleet’s allies—a contingent of small boats—lost its nerve and fled up the Eastern River Delta, never to return to the battle.

The main phase of the battle focused on the Dragon Fleet’s warships, which formed the vanguard. The Bravians and their allies—including, and this is what struck me most forcefully, Mother, including our own nation’s fleet and our neighbor’s fleet—concentrated all their fire on these warships until they were destroyed. Once the warships were eliminated, the Bravian allies to the east and west (our nation and our neighbor) were permitted to withdraw unmolested. They had fulfilled their part of the alliance by helping to destroy the main threat, and they were allowed to leave before the final, bloodiest phase of the battle.

After our allies withdrew, the Bravians and their remaining allies turned their attention to the troop transports. These were systematically destroyed, and from what I could gather from the exhibits, no quarter was given and none asked. This was not a battle for territory or advantage—it was a battle for survival, and the Bravians fought it with absolute ruthlessness. The logistics vessels that followed the transports were then thoroughly looted by the Bravian allies (though not by the Bravians themselves, who had apparently taken an oath not to take spoils from their enemies).

After the battle, the lands in this region were divided among the Bravians and their allies for settlement. Our own nation apparently received territory along the coast, our neighbor received adjacent lands, and the Bravians claimed the region between the two rivers where they established their new homeland.

Mother, I cannot adequately express how it felt to stand in that museum and realize that our nation had fought alongside the Bravians in their most desperate hour, that our fleet had helped them survive when they were refugees with their backs to the sea and their families watching from the shore. This history—which I had never heard mentioned in all my education at home—provides a completely different context for understanding our current relationship with Bravia.

We were not merely neutral parties negotiating with a foreign power. We were allies who fought together in a battle that determined whether the Bravian people would survive or be destroyed. The lands we now occupy in this region—lands I had always assumed were simply ours by right of discovery or conquest—were apparently allotted to us as part of the settlement after that battle, in recognition of our assistance to the Bravians in their hour of desperate need.

And our neighbor, the nation whose fleet was just destroyed in the Second Battle of Cape Esperance—they too had been Bravian allies in that ancient conflict. They too had received lands in the settlement. Yet they apparently forgot or chose to ignore this history when they attacked Bravian citizens recently, and they paid for that forgetfulness with the complete destruction of their fleet.

Mother, the poem written by one of Bravia’s landlocked allies about this First Battle is quite moving. It describes the Bravian women and children watching from the shore, knowing that everything depended on the outcome of the battle. It describes the Bravian warriors fighting not for glory or conquest but for the sheer survival of their people. It describes the moment when the Dragon Fleet’s warships were finally destroyed and the realization dawned that they might actually survive. And it describes the aftermath, when the Bravians divided the lands with their allies and began building the settlements that would become their new homeland.

The recent battle—the Second Battle of Cape Esperance—was presented in the museum as an echo of the first. Once again, Bravia was attacked by a powerful enemy. Once again, they defended themselves with overwhelming force. Once again, they demonstrated that they will do whatever is necessary to protect their people and their interests. The difference is that in the second battle, they fought alone (except for the Fremen, who assisted them), having become powerful enough that they no longer needed allies to ensure their survival.

After touring the museum, there was a reception where I had the opportunity to speak with various officials and other attendees. I was introduced to several Bravian naval officers who spoke with professional pride about their service but who also showed what I can only describe as genuine regret that the recent battle had been necessary. They did not celebrate the destruction of our neighbor’s fleet; rather, they expressed sorrow that our neighbor had made choices that led to such an outcome.

I also met representatives from several of Bravia’s allied nations, including the author of the epic poem about the First Battle—a gentleman scholar from one of the landlocked nations to the east who spoke with great eloquence about the bonds formed in shared struggle and about how the memory of past alliances should inform present relationships. He asked me pointed questions about whether our nation remembered its role in the First Battle, and I had to confess that I had known nothing of it before today. He smiled sadly and said that nations often forget their histories when those histories become inconvenient, and that this forgetting can lead to tragic misunderstandings.

Mother, I must be honest with you about my emotional state as I write this. I am confused, troubled, and uncertain about many things. The experience of seeing that museum, of learning about the First Battle, of understanding the context of our nation’s relationship with Bravia in a completely new way—all of this has shaken assumptions I did not even realize I held.

I came here expecting to learn about Bravian military power as a threat to be assessed and managed. What I found instead was a people with a history of desperate struggle for survival, who fought not as conquerors but as refugees defending their families, who remember their allies and their enemies with equal clarity, and who have built their strength not out of imperial ambition but out of a determination never to be in such a desperate position again.

I also found that our own nation was once their ally, that we fought alongside them when their very survival was in question, and that we received territory in this region as a result of that alliance. This changes everything about how I understand our current situation. We are not simply negotiating with a powerful neighbor; we are dealing with people who remember that we once stood with them, and who may reasonably wonder why we now seem to fear and mistrust them.

At the same time, I can understand why Uncle Leonidas and others have concerns about Bravian influence. The Bravians are indeed a transformative presence. Their ways are different from ours, and association with them does raise questions about alternative possibilities for organizing society. But after seeing what I have seen and learning what I have learned, I find it difficult to view them primarily as a threat. They seem to me more like a people who have suffered greatly, who have built something remarkable out of that suffering, and who now seek primarily to be left alone to develop their lands and live according to their principles.

I do not know if these impressions are accurate or if I am being naïve. I am young, inexperienced, and I have been exposed to a great deal of new information in a very short time. Uncle Leonidas warned me about the dangers of being too quickly impressed by Bravian ways, and I am trying to maintain the critical distance he advised. But I cannot deny that this experience has affected me deeply, and that I am seeing our nation’s relationship with Bravia in a different light than I did before arriving here.

I will be leaving Port Esperance tomorrow to travel to the capital to meet Uncle Leonidas. The journey will take several days, and I am told that it will give me my first extended view of the Bravian interior. I confess I am both eager and somewhat anxious about this next stage of my journey. Eager because I want to see more of this remarkable country and to begin my real work with Uncle Leonidas. Anxious because I am aware of how much I have yet to learn and how much responsibility will soon rest on my shoulders.

Mother, I miss you and think of you often. Being in a foreign land, seeing and experiencing things so different from anything at home, makes me appreciate all the more the bonds of family and the connection to home that you represent. I hope you are well and that the political situation at home has not grown more difficult. I will write again after I have met with Uncle Leonidas and begun to settle into my new life in Bravia’s capital.

Please give my regards to all our family and friends, and know that you are constantly in my thoughts and prayers.

Your loving son,
Lysander Smith

P.S. — Jakob Petersen suggested that I include with this letter a small book that is sold at the museum—a popular history of the First Battle of Cape Esperance that includes both narrative accounts and reproductions of some of the historical documents. He thought you might find it interesting, and I confess I found it quite moving. It provides a perspective on Bravian history that is not available in any of the sources I was able to read at home. I hope you will find it as illuminating as I did.

I should also mention that Jakob gave me a small carved wooden token before I left Port Esperance—a traditional Bravian charm that is supposed to bring safe travels. He said it was a personal gift, not something expected of him in his official capacity, and that he hoped I would have a successful and educational time in Bravia. I was touched by the gesture and by the genuine kindness he showed me throughout my time here. If all Bravians are like Jakob, then I think I will find my service here quite pleasant, despite the challenges it will present.

L.S.