14 August 3015

My Dear Brother Leonidas,

I write to you having now received and read multiple times the letters sent by Lysander following his attendance at the Cape Esperance Naval Museum opening. I have read his letter to me with a mother’s heart, understanding the emotions and uncertainties that lie beneath his careful prose. I have also read, through channels you arranged, his official report to the Foreign Minister and his detailed letter to you. I am grateful that you have kept me informed of all aspects of Lysander’s communications, as it allows me to understand not merely his personal feelings but also his professional assessments and the broader context of what he is experiencing.

Leonidas, I must tell you at the outset that reading these letters has affected me profoundly. As a mother, I am simultaneously proud of how Lysander conducted himself and deeply anxious about the weight of responsibility he is carrying. As a widow who has had to navigate the complexities of our nation’s politics alone, I am troubled by the historical revelations he describes and by their implications for our family’s position. And as someone who has tried to be your partner in this difficult enterprise we have undertaken, I am uncertain about how to respond to what Lysander has learned and how he is processing it.

Let me address these matters in order, beginning with the most immediate and personal: my assessment of Lysander’s state of mind and what it portends for his service with you.

On Lysander’s Conduct and Capabilities

From all three of his letters, it is clear that Lysander conducted himself with appropriate dignity and professionalism at the museum opening. He followed your guidance carefully, he navigated unfamiliar social situations with reasonable grace, and he represented our family and our nation without giving offense or creating difficulties. This is no small achievement for someone so young and inexperienced, thrust into a situation of considerable diplomatic delicacy with only written guidance to rely upon.

I am particularly impressed by how thoughtfully he observed and how carefully he recorded his impressions. His descriptions are detailed without being excessive, analytical without losing the human dimension of what he witnessed, and honest about his own uncertainties and limitations. These are qualities that will serve him well in diplomatic service, and I am grateful that your training and guidance are already bearing fruit.

However, Leonidas, I am also concerned about what I perceive in his letters as a kind of emotional and intellectual overwhelm. He writes of being “confused, troubled, and uncertain about many things.” He describes the experience as having “shaken assumptions I did not even realize I held.” He speaks of seeing our nation’s relationship with Bravia “in a different light” than before. These are not merely the observations of someone learning new information—they are the words of someone whose fundamental understanding of the world is being challenged.

This is both natural and dangerous. Natural because anyone of intelligence and sensitivity would be affected by learning that their nation has forgotten a history that another nation remembers clearly, by witnessing overwhelming military power demonstrated so clinically, and by encountering a foreign culture that is simultaneously admirable and unsettling. Dangerous because a young man whose foundations are shaken may be vulnerable to influences and conclusions that a more experienced observer would resist or evaluate more critically.

You warned me in one of your earlier letters that the real danger with Bravia is not that they are hostile but that they are attractive—that their ways have an appeal that can be seductive, particularly to young people who have not yet fully internalized the reasons why those ways might be inappropriate for our own society. I see signs in Lysander’s letters that he is feeling this attraction, this pull toward viewing Bravian society with admiration rather than with the critical distance that effective diplomatic service requires.

When he writes of ordinary Bravians “comporting themselves with a confidence and self-assurance that in our own country would be found only among the educated classes,” he is not merely making an observation—he is making an implicit comparison that reflects favorably on Bravian society. When he describes Jakob Petersen’s “genuine kindness” and concludes that “if all Bravians are like Jakob, then I think my concerns about adjusting to life here may be overstated,” he is generalizing from a single positive encounter in ways that may lead him to underestimate the challenges ahead. When he speaks of the Bravians as “a people who have suffered greatly, who have built something remarkable out of that suffering,” he is adopting a narrative that emphasizes Bravian virtue and Bravian accomplishment while potentially minimizing the legitimate concerns that motivated our policies toward them.

I do not criticize Lysander for these reactions—they are, as I said, natural responses from an intelligent and sensitive young man encountering new realities. But I believe you must be alert to these tendencies and must help him develop the critical perspective that will allow him to appreciate what is genuinely admirable about Bravian society while maintaining the ability to recognize what is problematic or inappropriate for our own circumstances.

On the Historical Revelations

Leonidas, I must address directly the matter that dominates all three of Lysander’s letters: the revelation that our nation fought alongside the Bravians in the First Battle of Cape Esperance and that our territorial holdings in the coastal region were allotted to us as part of the post-battle settlement.

I have spent considerable time since reading Lysander’s letters trying to determine whether this history is accurate, whether it was known to our government and simply not shared with the general population, or whether it has been genuinely forgotten. I have made discreet inquiries among those at court who might have access to historical records, and I have reviewed what documents I could access in our family’s own papers.

What I have discovered troubles me greatly. There are indeed references in older historical documents to “the alliance at the coast” and to “the settlement following the victory over the Dragon Fleet.” These references are fragmentary and were clearly not meant to be the primary historical record but rather assumed knowledge of events that would have been well-known to contemporaries. But they confirm that something resembling what Lysander describes did indeed occur, and that our nation’s role in it was not invented by the Bravians for propaganda purposes.

The fact that this history has been forgotten—or perhaps more accurately, the fact that it has been allowed to fade from public memory—raises profound questions about how our nation has chosen to understand its own past. Why would we forget that we were once Bravian allies? Why would we forget that our territorial claims rest on an alliance relationship rather than on independent discovery or conquest?

I can think of several possible explanations, none of them entirely satisfying:

Perhaps the memory was deliberately suppressed because it complicated our later desire to distance ourselves from Bravia and to view them as foreign rather than as former allies. If our people understood that we owed our coastal territories to a Bravian alliance, it might have been more difficult to justify policies of restriction and separation from them.

Perhaps the memory simply faded naturally over generations, as the immediate participants in the events died and their descendants focused on more recent concerns. 150 years is a long time, and many things that seemed crucial to one generation become footnotes to later generations.

Perhaps the memory was preserved in government records but not shared widely with the general population, either because it was considered sensitive information or because it did not fit the narrative about our nation’s history that our leaders wished to promote.

Regardless of which explanation is correct, the result is the same: we have forgotten a history that the Bravians remember, and this asymmetry of memory creates profound misunderstandings in our current relationship. The Bravians view us as former allies who have inexplicably become suspicious and distant. We view ourselves as prudent neighbors maintaining appropriate boundaries with a powerful foreign nation. Neither view is entirely wrong, but neither is complete without the historical context that Lysander has now uncovered.

Leonidas, you must help me understand what we are to do with this knowledge. Should we attempt to bring this history to the attention of His Majesty’s government? Should we argue that our policies toward Bravia should be reconsidered in light of this forgotten alliance? Or should we simply note this history privately and continue implementing the policies we have been given, recognizing that whether we were once allies or not, the current situation requires careful management regardless?

I confess I do not know the answer. As a woman without official position, my ability to influence policy is limited in any case. But you are our ambassador to Bravia, and your voice carries weight in these matters. You must decide whether this historical revelation should inform our diplomatic approach or whether it is simply an interesting historical footnote without practical implications for current policy.

On Lysander’s Emotional State

Returning to more immediate maternal concerns, I must address what I perceive as Lysander’s emotional vulnerability in the face of these new experiences. In his letter to me, he writes with unusual openness about his feelings—his confusion, his uncertainty, his sense that assumptions are being challenged. This openness is both admirable and concerning.

It is admirable because it shows that Lysander is grappling honestly with complexity rather than retreating into comfortable certainties. He is not simply accepting what he is told, but neither is he reflexively rejecting everything that challenges his preconceptions. This capacity for nuanced thinking will serve him well in diplomatic work.

It is concerning because emotional openness can also be emotional vulnerability. A young man far from home, encountering overwhelming new experiences, separated from family and familiar supports—such a person may be more susceptible to influence than he would be in more stable circumstances. The Bravians have clearly made a positive impression on Lysander, and while I do not doubt their genuine hospitality, I also recognize that hospitality can be a tool of influence as surely as hostility can be.

Leonidas, I entrust my son to your care with the full confidence that you will watch over him as you would watch over your own child. But I must ask you to be particularly attentive to his emotional state as he settles into life in Bravia. He needs not only professional guidance but also the kind of personal support that helps a young man maintain his sense of identity and purpose when everything around him is unfamiliar.

I know you cannot be his father—that role was taken from him too early, and no uncle, however caring, can fully replace it. But you can be his mentor, his guide, and his anchor when the currents of new experience threaten to pull him away from his moorings. Help him to process what he is experiencing. Give him space to express his doubts and uncertainties without fear of judgment. But also help him develop the critical perspective that will allow him to appreciate what he sees without losing himself in it.

On the Practical Implications for Our Family

I must now turn to more calculating matters, though I do so with reluctance. Our family’s position at court has become increasingly precarious, as we have discussed in previous correspondence. The revelation of this forgotten history about the First Battle of Cape Esperance has implications for how we position ourselves in the ongoing political debates about Bravian policy.

If we bring this history to light—if we argue that our nation’s policies should be reconsidered in light of our former alliance with Bravia—we will be seen by some as advocates for closer Bravian relations. This could strengthen our position with those at court who support accommodation, but it would also intensify the hostility of those who oppose such accommodation. We would be taking a clear political position rather than maintaining the careful neutrality we have tried to preserve.

If we remain silent about this history—if we treat it as merely an interesting historical discovery without practical implications—we avoid taking a political stance, but we also fail to provide information that might be relevant to policy debates. Moreover, if this history becomes widely known through other channels (and given that it is featured prominently in a Bravian national museum, it may well become known), our silence about it could be interpreted as either ignorance or deliberate concealment, neither of which reflects well on our family’s competence or integrity.

I am inclined toward a middle course: sharing this historical information with appropriate officials through proper channels, presenting it as a factual matter without drawing explicit policy conclusions from it, and allowing others to determine what weight it should be given in their deliberations. This approach positions our family as providers of accurate information rather than as advocates for any particular policy, and it demonstrates our competence and thoroughness in diplomatic work.

However, I defer to your judgment on this matter, as you understand the political dynamics better than I do and can assess more accurately how various approaches might be received. I simply wanted to share my thinking so that we can coordinate our responses appropriately.

On My Own State of Mind

Leonidas, I must confess to you what I have confessed to no one else: I am frightened. Not of any immediate threat or danger, but of the trajectory I see unfolding before us. Our world is changing in ways that we cannot control and can barely understand. Bravia is growing stronger, more expansive, more influential. Our own nation is becoming more fractured, more uncertain, more divided about fundamental questions of how we should govern ourselves and how we should relate to the world around us.

I sent my only son to serve in a foreign land during these tumultuous times because I believed—and still believe—that developing expertise in Bravian affairs is essential to our family’s survival and service. But reading his letters, seeing the effect that Bravia is already having on him, I am confronted with the possibility that I may have sent him to a place that will change him in ways I cannot anticipate or control. He may return to me someone different from the young man who left, shaped by experiences and exposures that I cannot share and may not fully understand.

This is the universal experience of mothers, I know—watching our children grow beyond us, become people we could not have predicted, find their own paths in the world. But the circumstances make it more poignant, more fraught with anxiety. I am not merely watching my son grow up; I am watching him be formed by a culture that I have been taught to view with suspicion, that represents values and ways of life quite different from our own.

And yet, reading his descriptions of what he saw at Cape Esperance, I find myself questioning my own assumptions as surely as he is questioning his. If the Bravians fought as desperately as he describes to protect their families from destruction, if they remember their allies with such clarity and loyalty, if they have built a society that produces people like Jakob Petersen who show genuine kindness to foreign strangers—then perhaps they are not the threat we have been taught to see. Or perhaps they are both admirable and threatening simultaneously, and we must somehow hold both truths in mind without allowing either to eclipse the other.

Leonidas, I am rambling, and I apologize. But I wanted you to understand not merely my thoughts about Lysander’s situation but also my own emotional state as I grapple with all that his letters have revealed. I am trying to be strong, to be wise, to be the kind of mother and sister-in-law that our family needs in these difficult times. But I confess that I often feel overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

On Immediate Next Steps

Let me conclude with more practical matters. You will by now have received Lysander at the embassy, and you will have had your first extended conversations with him about his experiences. I trust that you will be able to assess his state better in person than I can from his letters, and that you will provide whatever guidance and support he needs.

I ask only that you keep me informed of how he is adjusting to life in Bravia, how he is managing the responsibilities you will give him, and whether you have any concerns about his emotional or intellectual state that I should be aware of. I recognize that you may need to share with me things that Lysander himself would not share, either because he wishes to spare me worry or because he does not recognize the significance of his own reactions. I trust your judgment about what I need to know, and I will not press you for details that you believe should remain between you and Lysander.

Regarding the historical revelations about the First Battle of Cape Esperance, I believe we should discuss how to handle this information before either of us takes any action that might have political implications. Perhaps we could correspond on this matter separately from our general family correspondence, using the secure channels you have established for sensitive diplomatic communications.

I am also beginning to think more seriously about contingency planning should the political situation at home deteriorate further. You have mentioned in previous letters your concerns about civil disorder, and I confess those concerns are increasingly shared by others at court. I am quietly making arrangements to have multiple sets of all important family documents stored in secure locations, and I am identifying people in different regions whom I could turn to for assistance if it became necessary to leave the capital quickly. I hope these preparations prove unnecessary, but I believe prudence requires that I make them regardless.

A Personal Note

Before I close, I want to say something that may seem unnecessary but that I feel compelled to express nonetheless. I am grateful for you, Leonidas. Grateful for your service to our nation, for your care of our family, for your willingness to shoulder burdens that few people could carry as well as you have. Since my husband’s death, you have been a source of strength and wisdom that I have relied upon more than you perhaps realize.

The decision to send Lysander to you was not easy. It required me to trust you with what is most precious to me, to believe that you would protect him and guide him with the same care you would show your own child. Reading his letters, seeing the thoughtfulness of your guidance and the care with which you prepared him for his first diplomatic assignment, I am reassured that my trust was well-placed.

I miss my son, and I worry about him constantly. But I take comfort in knowing that he is with you, that he is learning from someone who combines professional excellence with genuine personal integrity, and that he is serving a purpose larger than himself in circumstances where that service truly matters.

Whatever challenges lie ahead—whatever uncertainties we face about our nation’s future or our family’s position—I am grateful to face them alongside you, even if distance separates us physically. We are partners in this enterprise, you and I, and I draw strength from that partnership.

Please give Lysander my love when you see him, and tell him that his mother is proud of him and confident in his abilities. Tell him also that he should not hesitate to write to me about his doubts and uncertainties as well as his successes. I am his mother first and foremost, and my role is to love him unconditionally, not to judge him for struggling with difficult questions.

I will await your reply with great interest, particularly your assessment of Lysander’s state and your thoughts about how we should handle the historical revelations he has uncovered.

May God watch over you both in the important work you are doing.

Your devoted sister,
Elizabeth Smith

P.S. — I have received the book about the First Battle of Cape Esperance that Lysander sent with his letter. I have read it through completely, and I must say it is quite moving and also quite troubling. The Bravian account of this battle portrays our nation as honorable allies who fought bravely and who were treated fairly in the post-battle settlement. This is, I suppose, preferable to being portrayed as cowards or as exploiters. But it also creates a moral weight that I am not certain our current policies adequately acknowledge.

The book includes several illustrations and maps that make the desperate nature of the Bravian situation quite clear. They truly did have their backs to the sea, with their families watching from the shore, facing an enemy that intended to destroy them utterly. That they survived, and that we helped them survive, is presented as a moment of great historical significance that shaped the entire subsequent development of the region.

I can understand why the Bravians make much of this history. What I cannot understand is why we have forgotten it so completely. This forgetting seems to me to be significant in itself—it tells us something about how our nation chooses to remember and to forget, how we construct our historical narratives to serve present purposes rather than to preserve accurate knowledge of past events.

I have quietly shared this book with a few trusted friends at court, framing it as an interesting historical curiosity rather than as something with contemporary political implications. The reactions have been mixed. Some were fascinated and wanted to know more. Others were dismissive, suggesting that Bravian historical accounts are likely to be self-serving and should not be taken at face value. One friend—Lady Margrave, who has continued to be kind to me—observed that perhaps some histories are forgotten because remembering them would be inconvenient, and that the test of a nation’s maturity is whether it can acknowledge inconvenient truths about its own past.

I found her comment penetrating, and it has stayed with me as I have thought about all of this. Are we mature enough as a nation to acknowledge this history and to consider what it means for our present situation? Or are we so invested in our current narrative about Bravia as a foreign threat to be managed carefully that we cannot accommodate evidence that our relationship with them is more complex and more layered than we have assumed?

These are questions above my station to answer, I know. But I cannot help asking them nonetheless.

E.S.