5 August 3015

My Dearest Mother,

I write to you from the newly established embassy in Bravia’s capital, having now completed my journey from Port Esperance and having participated in the formal installation ceremony for our diplomatic mission. So much has happened in the past week that I scarcely know where to begin, but I shall attempt to give you a coherent account of my travels through Bravia’s interior and of my first impressions of the capital and of the work that lies ahead.

The journey from Port Esperance to the capital took four days, as Uncle Leonidas had predicted, though the experience was quite different from what I had anticipated. I had imagined rough travel through primitive countryside, based on Uncle’s descriptions of his travels to remote provinces. Instead, I found myself traveling through regions that were surprisingly well-developed, along roads that were in remarkably good condition, passing through towns and villages that showed clear evidence of careful planning and substantial prosperity.

On the Journey Through Bravia’s Interior

Jakob Petersen accompanied me for the first day of travel, ensuring that I was properly established with the transportation Uncle had arranged before returning to his duties at Port Esperance. The vehicle provided for my journey was a well-maintained carriage drawn by four strong horses, with a Bravian driver named Thomas who spoke both Low and Middle Bravian fluently but only a few words of our language. I took this as an opportunity to practice my Low Bravian, and Thomas proved to be a patient conversational partner who corrected my errors without making me feel foolish.

The first day’s travel took us through the coastal plains region of Southeast Bravia. This is an area of intensive agriculture, Mother, with farms that appear to be both productive and well-organized. The fields are laid out in rectangular patterns, with clear property boundaries marked by hedgerows or fences. The farmhouses are substantial structures, plainly built but clearly comfortable and well-maintained. I saw numerous barns, outbuildings, and what appeared to be small workshops attached to farms—evidence that Bravian farmers engage in various productive activities beyond simply growing crops.

What struck me most forcefully was the apparent prosperity of the ordinary farming families I observed. The people I saw working in the fields or traveling along the roads were plainly dressed but their clothing was of good quality and in good repair. The children I saw appeared healthy and well-fed. The horses and livestock looked well-cared-for. This is quite different from the rural poverty one often encounters in our own countryside, where tenant farmers and agricultural laborers frequently live in conditions of considerable hardship.

Thomas explained to me that most Bravian farmers own their own land rather than working as tenants for large landowners. The typical farm, he said, is between fifty and two hundred acres, which is enough to support a family comfortably and to allow for modest accumulation of wealth over generations. Farmers can sell their land if they choose, but most prefer to pass it to their children, and there are apparently cultural expectations that families should maintain their lands rather than selling them for short-term gain.

We stopped for lunch at a small town called Riverside, which Thomas said was typical of the inland towns of Southeast Bravia. The town consisted of perhaps two hundred buildings arranged in a neat grid pattern around a central square. There was a church, several shops, what appeared to be a school, a grange hall that Thomas said was used for community meetings and educational programs, and various other civic buildings. The streets were paved and well-maintained, with drainage systems to handle rain. There were trees planted along the streets, creating shaded walkways.

We ate at a local tavern that served simple but well-prepared food—roasted chicken, fresh bread, vegetables from local farms, and a light beer brewed in the town itself. The tavern keeper and his wife treated all customers with equal courtesy, making no distinction between local farmers, travelers like myself, and a group of what Thomas identified as merchants passing through on business. The conversation at table ranged widely—people discussed local affairs, national politics, agricultural practices, and news from other parts of Bravia with equal facility and evident knowledge.

Mother, I must tell you that this casual competence and dignity among ordinary people continues to impress and somewhat unsettle me. These were not educated elites or urban sophisticates—they were farmers and small-town merchants—yet they spoke with intelligence and confidence about matters that in our own country would be considered above their station. This is not mere putting-on of airs; it reflects genuine education and a real expectation that ordinary people should be informed about public affairs and capable of discussing them thoughtfully.

The second day of travel took us through a more hilly region as we began to approach the mountain range where the capital is located. The landscape here was less intensively farmed but no less carefully managed. I saw extensive woodlands that Thomas explained were managed for sustainable timber production—areas where trees are selectively harvested and replanted according to long-term plans that ensure continuous productivity. I saw grazing lands where cattle and sheep were kept in considerable numbers. And I saw numerous small streams and rivers that had been partially channeled or dammed to power mills and to provide water for various purposes.

We spent the second night in a larger town called Miller’s Ford, which sits at a crossing of one of the tributaries of the Eastern River. This town was considerably more substantial than Riverside, with perhaps a thousand residents and a more diverse economic base. There were textile mills powered by the river, warehouses for storing goods being shipped downriver to coastal ports, workshops for various crafts, and a bustling commercial district. The inn where we stayed was comfortable and well-run, with private rooms for travelers and a common room where locals gathered in the evening.

I spent some time in the common room that evening, listening to conversations and observing the local people. What became clear to me was that even in a town of this size, there is substantial civic organization and engagement. People spoke knowledgeably about their town’s government, about debates in the local council, about plans for improving infrastructure, and about how their town’s representative at the provincial parliament was performing. This was not idle talk but serious discussion among people who clearly felt they had both a stake in these matters and a responsibility to remain informed about them.

The third day of travel took us into the mountains. The road climbed steadily, following a river valley that cut through increasingly dramatic terrain. The engineering of this road impressed me greatly, Mother—it has been carefully graded to maintain a reasonable incline, with switchbacks where necessary, and it has been reinforced with stone retaining walls where it cuts across hillsides. This is not a road that was simply trampled into existence by travelers; it is a deliberately constructed piece of infrastructure that required significant investment and engineering skill.

As we climbed higher, the air grew noticeably cooler and the vegetation changed. The hardwood forests of the lower elevations gave way to coniferous forests with trees I did not recognize. Thomas identified them as various types of pine and fir that are native to these mountains. He explained that the High Bravians who live in these mountains have developed extensive knowledge of these forests and harvest various products from them—timber, certainly, but also medicinal plants, edible mushrooms, and various other useful materials.

We passed several High Bravian settlements during the day’s travel—small villages built on hillsides or in narrow valleys, with houses constructed of stone and timber in styles quite different from the lowland Bravian architecture. The High Bravians we encountered were distinctive in appearance—generally taller and fairer than the Middle and Low Bravians, with features that suggested different ethnic origins. They were courteous but somewhat reserved, watching our passage with interest but not approaching us unless we stopped to ask for directions or assistance.

We spent the third night at a mountain inn that catered to travelers heading to or from the capital. The inn was built of stone, with thick walls and small windows designed to retain heat in what I imagine must be quite severe winter weather. The food here was different from what I had eaten in the lowlands—more emphasis on preserved meats, root vegetables, hearty breads, and warming drinks. The innkeeper explained that in winter, this road can be impassable for weeks at a time due to snow, and that travelers must plan their journeys carefully to avoid being trapped by weather.

The fourth day brought us to the capital itself. The final approach to the city is through a narrow valley with steep sides—a naturally defensive position that the Bravians have enhanced with various fortifications. I could see watch posts on the heights above the road, and Thomas pointed out that these positions are manned continuously by High Bravian guards who monitor all traffic approaching the capital.

On the Capital City and the Cave Palace

Mother, the capital of Bravia is unlike any city I have ever seen or imagined. It is not built on level ground but rather is carved into and built upon the sides of a mountain, with different levels connected by stairs, ramps, and what Thomas called “lifts”—mechanical devices that raise and lower people and goods between levels.

The most striking feature, of course, is the royal palace itself—the famous cave palace that Uncle Leonidas has written about. It is not a single cave but rather a complex of interconnected chambers carved deep into the mountain, with openings that provide light and ventilation. The exterior entrances are quite modest—simple doorways cut into the rock, without the elaborate architectural decoration one would expect from a royal residence. But this simplicity is deceptive; inside, the chambers are spacious and surprisingly comfortable, with carefully engineered ventilation systems, carved channels for water and drainage, and ingenious use of reflective surfaces to distribute natural light throughout the interior.

Uncle Leonidas met me at the edge of the city and accompanied me on the final approach to the embassy. Mother, it was deeply moving to see him after so many months of separation. He looked well, though perhaps somewhat more weathered than when he departed for Bravia. His embrace was warm, and his evident pleasure at my arrival did much to ease the nervousness I was feeling about this new phase of my journey.

The embassy itself is located in a building that Uncle has leased from a Bravian family who maintains it as rental property. It is a substantial stone structure built into the hillside on one of the middle levels of the city, with several floors connected by internal stairs. The lower floors house offices and meeting rooms for conducting diplomatic business. The upper floors provide living quarters for Uncle and for me, as well as rooms for the small staff of Bravian assistants he has hired. There is also a kitchen, dining room, and various service spaces necessary for maintaining the household.

My own quarters consist of a bedroom, a small study where I can work, and a shared sitting room adjacent to Uncle’s similar suite. The rooms are plainly furnished but comfortable, with good light from large windows that look out over the city. I have a fireplace for heat in winter, ample storage for my belongings, and a small balcony where I can step outside when I need fresh air and a change of perspective.

Uncle gave me the first day to settle in and to rest from my journey before beginning any official duties. He showed me around the embassy building, introduced me to the staff, explained the daily routines that have been established, and provided me with keys and access to the various spaces I would need to use. The staff—a housekeeper named Martha, a cook named Johann, and two young clerks named Peter and Hans who assist with translation and correspondence—all received me courteously and have been helpful in getting me oriented to my new home.

On the Installation Ceremony

Yesterday, we participated in the formal installation ceremony for our embassy. This was a significant event, Mother, attended by various Bravian officials including members of the Royal and Parliamentary Cabinet, representatives from the Grand Parliament, and officials from the Ministry of External Affairs who manage Bravia’s relations with foreign nations.

The ceremony took place in one of the formal chambers of the cave palace—a large room carved from the living rock, with a high ceiling and excellent acoustics. The space was arranged with seating for attendees in a semicircular pattern facing a raised platform where the principal officials sat. The atmosphere was serious but not oppressive—formal without being rigid.

The ceremony began with a prayer offered by a Bravian priest, asking for God’s blessing on the diplomatic relationship between our nations and on all those who would work to maintain it. The prayer was in Royal and Ecclesiastical Bravian, which I could follow only partially with my limited proficiency, but the sentiment was clear and seemed genuinely meant rather than merely ceremonial.

Then the Bravian Foreign Minister rose to speak. He welcomed our embassy formally, expressed Bravia’s hope for friendly and productive relations between our nations, and outlined what the Bravian government expected from diplomatic representation—honesty, clear communication, respect for Bravian laws and customs, and good-faith efforts to resolve any difficulties that might arise. His remarks were direct and substantive, quite different from the flowery diplomatic speeches one might expect at such an event in our own country.

Uncle Leonidas then responded, presenting our nation’s credentials and expressing our commitment to maintaining the relationship established by the treaty he had negotiated. He spoke of our hope for mutual benefit through trade and cultural exchange, of our respect for Bravian sovereignty and customs, and of our intention to be honest and forthright in all our dealings. He introduced me specifically as his nephew and attaché, explaining that I would be assisting him in managing our diplomatic relations and that I came with appropriate credentials and authority to act on behalf of our nation.

Several other officials then spoke briefly, each welcoming the establishment of formal diplomatic presence and expressing various hopes for what it might accomplish. What struck me about these remarks was their directness—there was very little of the diplomatic circumlocution one often encounters, and much more straightforward statement of expectations and intentions.

After the formal speeches, the gathered officials came forward to greet Uncle and me personally. I was introduced to perhaps thirty different officials, each of whom took a moment to welcome me, to express interest in where I came from and what I hoped to learn in Bravia, and to offer assistance if I needed guidance navigating Bravian customs or institutions. Several specifically mentioned the Cape Esperance museum opening and expressed pleasure that I had attended. One official—a member of the Grand Parliament from one of the landlocked allied nations—mentioned that he had spoken with me at the museum reception and was glad to see me again.

Mother, I must tell you that I conducted myself appropriately throughout the ceremony, following Uncle’s guidance and drawing on the preparation he had provided. I was nervous, certainly, but I believe I managed to present myself with reasonable dignity and to respond to greetings and questions without embarrassing either Uncle or our nation. This was my first experience of formal Bravian diplomatic protocol, and while it was somewhat overwhelming, it was also encouraging to realize that I could navigate it successfully with proper preparation.

After the formal ceremony, there was a reception where we had the opportunity to speak more informally with various officials. Uncle skillfully guided these conversations, introducing me to people he thought I should know and steering discussions toward topics that would be useful for me to understand. I observed carefully how he interacted with different officials—the topics he raised and avoided, the way he balanced courtesy with directness, the manner in which he conveyed both respect for Bravian ways and confidence in our own nation’s positions.

On My Initial Impressions and Feelings

Mother, I must be honest with you about my state of mind after these past several days. I am excited about the work ahead, but I am also somewhat overwhelmed by the responsibility I am assuming. I am in a foreign country whose ways are quite different from our own, serving in a diplomatic capacity for which my training has been limited, working under an uncle I admire but do not yet know well as an adult, and conscious that my conduct reflects not merely on myself but on our family and our nation.

The journey through Bravia’s interior was eye-opening in ways I am still processing. The level of development, the apparent prosperity of ordinary people, the careful organization of settlement and infrastructure—all of this suggests a society that is far more capable and sophisticated than I had been led to believe from the limited information available at home. If what I saw is representative of Bravia as a whole (and Uncle says that it is, though some regions are more developed than others), then we are dealing with a nation of considerably greater strength and capacity than our own government may fully appreciate.

At the same time, I am conscious of Uncle’s warnings about not being too quickly impressed by Bravian ways or too ready to conclude that what works for them should be adopted by us. I am trying to maintain the critical distance he has advised, to observe carefully without rushing to judgment, to appreciate what is genuinely admirable while recognizing that different societies have different needs and different historical circumstances that shape what is appropriate for them.

The installation ceremony itself was a powerful reminder of the seriousness of this work. Standing before Bravian officials, being introduced as our nation’s representative, hearing Uncle speak on behalf of our government—all of this brought home to me that this is not merely an interesting foreign adventure but a genuine responsibility with real implications. I found myself thinking of Father and what he would say to me if he were here. I think he would tell me to take the work seriously, to serve with integrity, and to never forget that I represent something larger than myself.

Uncle has been wonderfully supportive, Mother. He is patient with my questions, generous with his time and knowledge, and clear in his expectations without being overwhelming. He has explained that he will begin my duties gradually—at first, I will primarily observe, attend meetings with him, and work on translation and correspondence under his supervision. As I develop greater understanding and proficiency, he will give me more independent responsibilities. This measured approach is reassuring, as it allows me to learn without being thrust into situations I am not yet prepared to handle.

I must also tell you that Uncle gave me the package you sent with him—Father’s pocket watch, your devotional book, and your sealed letter. I have not yet opened your letter, as Uncle suggested I wait until I had settled somewhat before reading it. I am both eager to read it and somewhat apprehensive about what emotions it might stir. I think I will open it tonight, in the quiet of my room, when I have time to reflect properly on whatever you have written to me.

On Missing Home

Mother, I miss you terribly. I miss home, I miss the familiar rhythms of life I have always known, I miss the comfort of being in a place where I understand how things work and where I know my place in the order of things. Bravia is fascinating, but it is also exhausting in its unfamiliarity. Every interaction requires thought and care, every observation raises questions I do not yet know how to answer, every day brings new experiences that I must process and understand.

But I am also grateful to be here. This is important work, and I am learning things that few people from our nation have the opportunity to learn. Uncle is an excellent teacher, and I could not ask for better guidance as I begin this service. The Bravians I have encountered have been courteous and helpful, and I am beginning to feel that I can find my place here even though everything is so different from home.

Write to me often, Mother. Your letters will be my connection to home and family, my reminder of who I am and where I come from. Tell me about your daily life, about our relatives and friends, about the small details of life at home that seem unremarkable when one is living them but become precious when one is far away. These details help me to maintain my sense of connection to home even as I build my new life here.

I will write to you regularly with accounts of my work and observations. I may not always be able to share everything—some matters are too sensitive for correspondence that might be read by others—but I will share what I can, and I will always write with honesty about my experiences and feelings.

A Confession

Mother, I must confess something to you that I have not admitted explicitly even to Uncle, though I suspect he perceives it. I am afraid. Not of any physical danger or immediate threat, but of something more subtle and more profound. I am afraid that I will not be adequate to this responsibility. I am afraid that I will make mistakes that damage our nation’s interests or embarrass our family. I am afraid that I will be changed by this experience in ways that distance me from home and from the person I have always been. And I am afraid that I will disappoint you and Uncle and the memory of Father by proving unequal to the trust you have placed in me.

I tell you this not because I want you to worry more than you already do—I know you worry about me constantly—but because I do not want to hide my true feelings from you. You told me before I left that I should write honestly about my doubts and uncertainties as well as my successes, and I am trying to do that.

I think these fears are natural, and I think acknowledging them is healthier than pretending they do not exist. Uncle has told me that even experienced diplomats feel uncertainty and self-doubt, and that recognizing one’s limitations is the beginning of wisdom. I am trying to trust in my training, in Uncle’s guidance, and in the abilities I possess even as I remain humble about how much I have yet to learn.

Mother, I close this already lengthy letter with the assurance that I am well, that I am being well-cared-for, and that I am approaching my work with seriousness and commitment. I miss you more than words can express, but I am also grateful for this opportunity and determined to make the most of it.

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

Your loving son,
Lysander Smith

P.S. — The warm cloak you mentioned in your last letter will be most welcome. Uncle tells me that winter here can be severe, with heavy snow and bitter cold. The mountain location of the capital means that weather is often more extreme than in the lowlands, and I am told I will need to adjust to conditions quite different from what I have known at home.

I am keeping the daily journal you suggested, recording my observations and reflections in more personal terms than my official reports require. I find this practice helpful for processing my experiences and for maintaining some sense of my own thoughts separate from my professional duties. Perhaps someday these journals will be of interest to someone beyond myself, but for now they serve mainly as a way of thinking through what I am experiencing.

The books you sent have been a great comfort. Father’s copy of Marcus Aurelius is particularly meaningful to me—seeing his annotations and knowing that these are thoughts he reflected on helps me to feel connected to him even though he is gone. I have been reading a passage each evening before sleep, and I find the Stoic emphasis on doing one’s duty with integrity regardless of external circumstances quite appropriate to my current situation.

Thank you for thinking to send these things, Mother. They make my quarters feel more like home and remind me that I am not as far from family as the physical distance might suggest.

L.S.