Letters from Affectionate and Apologetic Cousins
Chapter I: Thank You For Being Such an Idiot at Cooking
To J. C. Thatcher of Archenland,
The old benedictions have been cast into memory and new ones adorn their places, as you well know. The family wishes you home as well as the King, who requests that you bring your homemade dishes next you visit. He specifically asked for the soup, for he has come to fancy it. I can prepare it, but not as well as the one who thought it up. You know how the culinary arts go. The master makes the dish, the dish passes down into family, and family intrinsically mucks it up.
I do not know if I regret to tell you or if I am honored to say that our beloved friend Kahmir, has passed into glory. He died sometime last night and wished nothing more than to be with family. He was well taken care of, I can assure you. According to Mathias (Trufflehunter), he died of old age, which is perhaps the greatest and easiest to die from. I stood in the room with him, awaiting his last command for me, which was simply, "To live."
Let me tell you that you are in the presence of a good friend and just abettor when you are told to live on from them. To carry their memory but to make new and better ones. To selfless and carry them on in your heart is the best way to secure bonds between friends who are gone. For they shall always be our friends but they shan't always be here, and even though grief will overtake us, with time I hope, we shall come to see the legacy of his life, which was expressed beautifully by two simplistic words. "To live."
He was not a boastful bird, nor was he quiet. He spoke with simple regency and asked that you only listen, whether you followed or not was a task you preformed. He lived and fought with raging incandescence, but at the same time, was as peaceful and loving as a dove. He never asked for anything, and gave you everything. He was a friend who became a brother and he died an esteemed member of the house.
However, as much as I would enjoy to write to you of serendipity I regret to inform you that war has descended upon us. Caspian has requested that you be rooted in your place and hopes that you shall be a bulwark for us. I know nothing of the road or the battle ahead, but I suspect that I shall see you within the year. At the moment, nothing has occurred and the talk of war from me only come from me and His Majesty. It has not been made official. However, it soon will be and as much as I fear it, I believe that the one who wished Kashmir dead shall be arriving to defile the corpse within the hour. We are taking liberties and precautions to protect aforementioned deceased but it shall be difficult due to rain and the fresh earth that now rests in a pile behind the house near the oak which we so dastardly planned to rule the world and succeeded in conquering our youthful imaginations.
I hope your family is well and safe. Give my love to your children and respect to your wife. I do hope that when we see each other next, it shall be a time when we can reunite as family, that the misgivings we shared were simply misgivings and not permanent resentments. If you discard this and do not speak of me, know that I have forgiven and pardoned you. There shall be no reprimands or grievances should you decide to return. We love and cherish the family we lost and we ever so desperately wish to find you. May you come to sense, and if not, may you live and may you die with full honors and graces.
Your Affectionate Cousin,
Reepicheep H. Daren
P.S. - It would be a common courtesy to send the soup recipe.
To Reepicheep H. Daren of Narnia,
Dearest Cousin- I am deeply saddened by the news of His Majesty Kashmir. He was, as you stated, a friend as well as a brother. My condolences and heart are surely with you. I cannot imagine the tragic day you experienced and if there be any remedy for heartbreak, know I shall boldly seek it out and it send it to you.
As for Caspian's inquires and requests for the soup- that is a service I can no longer give I'm afraid. For I have suffered immensely since you saw me last. To detail it would be too diminishing of what little strength I have left, but know that I am passing into the threshold and shall be seeing Kashmir soon.
Anyway, enough of my grievances- time to speak joyfully whilst we can.
The other day Miss Heading, the old pheasant from the city, came by my house and asked if I had seen her granddaughter. I told her that I have, but has been some time since then. I directed her north to the border. Apparently her granddaughter is psychology unstable and can become somewhat murderous. A murderous pheasant. I doubt you have any trouble with those. If you have, best stay clear of them.
Kensington, the former page of Pauline, the Queen of Archenland who passed, (may she forever rest peacefully), wishes you well. He told me to tell you he is returning home, for nothing now keeps him here and as much as Archenland is a beautiful place to live, Narnia is his home and wishes to be there. He wishes to war you that his father, Dyson Mullengrave, who if I remember correctly still lives in his burrow not too far from the our house, shall be heading your way to prospect a future in salmon fishing.
Deny him, even if he pays you.
For Kensington tells me that he is not in the right state of mind and has been dealing with ways to cope- such as conning people of their time, money, and in some cases, their lives. He'll most likely say that it is for the good of the community to fish for salmon, and it is, but honestly he'll attempt to drown you. He shan't kill you, for he isn't heartless, but he isn't mentally sound. However should he persuade you into going with him to fish, restrain him and distract him so that he won't have a chance to do anything. Kensington does not know why his father has been acting this way, but he suspects it is due to the unsolved mystery of the murder of his wife. If you find the time and will to solve this matter, Kensington shall personally be your page, and this he insisted upon should you decide to do it.
Kensington shall be returning home to apply for a page position in Caspian's court next week. So hopefully his father shouldn't bother you until then.
Even though I cannot prepare the soup anymore, I shall give you the recipe- I shall transcribe it here and send another copy with Kensington. For being a hare, he can traverse ground faster than I can and it makes logical sense for above mentioned reasons.
Anyway, here is the recipe:
The King's Soup (a variant of Roasted-Chicken Soup):
Ingredients:
2 teaspoons of olive oil
1 cup of chopped onion
1 cup of diced carrots
1 cup of sliced celery
1 garlic clove, minced
¼ cup of flour
½ teaspoon dried oregano
¼ teaspoon dried thyme
¼ teaspoon of rosemary
6 cups of chicken (or beef) broth
4 cups of diced peeled potatoes
1 teaspoon of salt
2 cups of diced deer
2 cups of diced mutton
1 cup of milk (if available, if not, substitute for cheese)
2 cups of uncooked wide egg noodles (if available, if not, substitute for yeast)
Fresh thyme (optional but recommended)
Preparation:
Heat olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat or over an open fire. Add chopped onion, carrots, celery, and garlic clove; sauté for precisely five minutes. Sprinkle flour, oregano, thyme, and rosemary over vegetables, and cook for one minute. Stir in broth, potato, and salt. Bring to a boil; reduce heat, and simmer, partially cover it for 25 minutes or until potato is tender. Add roasted chicken, milk, and noodles (or yeast), and cook 10 minutes or until noodles are tender. Garnish with fresh thyme, if desired (preferred).
In regards to the fear of war it is no stranger to us here either. For it has been here a year. After the Dear Pauline passed, an uprising of power arose and it was kept out of Caspian's purview because our government, as in, Simon Claudius, Pauline's brother, who is sadistic and moronic, closed the border and shut us in our houses until he controlled the state. He has, according to my son, your nephew, Lindsay, who has made himself a worthy knight, so to be correct, Sir Lindsay, tells me that Simon, whom we call The Serpentine King, was beheaded as near a memory as three days ago. I do not know of what I can personally do, but I shall let Lindsay know of your plights and I'm sure he shall travel with Kensington.
In terms of being a safe haven, I shall do as commanded and not move from my position. You can trust that I and my community shall stand firm with you. I shall send Caspian's wishes (nixing the soup message) to my neighbors and to the Council. For they surely will stand with you as you have stood with us. If the Council does not move to an abettor for you, know that I shall be one whether they permit it or not.
As for the mention of reuniting us together, I shall be more than happy to do so. For the Mice miss those back home and your father, although great, was in truth, insane. I cannot even begin to tell you the warmness I received upon hearing your words. I gathered the children and the wife together and we read it over and over until we slept with smiles upon our faces. It was a beautiful gift on perhaps what is to be my final year. I hope to see you before my passing and if not, I am so thankful to have lived and loved you. The bitterness has subsided, the feud I proclaim it over and we built our houses on steady rocks and bridge them together.
I do hope you are safe in all efforts as the drums of war and the reapers of death approach. Remember what I told you? Look not to death but to life, friends, and faith. For they most certainty will keep you.
Your Apologetic Cousin,
J.C.
P.S. - Shall I send a few water pails with Kensington and Lindsay just in case you so happen to burn the house down (again)? To use your words, "family intrinsically mucks it up"- that's damn right. It's soup Reepicheep, it's fucking soup.
To J.C. Thatcher,
To hear from you again is happy news. I look forward to finally meeting this esteemed nephew of mine of whom I shall come to love and honor in equipoise to my own children. May your health favor you and if necessary, I shall send Mathias to you. For I trust he shall oblige and make no furor over it.
As for the news of war it still has not reached me. However, Vitus, Kashmir's brother, has been here for roughly a day and tells me that he wishes nothing more than to see his brother's family. Namely, us. It was quiet flattering and humbling that Vitus believed a group of mice and badgers could constitute as an owl's family, to be honest it goes with the saying- family isn't always in your blood. He was cordial and mannered, and being the newly inducted King has assured me that he shall continue aiding us in the future.
Save for the dismal of the King's secretary, Saxby, nothing of significance has occurred. As I recall, Saxby was not a well versed person in any matter whatsoever. Incompetence was most likely what lead to him to the sack but one cannot rule out debauchery. Some talk as if he tried assassination, others speak of seeing him torture and maim a kindly traveler who was only trying to give the King some bread and good will. As for me, I personally thought that Saxby was an agent of an anonymous usurper and that it is only a matter of time before action against His Majesty takes place. I fear a war for the throne is most certainly at hand.
I do wish you well, and if I can, shall see to it that you are brought home if you so wish. For it was father's dream and desire for all of us to die under the same roof. So far, that streak has yet to be broken. Perhaps if Vitus could make a trip to you with Mathias in hand it would ease your pain. However, it is your choice and whatever you decide, I shall respect it.
Your Affectionate Cousin,
Reepicheep H. Daren
P.S.- I hadn't touched the soup recipe, seeing as though I made a small fire in the kitchen whilst preparing a trout. I am not hopeless at most things, but culinary art, is most definitely one of those hopeless things.
To Reepicheep,
Apologies to exclude your surname and location, but I find it completely unnecessary at this point and fear that should I write it all out, I will develop arthritis.
It is true that you are astute in many forms of art: swordsmanship, speech, diplomacy, war strategy, etc. etc. as well as it is also true that you fail miserably at cookery. Honestly, my boy, if I have to drag myself out of my deathbed I shall do so just to beat some sense into your stupid head.
The physician has given me less than a month and I suspect that this trend of feeling alive and feeling dead shall become a habit until I actually pass on.
Lindsay left this morning and as for your friend, Mathias, tell him to not come to me. Instead, have a messenger send a box- be sure that it is empty.
I am sorry to say that I have no high regard of Mister Saxby or Caspian for that matter. Not that I do not trust the man, I just find his politics rather….naive at the moment. As time goes on and seasons him I believe that he shall do fine.
As for this letter writing I honestly do not know how long I shall be able to continue- for, to be frank, I find it rather grim and dismal.
Your Cousin,
J.C.
P.S.- Thank you, for being such an idiot at cooking. It is good to know that some things never change.
To J.C. Thatcher,
Should you read this, know that I am headed your way whether you wish me to or not. My intention is to bring you home, alive or dead, and whether you believe it or not, your family loves and misses you dearly.
Take heart Jorah, perhaps should you go into His Country, you shall finally find the peace you seek and the hope you deserve, but all the love you need.
Your Affectionate and Sincerely Apologetic Cousin,
Reepicheep
P.S.- The soup is still not prepared yet.