Dear Merlin,

I apologize for the harsher sentiment in my last letter. I realize now that along with all your other fine and noble characteristics, selflessness and protectiveness must be a part of who you are, as fundamental as your quick wit and good humor.

I suppose that in light of that newfound understanding, I cannot blame you for acting as you did. However, as one of the many here in Nemeth who number among those fond of you and your king, I reserve the right to worry over you and my friends in Camelot (and obviously my worry is merited: just look at what you and Arthur have done in my absence!).

You are truly more of a hero than I previously thought, my friend. I am humbled to have made your acquaintance, and can only hope that those around you are lauding you with praise, gifts, and companionship during your convalescence.

I hope that by the time you receive this (dreadfully late-in-coming letter) that you are already loping about the castle on some mysterious mission or hurrying after Arthur to advise him on one matter or another, as that is how I prefer picturing you: busy, safe, and happy, and doing important work keeping others busy, safe, and happy.

Are you finally well? Has Arthur already dragged you back to your duties? Has Gaius already sent you foraging? How does life go on in Camelot? How is Sir Quackenfell? Did you ever figure out why he was walking up the walls and standing on the ceiling?

Life here in Nemeth changes slowly but surely, and hopefully trending toward the positive. Your friends here think of you and your home often and with affection.

Greta and Roderick are becoming accustomed quickly to married life. Two days in a row every week I am beset with sickeningly sweet tales of their riotous laughter and tender moments. It is quickly approaching unbearable, how in love they are with each other.

Little Henry is now six years old–can you believe it?-and Octavis is busier than ever keeping him contained. It seems the best tactic she has found for luring him back to their home after a day of delightful misadventures that would make even you and your Sir Quackenfell marvel is to promise to read another letter from you.

Lord Rian continues to impress me with his voracity in petitioning knights of the court to squire him four years early. It seems his efforts have endeared him somewhat to them already, however, as they have recently allowed him to tote water about the training grounds for them. He asks me to tell request that, in light of that development, you reconsider answering his continued line of questioning with real thought: what does one do when faced with a dragon?

Please thank the old woman for me for the violets. One I use as a bookmark, and the other I keep close to marvel at its beauty whenever I am in need of distraction or wonder. They are truly an incredible gift to have received. As promised, even after several months, they have not lost their vibrant purple color.

Enclosed, I hope you will find and enjoy a rare book describing the gloried tales of ancient rulers. Before you fret, I did not buy or steal this book. I bartered the old man at midnight for it on the streets of Nemeth, and made the trade for all the embroidery on my scarf, the heat from the next candle I burn, and the memory of my first hairbrush.

I thought it would be a most fitting gift from me to you, in one part because of your penchant for grand storytelling and grander living, and in another as a sort of recompense for all the wonderful reading material you have already gifted me with. I find myself reading your words over and over, and I hope you deem fit to send even more.

Please write again soon. I eagerly await your reply.

Most sincerely,

Mithian

Dear Mithian,

I am relieved and gladdened to have received your letter. It was my sincere hope that despite the offense I caused, that you would forgive me for being a fool. Your kindness and concern for me, my princess, will live long in my heart.

You of course have the right to worry about your friends, and I am honored to be counted among them. It is true that Arthur and I (along with the rest of the knights) would likely be more encouraged toward mannerly behavior than with just Gwen, Cook, and Gaius keeping us in line. They're formidable foes to the righteous cause of mischief and chaos in the castle, but we persevere nonetheless, and I fear our numbers may be too great.

However much I appreciate your praise, princess, and your forgiveness and understanding of my actions, I must take it all as undue flattery. I did nothing so extraordinary as what anyone else would do for a friend. I am of the belief that if we are able to do something for others, then we should. Even if it means hardship, discomfort, or even pain for ourselves. It is not always the easiest choice, as I think you and I may well know, but an important one nonetheless. And by and large, I see many people doing that all the time, even in the smallest of ways.

Our actions make us who we are (or, at least, that is what my mother taught me and so what I believe). So, if my actions to you paint the picture of a man who is selfless in his protection of others and who still retains enough wit and good humor to keep others around him, I will count myself lucky. Not many others are fortunate enough to earn the favorable interpretation of such a good friend.

However, I feel compelled to point out that at a certain point, taking action to ensure the king lives also simply constitutes maintaining job security.

As of a week ago, I am allowed up and about the castle provided I do not engage in too strenuous activities. Arthur seems to think that means I am ready for patrols and mucking out the stables. For once, I am deferring to Gaius's advice and staying away from those more strenuous activities. My recovery has been slow but sure, and every day I inch closer to being able to do all the chores Arthur has waiting for me. He has been keeping a list, which he shows me every day.

Sir Quackenfell is as well as he ever is. He did in fact recover from the wall-walking and ceiling-standing. This is yet another instance when I bemoan the time it takes for these missives to reach you, my princess, as that was several iterations of his Fairy Fever ago (Note: as the discoverer of these strange symptoms following Sir Quackenfell's run-in with the fairy, and since I am so duly tasked with his care and well-being as well as that of Camelot's citizens, I took it upon myself to name the condition and study it in earnest). As of now, Sir Quackenfell has taken to flying everywhere, but flying backwards. I am looking into it.

You write me of Nemeth! What a welcome change from my long-winded tales of Camelot. I am joyous to hear report of your castle, my fair lady.

How terrible to hear, my dreadfully besieged princess, that you are beset with newlyweds in such a manner. I remember the early days of Gwen and Arthur's marriage, and it was nearly too saccharine for belief, even for this romantic. Please pass along my best wishes to them, and know my thoughts are with you in this difficult time.

I cannot, in fact, believe that little Henry is six. If you would consider performing a favor for your humble servant here in Camelot, could you please place a few bricks atop his head to keep him from growing any further? I shall write him immediately and inform him that the princess will be along to do so, so that he may prepare. Perhaps it will slow him down enough for poor Octavia to wrestle him into bed a little easier, too.

Lord Rian is certainly impressive in his doggedness. Please tell Lord Rian I have duly reconsidered and will amend my answer: run fast.

I thanked the old woman for the violets for you when I saw her again (as you likely guessed from the accompanying package). She gave me the enclosed jar and the potion inside, the vapors of which are said to help reduce tension and stress. I believe it is made primarily with lavender. She asked this time for eighteen rose petals, my neckerchief, and all the dust beneath my bed as payment, which I happily provided.

Your kind gift was incredibly well-received. I greatly enjoyed the stories in that book, and have taken to reading aloud from it to Sir Quackenfell and some assorted children of Camelot when there is time to do so. Our particular favorite has been the story of the princess with the voice of a dragon. There is something familiar in the prose which reminds me of a dear friend.

I eagerly await your reply.

Your humble servant and devoted friend,

Merlin

Dear Merlin,

I am so pleased to hear that the gift passed along from the old man was well-received. Your own stories make for such captivating tales, but are so often sorrowful ones. I hoped the book could provide levity and distraction.

I am also overjoyed to hear you are well on your way to recovery. It shows the true nature of both your sacrifice and your friendship that the king made an excuse every day to come and see you, even if it was to threaten you with chores. I know that were I still in Camelot, I would be doing much the same.

As always, you manage to astonish me, Merlin. Because I guess that you did not make a copy of the letter you wrote to me, I will remind you of your words, so that your own wisdom may be echoed back to you in a time of need: "I am of the belief that if we are able to do something for others, then we should... It is not always the easiest choice, as I think you and I may well know, but an important one nonetheless. Our actions make us who we are."

Those words have made a measurable impact upon me. You speak not of duty to crown or country, but simply of a duty to people. You made no distinction between friend nor foe, ally nor enemy. You simply said "others." I think that is important, and speaks to not only your character, but your wisdom as well.

I hope to continue acting in ways that will lift up others. In that regard, I sincerely hope your letters continue, as you have an odd way of being able to write to me and tell me exactly what I need to know exactly when I need to know it, whether it is a good joke or a lovely tale or advice on how to manage a kingdom.

My words, therefore, were not empty praise–simply statements of fact.

I am happy to hear that Sir Quackenfell is as well as can be. I, too, anguish at the time it takes for your letters to get to me, and mine to you. Fairy Fever sounds very complex and, at times, irritating, and I commend you for striving to keep the duck in good health and the castle in sound mind. I do hope that by the time my letter has reached you, all is well with the little bird knight.

We in Nemeth are managing, as I am sure much can be said of you and yours in Camelot, Merlin.

It seems that Sybil has cast her eyes upon someone new: a Druid visiting the castle by the name of Rosaline. She is a pretty thing, surely, if quiet. Do not worry. I am already conspiring with Greta to push them toward a courtship. We've even roped in Roderick.

I did as you asked, and now Henry is beginning a fashion amongst the children of Nemeth in wearing bricks on their heads. Their parents are all fans, as it keeps their tiny children tinier for longer (and quicker to catch when they pinch sweetmeats).

The jar you sent along last time has been a blessing. I open the stopper at least once a day, and continue on clearer of head and calmer of mind. However, the price you paid was much too high. I know how dear neckerchiefs are to you.

Enclosed, I hope you will find a new neckerchief to replace the one you bartered for my miracle tonic. Do not worry–this item was neither bought nor stolen–instead, I met the old man at midnight on the streets of Nemeth and traded him the laces on my boots, every odd spine in my hair combs, and a frog's lullaby for it. Luckily, I believe its colors will suit you.

But not all is well with me, I am afraid. As a result, I wonder if I may bother you for your opinion.

My parents are now attached to the idea of arranging for a ball rather than a tournament. In name, the ball will be the highlight of a fortnight of celebrations commemorating Nemeth's one hundred and fiftieth year. However, in reality, they will be kept busy auditioning potential suitors for a month before me and the council. They hope to have found a good match by the end.

I fail to see how I may get through this in one piece, dear Merlin. Do I accept this compromise and find a husband not through violence and competition, but through politicking and scheming? I have seen their list of potential guests and spotted many men they think may make for a suitable match. I intend to marry none of the like, but my choices may be reduced to which wrong man I fight the hardest for. If I refuse them entirely, going against king, queen, and council, I may lose whatever grudging respect I have from any of them.

I know in my heart that I will never be satisfied in a union with any of these men they have chosen to court me. But I fear that despite this knowledge, I may be forced into one anyway.

What do I do? The celebrations are set to be eight months from now. I have very little time to plan.

Please grace me with more words of wisdom, Merlin. Until then, I eagerly await your reply.

Most Sincerely,

Mithian

Dear Mithian,

Your book is well-read here in Camelot. Many of the children have begun gathering near the training fields when I attend Arthur there, as it has become a very unofficial and not-so-secret storytime among many of them, conducted by yours truly and assisted by Sir Quackenfell. Arthur is not a fan, but Sir Quackenfell takes his assisting very seriously and manages to keep the king from finding us most of the time.

Similarly, the neckerchief is well received and deeply treasured. I am touched that you thought of me and made a request of the old man at midnight, and I must express my complete and sincere gratitude. It is certainly the finest piece of clothing I own, and if I did not appreciate so much its make and origin, I would fear to wear it at all.

Enclosed is the result of yet another trade with the old woman. When I passed along your thanks, she was so touched that she reached into her Cloak of Many Things and pulled out the item I sent along with my letter. I hope it has come through in one piece.

It is a small trinket, but I saw it and thought of you, and so know it is a gift from the old woman herself, somehow having known your character without ever having reason to have met you. Like its likeness, it is regal and beautiful, noble in every way, yet still able to defend itself and others with natural gifts if necessary. Enduring.

I have no idea where the old woman procured the brass rose pin (was it created? Grown? Smithied?), but nonetheless, I am happy it ended up in her Cloak of Many Things when she came to meet me last, and doubly happy that her praised eked such a rewarding little trifle. I traded it for the leather drawstring in my coin purse, the gossip of a bumblebee, and a wink (for her gifts are never free).

As for the praise of my words and the value of my advice, I am humbled to know that one such as yourself holds my opinion in such high regard. I must remind you, however, that wisdom–no matter how paltry–is hard-won through mistakes and experience. One necessarily begets the other. I have been through many extraordinarily strange and ridiculous things in my short life, and thus find myself fit to inflict upon others my hard-won, strange, and ridiculous wisdom.

Sir Quackenfell is likely no longer afflicted by whatever symptom made it into my last letter, for it has been a while since I was blessed by a letter from you, and Sir Quackenfell goes through so much in so little time. Even if he didn't, he is now doing something entirely new and so is no longer afflicted by the previous ailment. Now, instead of coughing flames or floating or shaking some glittery powder on the floors with every footstep, he makes sounds like a cat's meow and has taken to chasing after mice. I am looking into it.

I believe I know of Rosaline. She is the niece of a Druid with whom I am familiar, Isildir. He is a good man, and I would think much the same of his kin. I fully approve of your machinations to propel her and Sybil together, and the next time I see Rosalind, will endeavor to do much the same.

Thank you for so kindly complying with my request, Princess Mithian. Henry is certainly growing far too fast, and we must do whatever is in our power to arrest such a dreadful development. He is much too precious to me small, and fond of ducks.

Now, finally to the crux of things: your predicament in court with the impending celebrations. Enough time has passed that you have likely acted in one way or another already. Therefore, with whatever time remains for your own action and reason in this process to be asserted, I implore you to once again simply think of who you are.

You are, indeed, Princess of Nemeth and Duchess of Helngard, and as such, suffer an expectation to marry early and marry well. There are plenty of men who will no doubt be in attendance at the celebrations who can offer large dowries and advantageous political alliances. Finding a man with a suitable mind and agreeable temperament may not be as difficult as it seems at first blush.

You are also a skilled stateswoman and sharp-witted orator, who can no doubt arrange an hour-long speech in passionate defense of whatever man who could hope of being worthy of your hand, a speech that would convince any potential nay-sayer. And you are a fearsome archer, so whoever remained who didn't agree…

My point is this: if you must suffer through the celebrations and the parade of young, handsome, marriageable, prattish princes with lots and lots of wealth and lots of lots of land and no brains to speak of, you may as well find a way to make it to your advantage. What other kinds of alliances are there to be made other than marriage? What kinds of negotiations rest on marriage, and what other means can be found to achieve such an end? Most importantly: what kind of happiness do you strive for, and where do you think it could be found?

After all, you are also simply Mithian: a kind, intelligent, remarkable woman with a good heart who deserves every bit of happiness this world has to offer her.

My humble opinion, my princess, is that if happiness cannot be found in a marriage to one of these suitors, then the only tenable solution is to find happiness outside of one.

If your way to a strong crown and personal happiness is by finding a good match for heart and country, then use the celebrations to try and find such a man, and then use your talents to help elevate him in the eyes of your court.

If your way to a strong crown and personal happiness is through remaining independent and strong, leading a country without the aid of a marriage or husband, then use the celebrations to demonstrate once again who you are, and then use your talents to help others understand why it is so valuable to be able to act alone.

If your way to a strong crown and happiness is through some other arrangement, then use just some of the natural and practiced skills you so gracefully demonstrated in Camelot, and make that dream a reality.

I wish you strength, Princess Mithian, though you have more than enough of your own. And I hope that Camelot receives an invitation, despite our lack of marriageable princes.

I eagerly await your reply.

Your humble servant and devoted friend,

Merlin

Dearest Merlin,

I wish I could properly convey how much your last letter bolstered my spirits. You are entirely correct: I must know what I want and do what I am able to achieve it.

There is a plan I have been ruminating on since I received your letter. One that would save me much of the drudgery of meeting with these men and auditioning them like prize cattle, that could put some power back in my hands while somewhat satisfying my parents and their council.

I have talked it over with Sybil and Greta, of course, who are willing to help from here in Nemeth. But Merlin, some of this plan depends on the help of friends–people I trust wholeheartedly and believe capable of executing a mildly dangerous and potentially disastrous plan in the hopes that I will not walk away from this celebration intended to marry one of my parents' matches and forever be doomed to suffer a fool.

I hope that, perhaps, you are such a friend. I know already the depth of my trust in your character and capabilities, and am by now well familiar with your penchant for taking up mildly dangerous and potentially disastrous plans in the hopes that it could benefit your friends. But, I beg of you, my friend, to carefully consider my question before replying. There is no obligation to accept; in fact, if you were to politely refuse, I would be happy in the knowledge that you respect and trust me enough to tell me no.

Please know that I ask for your assistance not as a princess, nor a foreign dignitary, but as a person who deeply values you. If you are to deny my request, it will be accepted with understanding, magnanimity, and respect. If you do respond in the affirmative, I will be overjoyed, and will ask for assistance also from your lovely queen, as I believe she could be of great help to me in this regard as well.

I dare not share any more details of my plan until you write to me with your decision. Otherwise, I fear you may think I have truly taken leave of my senses. Perhaps I have. But as you said in your last letter, I have been thinking about how I should present myself as a ruler, and am considering in which ways I can still achieve happiness while doing so. I believe I may have found a solution, if a temporary one.

Please let me know your thoughts, if only you will forgive my caution.

I eagerly await your reply.

Yours sincerely,

Mithian

Dearest Mithian,

However I can be of aid, my princess, I am yours.

Yours Sincerely,

Merlin