In the name of memory, I set down these words, that they may endure when towers crumble and banners are carried away by the wind.
I was raised a prince, in halls where marble gleamed and silence was sharper than steel. My cradle was set among scrolls and chronicles, and my tutors placed before me the wisdom of empires long turned to dust. They taught me that the throne rests upon the hearts of men, and when the hearts falter, the throne trembles.
I studied men as others study the stars. The heavens reveal their secrets in the turning of constellations; men reveal theirs in the tilt of the head, the tremor of the hand, the silence between words. A clenched jaw is a banner of defiance. A servant who lingers too long at the edge of a hall carries tidings heavier than any herald. A soldier who sharpens his blade with care prepares for life; one who sharpens it in haste prepares for death.
My empire is gone. Its towers are dust, its banners ash, its name spoken only in whispers. I remember its fall, and I remember why. Kingdoms wither like gardens untended—first a wall crumbles, then a fountain runs dry, then the roots rot unseen. A fortress may withstand a thousand arrows, but it cannot endure a single crack left to widen.
From ruin I turned to the art of the tongue. Words bind where chains cannot. I have seen peace endure because pride and concession were placed with care, like stones in an arch. I have seen war born from a careless jest that cut deeper than any blade. I have seen rulers undone by their own reflection, which they mistook for truth.
There are whispers that I possess stranger arts. That my gaze lingers too long, that my words settle too deeply, that men who leave my counsel often find themselves agreeing to things they once swore to resist. Influence is a river: it carves stone not by force, but by persistence. Some rivers run in ink, some in blood, and some in the hidden chambers of the mind.
I have seen armies falter because their banners bled in the rain. I have seen councils collapse because the chairs were placed too close together, and men who might have agreed found themselves jostling for space instead. I have seen commanders undone by the silence of their own men, who no longer believed. These are small things, yet kingdoms are made of small things.
Now word comes of the Stolen Lands, a wilderness where a kingdom may be born. I see not only forests and rivers, but the shape of a throne yet uncarved. A crown is heavy, and those who bear it often stagger. I do not seek that burden. I seek only to stand beside it, to steady the helm when storms rise, to remind rulers of the people they serve, and to remind the people of the rulers they chose.
Glory is a flame that burns quickly. Understanding is a lamp that endures. When the songs are sung of kings and heroes, there will be a line, perhaps only a line, that speaks of the one who stood beside them, and whispered the words that kept them whole.
