Lyon –

It has been a long time since we've last spoken. Do you remember me? I remember you. I remember all the people you have been, the boy I had met and the man you became. If I were to flatter you, I would forget the man and think only of the boy in the Royal Garden.

We met you together, my brother and I. May I never forget now that I have such a person, and that from birth we have never let each other be alone. You told us we would be your first friends your age. I liked the idea of being your friend for you, before I knew what that would mean.

I think when we were young I did not understand you. I still might not. But now I know we are different, although I still struggle to see things as you did.

As for myself, I cannot imagine being led to the path you took. And I cannot imagine taking it. But Lyon, somehow or the other you were, and did.

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Oh Lyon, if this were a letter meant for you I should burn it so that it might reach your spirit. But there are others who must read this, and so you might never see it. The world must know so that you and Grado may be, if not forgiven, at least understood.

If you were alive now you would be dedicating yourself to her welfare with no regard for your own. That was what you did while you were alive.

I took your life and this is the way I am trying to bring you to life again, however poor a copy my words may be. If my words move a single spirit away from vengeance upon Grado, then this will have been worthwhile.

It is my grandest hope that I can ameliorate the damage to Grado that I wrought and do the good for her that you could not do. I am not naïve enough to believe that I can do so with word alone, but in this course of actions perhaps you and I will both be forgiven.

.

I should not speak as if you are the only mystery, after all. In Grado, perhaps they think, if only they had succeeded in conquering Renais, they would not be suffering so. We spare what we can for Grado, but I know that is all we can do. We love Renais; we have Grado on our conscience. In truth we do not love Grado, we will never be able to look after Grado as you would have.

I think to myself that you should have told us, Lyon. Perhaps I was not a very good friend, and you were right in that I could not have helped stop the landslide that would ruin your country. But if you had not done what you did, if now in the present you rule over ailing Grado in a world of peace, she would not be suffering like she is now.

But you could not have known that, could you? While the present was still the future, you were told you could succeed, if only you resurrected the demon, and believing that you thought you could give your beloved country a better future.

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I have thought upon it and I do not excuse you, Lyon. Perhaps somehow you will know I have said this and I am sorry. You always asked what I thought of you. I think that if you were alive you would try to make it right. I think, after seeing wartorn Magvel, that I cannot ignore the act for the dream.

Lyon, you always knew it might turn out this way, didn't you? You were not ignorant. You knew better than any of us what the stones were for, and the history of Grado's stone, and what history says of the Demon King's rule. You were always timid, always cautious, and when you were with my brother you always tempered him and we never needed to temper you because you were wise enough to watch yourself. You knew what you could do, and you thought you could do less than you really could, so I do not understand why, why you would have ever taken such a risk.

But you knew that if you failed it might destroy everything around you, didn't you? Was it that you didn't care if you did? Was it that you knew we would amend your failures, my brother and I? Was it to see if we would?

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I have brought you to life in my mind, and in your undeath I speak ill of you.

I think I have become too truthful to move anyone to pity Grado. And I remember also that perhaps you were moved to this because we pitied you.

So let this be for no one but you and me. I write not for any purpose but to think of you, and who you are to me.

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It used to be that I liked you best. Better than my coarse brother, I thought. You were the sweetest and smartest and most perfect boy in the whole world. You were serious and responsible and we thought you would have been the best ruler of us all.

What happened to that boy, Lyon? How is it that now the world suffers for what little time you've ruled? Or was that ever truly you, ruling?

I keep asking things as if you could give me a reply.

I will never have an answer from you. I have wondered these things for years and I will continue to wonder.

Sometimes I answer these questions for myself. I face you, and I ask, How could you do this, Lyon?

You say, it was the demon within the stone that corrupted your soul and changed you. It was the sorrow of losing your father that blinded you to caution. That it was your weakness.

And I would say, that is all right, we all have our weaknesses. Even the best of us err.

I imagine these words from your lips over and over, but they do not lay my questions to rest. These are good answers, but they are not the right ones.

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I remember the strangest things now, things I'd long forgotten, like that time the three of us skipped Father MacGregor's class together. My brother was always suggesting it of course, but only that time you and I agreed to it.

Not very long after, you began to regret it, and I did too. Brother went on to spend the day with his spear while we hid in the corner of the library, convinced that Father MacGregor would find us if we were having fun.

So in the corner of the library, scrunched in between the ends of two bookshelves, we waited for agonizing hours. It was tight and we were pressed up against each other, and each breath made it hotter and more uncomfortable.

You suggested that we read a book to pass the time, so we darted out and snatched the nearest book before anyone could spot us. I don't remember what it was about, only that it wasn't very interesting, and after awhile only you were reading it.

I wanted to go back. I said, we could apologize to Father MacGregor.

He'll be mad, you said. You wanted to wait until tomorrow, in hopes he'd calm down about it.

It was cramped, and I didn't want to hide, and I was getting thirsty. But you pleaded: Please stay, Eirika? You were scared.

So I sat back down, passing the time by thinking about the grains in the bookshelf, your shoulder and hip pressed against mine as you read your book. You tried to tell me how interesting it was, the book. The corner was hot, and humid, and we missed supper. I was unhappy, but I didn't leave because you asked. We stayed there until the librarian came around to extinguish the lamps.

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Lately I've been remembering more and more. Little things I'd forgotten because I didn't realize what they said about you. They all fall perfectly in place with what would come later.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. We were just children. It was just uncomfortable.

But boys become men. Maybe the answer is that you've been the same person all along.

The answer is that I did not understand you, Lyon. Not only did I not understand your sadness and difficulties. I did not understand that when we said we were friends, that you were secretly envious. That you needed not only to be our friend, but our closest friend, maybe our only friend.

That you were serious and responsible, but like everyone else, had things you wanted and lines you were willing to cross to have them.

To have me.

You were willing to make me miserable, Lyon.

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Now that you are gone and there is no longer any hope that you could be anyone else, I can let myself think honestly about who you were. What you did.

I hate you for what you did. You took my world from me. You took my father from me. You took my life from me. I will spend the rest of my life piecing together a nation because I love her and I must.

And yet I will never tell you because it would devastate you, you would never rest in peace, you would wander the world forever weeping for what you have done. I hate you but I still love you, I am still your friend, and that is why I have always told you that it's all right, that it was the demon within the stone, that you should not blame yourself. Maybe I also wanted to convince myself that you have always been kind to me.

In the end I am selfish and this is only for myself. I of all people should let go of the past. As the Restoration Queen of Renais and as your friend, I should forgive. But I think of all the things I have forgiven before. I forgave you when you ravaged Renais and I forgave you when you killed my father and I forgave you when you betrayed me for the stone.

But now that everything has been done, now that we are beyond the moment when believing better of you might have saved you – now that I am left alone with what you have ruined, I cannot forgive you any more. For your desires, you crossed the line between friend and enemy so many times that at last I cannot ignore what you have been to Magvel and me.

So just this once, I would like to cross it too, the line between what I should do and what I long to do.

To your ghost in my mind, I ask,

Lyon, what have you done? How could you do this to me?