Letter to No One

Well met,

I have never before seen you, Exile, and you have never before seen me.  Doubtless you have heard a great deal about me; I likewise have heard my share about you.  I will not waste my time trying to curry favor in your eyes, for a letter such as this is a poor avenue for it.  When one day we meet, and me we shall, I will be ready to tell you what it is I have to say, and I expect you to be ready to hear it by then.

I know the tales they spin about me.  How I am worse than a tyrant; how I clear-cut my way through galaxies and farm universes for a crop which none but myself benefit from.   I ask you though: do you even know who “they” are?  Who started the rumors?  Did you hear it from their mouths?  Have you yourself witnessed the destruction I am supposed to have caused?  Do you even know who I am, Exile?

You struggle with sweat and blood as you battle alien empires; you sit outnumbered, outgunned, going to sleep every night wondering how you will survive tomorrow.  You cannot contemplate defeating an empire as you are now, let alone a world, a star system, a galaxy.  And so you look up into the blackness of space and hear the tales of the Exilarch, how he does what you could never do with the energy of his little finger, and you are filled with despair.

Every old man was once young.  Every rich man was once poor, and every great bard was once a fool.  I write this to tell you that I am what you are: an exile.  I walk the same path as you, only a few steps ahead.  Do you think my life is easy?  You would long to sup on something so rancid as the trials you are challenged with if you knew that which is on my plate.  I know that you do not understand.  In fact I need you to not understand.  By the time you grow strong enough to find me, you will already know what sort of a war I am fighting.  I do not claim to know whether you will agree with me, but I expect you at the very least to understand the situation.

I leave you with this statement, and these questions.  They call me the Exilarch, a title which in its very letters suggests a monarch of exiles; a champion of the discarded.

I ask you, why would exiles need a champion?

And what are we exiles of?

 

{When I wrote this, I was thinking that this was related to “Variation on a Theme” I did a while ago.  The good thing about the fact that not many people will read this is that I don’t feel the need to explain how, why, or make a hyperlink to the other short.}

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