-thus We impart unto you responsibility for Our Firstborn, His Highness the Prince Gael Tian of Cialin, Heir to Our Throne, that he may be educated in warfare and command as befits one of his station-

Jaim sets the letter down, running a hand over his forehead to sooth the ache formed by its contents. He brushes his thumb over one eye, sighing as it comes away wet, and then wipes at them more firmly with the heels of his hands.

'Our Firstborn', in a letter addressed to the king's disowned son... It's a deliberate slap in the face. 

In truth, despite his damp eyes, the contents of the letter are causing him more stress than sorrow, as the idea of being responsible for the eldest of his younger brothers in the middle of a warzone is less than appealing. Gael is sixteen, and while he is trained in combat and reportedly a fine battlemage for his age, he has no practical experience on the battlefield, nor in commanding troops. Yet as a prince he will be expected to lead.

Jaim doesn't expect he'll find the lessons he has to impart difficult to grasp, but his inexperience could easily kill him, and will most likely kill some of the soldiers placed under him before he learns. 

There's nothing to be done about this problem, however, and moreover it's a worry for later. Gael won't be leaving for the front for over a month, busy finishing up his final year at the Sanctuary Academy. Then he will be escorted from Tianitok to Fort Helen by a force of royal guards, to be left in Jaim's care. 

Having been half-raised by the royal guards, Jaim has great confidence in them. However, given the state of the world, it doesn't hurt to add a little insurance. Just in case. 

Reaching for his pen, Jaim starts in on a letter of his own...

-thus We impart unto you responsibility for Our Firstborn, His Highness the Prince Gael Tian of Cialin, Heir to Our Throne, that he may be educated in warfare and command as befits one of his station-

Jaim sets the letter down, running a hand over his forehead to sooth the ache formed by its contents. He brushes his thumb over one eye, sighing as it comes away wet, and then wipes at them more firmly with the heels of his hands.

'Our Firstborn', in a letter addressed to the king's disowned son... It feels like a slap to the face. 

In truth, despite his damp eyes, the contents of the letter are causing him more stress than sorrow, as the idea of being responsible for the eldest of his younger brothers in the middle of a warzone is less than appealing. Gael is sixteen, and while he is trained in combat and reportedly a fine battlemage for his age, he has no practical experience on the battlefield, nor in commanding troops. Yet as a prince he will be expected to lead.

Jaim doesn't expect he'll find the lessons he has to impart difficult to grasp, but his inexperience could easily kill him, and will most likely kill some of the soldiers placed under him before he learns. 

There's nothing to be done about this problem, however, and moreover it's a worry for later. Gael won't be leaving for the front for over a month, busy finishing up his final year at the Sanctuary Academy. Then he will be escorted from Tianitok to Fort Helen by a force of royal guards, to be left in Jaim's care. 

Having been half-raised by the royal guards, Jaim has great confidence in them. However, given the state of the world, it doesn't hurt to add a little insurance. Just in case. 

Reaching for his pen, Jaim starts in on a letter of his own...