(It's not that he disagrees. If anything, he agrees with her. Why write on the pages when the book itself is a work of art? It's certainly much more valuable than his own copy. He can appreciate the effort though, as amateur as it is. Someone, somewhere, had been interested for one reason or another.)
A long time ago, it wasn't uncommon for the Almyrans and Leicester territories to correspond with one another. Their letters would be translated by people who studied both languages. Obviously, things have changed since then.
(The only time the two nations interact these days is to fight and you won't catch anyone in Leicester studying Almyran without a special interest. It's slightly different in Almyra, where some still study Fodlan's language, especially in the western towns, but there are more popular alternatives. It's more advantageous to study the language of a country you actually have trade and friendly relations with. Only soldiers really study Fodlani these days if only to understand their enemy.)
But we still have resources from back then. Language books, copies of old treaties... and some popular literature. Some of them were translated at the time; others, over the years.
(Old documents, written in classical script and he wonders how many people would even understand the Fodlani translations these days.
He turns the pages, finding one poem with its faded, barely legible translation in the margin. The poem itself, simple, easy enough to pretend that he can recall without knowing how to read,)
"You are my soul And without my soul, I know not how to live.
You are my eyes And without you, I cannot see.
You are my words And when you are gone, I am silent."
(Another page, carefully chosen, not too long, something he can pretend to recognize from the collections in Derdriu's libraries,)
"If you had to go far off, Why did you come to be close to me?
The clouds don't go away, nor do they make rains I have washed the floor with tears for you."
(As he recites, he lights up, the way one does when talking about something they're passionate about. The same way Ignatz feels confident talking about the saints and art or how Hilda suddenly becomes interested when talking about dancing or making crafts. How many people would have imagined Claude von Riegan would be a poet? )
And these are just some of the ones we know. Imagine what else is written on these pages? What else could be said between us if we tried to understand?
(Words begin to spill without restraint and when he looks up from the pages to meet her eyes, they're bright, clear, and intelligent. For just a moment, it's a side of himself that he doesn't really show; the real him.)
Instead of being content with what we know--or rather, what we think we know-- we could learn so much more. We could grow, change... we could be so much more than what everyone thinks we have to be.
no subject
(It's not that he disagrees. If anything, he agrees with her. Why write on the pages when the book itself is a work of art? It's certainly much more valuable than his own copy. He can appreciate the effort though, as amateur as it is. Someone, somewhere, had been interested for one reason or another.)
A long time ago, it wasn't uncommon for the Almyrans and Leicester territories to correspond with one another. Their letters would be translated by people who studied both languages. Obviously, things have changed since then.
(The only time the two nations interact these days is to fight and you won't catch anyone in Leicester studying Almyran without a special interest. It's slightly different in Almyra, where some still study Fodlan's language, especially in the western towns, but there are more popular alternatives. It's more advantageous to study the language of a country you actually have trade and friendly relations with. Only soldiers really study Fodlani these days if only to understand their enemy.)
But we still have resources from back then. Language books, copies of old treaties... and some popular literature. Some of them were translated at the time; others, over the years.
(Old documents, written in classical script and he wonders how many people would even understand the Fodlani translations these days.
He turns the pages, finding one poem with its faded, barely legible translation in the margin. The poem itself, simple, easy enough to pretend that he can recall without knowing how to read,)
"You are my soul
And without my soul,
I know not how to live.
You are my eyes
And without you,
I cannot see.
You are my words
And when you are gone,
I am silent."
(Another page, carefully chosen, not too long, something he can pretend to recognize from the collections in Derdriu's libraries,)
"If you had to go far off,
Why did you come to be close to me?
The clouds don't go away, nor do they make rains
I have washed the floor with tears for you."
(As he recites, he lights up, the way one does when talking about something they're passionate about. The same way Ignatz feels confident talking about the saints and art or how Hilda suddenly becomes interested when talking about dancing or making crafts. How many people would have imagined Claude von Riegan would be a poet? )
And these are just some of the ones we know. Imagine what else is written on these pages? What else could be said between us if we tried to understand?
(Words begin to spill without restraint and when he looks up from the pages to meet her eyes, they're bright, clear, and intelligent. For just a moment, it's a side of himself that he doesn't really show; the real him.)
Instead of being content with what we know--or rather, what we think we know-- we could learn so much more. We could grow, change... we could be so much more than what everyone thinks we have to be.