[HIC] Message to a Friend

[Alex]

Message to a Friend
Private & Encrypted

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To: Orhan Murad Osmanoğlu Efendi
From: Lord Sebastian Llewellyn

My dear friend,

It has been far too long since we have last seen each other. Much has changed for the both of us, and in these trying times in Delhi, I find myself thinking of our years in Oxford, and of the people who made those years what they were. There are few friends here in Delhi, fewer still I would say I trust.

I write to ask that you consider bringing your family here, at whatever time is convenient to you. Flagstaff House is large enough that you would want for nothing, and I would very much enjoy showing you and yours the city as it stands now. It has changed considerably since my Governor-Chairmanship.

There is also something I have been turning over in my mind for some time now, something I would rather discuss in privacy than to commit over the phone or through digital mail. I value your counsel more than most, and I find I am in need of it.

I hope you and your family are well. Write back when you can.

Your Brother,
Sebastian Llewellyn

Jay

 

[Jay]

Private​

The flat in South Kensington was quiet on this Sunday morning. There was a low murmur of the BBC from the kitchen radio and the occasional bus grinding up Old Brompton Road. Prince Murad Osmanoğlu stood by the window in his shirtsleeves, the letter still in his hand, its cream stock now slightly worn at the fold from three readings.

Kinda came in from the nursery, a laundry basket balanced on her hip, and stopped when she saw his face.

"Your brother," she asked. "No, he's left Beirut for Cairo," Murad said, not looking up from the page. "And hasn't spoken with me since the Ayse's gave birth to Ferdinand.

Kinda set the basket down slowly on the ottoman. "Who is it?" She asked as she slowly came behind him. Embracing him from behind. Murad felt her warmth slowly rising towards his chest."

"My close friend Sebastian. Remember the Englishman at the Wedding?" He said.

"There were a lot of Englishmen at our wedding." She said back in jest.

"Aye. But he was the only Englishman." He said with a smile as he handed her a photo of the two of them at Oxford. "He is inviting us to Delhi and says he wants to speak about something."

"Does Sebastian even want you there, Murad, or does he want what you can bring him? A man doesn't summon an old friend to Delhi over something he 'would rather not commit to digital mail' unless he wants something." Kinda responded as she read the note herself.

Murad folded the letter along its worn crease and set it on the mantel, beside the photograph of his father in Alexandria. "Does it matter which? He is my brother, Kinda. Not by blood, but by choice. He has been a better brother to me than I can say of my own blood." He looked at her then, and his voice softened. "I don't ask what a man wants before I go to him. I ask what I owe him."

Kinda crossed her arms, and for a moment she looked very young, the way she had the first time he'd brought her home to meet his mother, defiant and certain and frightened all at once. "I don't want you to go."

"Kinda." Murad began as he walked towards her.

"Delhi is not Oxford, Murad. He is not the boy you knew. He was Governor-Chairman there. Men like that don't invite old friends to stay in Flagstaff House because they miss punting on the Cherwell. He wants something from you." She said as she stepped backwards to lean off the study.

"No," Murad agreed. "They don't." He came and took her hands, gently working them loose from where they'd knotted against her elbows. "Which is precisely why I have to go. If it were nothing, I could ignore it. It isn't nothing." He paused. "He has children close in age to ours. Maria and Augustus. Suleiman would be able to play with Augustus and learn a great deal from him. Mihrimah could finally find someone patient enough for her endless questions. Even Ece, God help the household staff."

"It isn't about the children having someone to play with," Kinda said quietly. "You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know what you meant." He kissed her forehead before leaning against the study. Shoulder to shoulder. "Think on it. That's all I ask. I'm not deciding tonight."

She didn't answer, only exhaled through her nose and picked the basket back up, though she lingered a moment longer at the door than she needed to.

Later Murad went out just before six, while the light was still grey and soft over the square, down to the little Lebanese grocer on the corner where Abu Fadi kept the ovens going from dawn. The bell above the door gave its familiar half-hearted chime.

"Sabah al-khair, ya Amir." Abu Fadi didn't look up from the register, already reaching for the warm loaves wrapped in paper, knowing the order before it was given, as he had for eleven years.

"Sabah al-noor." Murad counted out the coins, then lingered, elbow against the counter, watching steam curl off the bread. "Tell me, Abu Fadi, you've family in Cairo, don't you?"

"My sister's husband. Don't tell me you are going to Cairo before you come to visit me in Beirut. I will never save you a warm loaf ever again."

"Not Cairo. Delhi." Murad smiled faintly at the old man's raised eyebrows. "My brother's there. Needs a word with me."

Abu Fadi handed over the loaves, still warm through the paper. "Then go, ya Amir. A man doesn't get so many brothers in this life that he can afford to make them wait."

Murad laughed under his breath, thanked him, and stepped back out into the sharpening morning light, the bread tucked under his arm as he walked back home.

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​

From: MuradOsmanoğlu@outlook.com
To: Lord Sebastian Llewelly
Security Clearance: Personal; Private Encryption

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Dear Sebastian,

Your letter reached me at a strange hour, and I confess it is a pleasure to receive it. It has your voice in it all the same, even now, after all these years, you cannot simply say what's on your mind without first inviting a man to dinner.

I'll be arriving in Delhi on British Airways at 3 pm on Wednesday. I look forward to finally seeing you again. Whatever it is, I'll hear it, and I'll give you what counsel I have, for whatever it's worth these days.

With reverence and fraternity,
Murad

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One Weeks Later

Heathrow's Terminal 5 was its usual controlled chaos, trolleys colliding, tannoy announcements dissolving into white noise. Murad stood at the gate with his single leather case, passport already in hand, his coat over one arm despite the warmth of the concourse.

Kinda had come to see him off, Ece asleep against her shoulder as the other kids were off to school.

"You'll call when you land," Kinda said.

"The moment the wheels touch down." He kissed her, then crouched to press his forehead briefly to Ece. "Don't be too hard on your mother."

He saw Kinda smile. That was all he needed. Murad rose, shouldered his bag, and looked at Kinda a moment longer, long enough that she softened, just slightly, the worry in her eyes not gone but folded quietly beneath something more like resignation, or perhaps trust.

"I'll bring you something ridiculous," he said.

"Bring yourself back. That's enough." She said, rolling her eyes.

He smiled, turned, and joined the line moving toward the gate, and did not look back until the doors had nearly closed behind him.