@murphysgirl
So… I wanted to write this, and I did… anyway…
Here's Part I:
It had long been Acknowledged,
In the town of Eldenmore,
That gossip was not such a thing
To be partook of
(excepting the fish-wives),
But now, rumours,
Borne on zephyrine wings,
Flew from mouth to ear
Among many.
Woldrow’s princess, Frieda,
Was said to be promising a visit,
But none had the slightest idea
As to her Purpose,
And those good townsfolk
Naturally began to wildly
Speculate, casting beliefs
Like stones into a pond.
There was much talk
As the town was made ready,
The streets swept, the houses painted,
Even the horses made to look
As Presentable as possible:
The Princess was to come.
All townsfolk joined together
In this most Noble of Efforts,
This most Excellent and Desirable
Show of Loyalty!
But one did not join:
Parai, the baker’s daughter,
Having suffered from an ailment
For many years,
Making her tongue like lead,
As to that she could express
No utterance, not even
The smallest cry.
But what she had lost for Speech,
She gained in the use
Of her Hands: never before
Has been seen a pair
Like them, deft and dainty,
Able to slip into the
Smallest of Places,
And how she used her gift!
From her top-floor chamber
In her dwelling-house, she drew
Things most Astounding,
All manner of Wraiths, Faeries,
Goblins, Dragons, Sprites,
And suchlike; never has there been
Such a Menagerie, one
So detailed and lovely
That the Pictures seemed to breathe,
Though only fashioned
From charcoal and paper!
On the morn of the Princess’ coming,
All was a-bustle in the town
Of Eldenmore. Wives,
In their finest dresses,
Their hair shining
Like the freshly-cleaned children
Holding to their mothers’ hands,
Lined the streets. Parai,
That brave maiden, stood
At the back of the clamouring
Throng, her white dress
Bunched in her hands,
For once free from those
Dark smears of charcoal, lifting
Her skirt up so as to keep it
Unsullied by the gravel street.
And then – suddenly
And slowly – there was a
Rumbling of carts, a neighing
Of horses, a sounding of horns,
Silencing the town: the Princess
Was to come! And come she did,
Behind rows of guards and
Horses, bedecked in all Manner
Of Jewels, Gold, Silver, Velvet,
Silk, and other Bedazzlements,
Glimmering like a thousand tiny
Suns in the wondrous,
Beaming light of the Sun herself,
Who smiled down most gently
At that most wonderful Gathering,
Her warm yellow light turning
The faces of all – all –
Beautiful, even the homeliest
Of the fish-wives! O!
The wonder of Nature! -
For all were lovely under
That stunning morning sun!
As for the Princess herself –
She required no sun, for her
Beauty took away the breath
Of even the smallest child.
The townsfolk had heard
Much about her, that she was
Gentle and Kind, with the
Sharpness of Wit to grow up
Pure amongst her father’s
Many soldiers and the war-song
Of the kingdom, the hammering
Of swords and the cold chains
Of armour, the rhythm of war.
She was a miracle in herself!
Here she was, astride a horse,
A magnificent, ponderous beast,
Hooves coated in snow-white
Fur, whose height and gentle
Eyes drew the gazes of
All the children. But the rest
Of the crowd’s eyes were fixed on
The Princess, tall and slender,
Her moon-pale hair braided
Over one dainty shoulder,
Her gown water-shimmery.
And she spoke:
“Good people of Eldenmore!
You all know that I dwell
Many days away, in that
War-focused castle of my
Father’s, the blood-thirsty
Fortress built on shed tears
And the white casks of bones.
But I am not here to discuss
With you the foundations
Of a kingdom, how it is built
On broken dreams and ties
Of blood. I am here to seek safety,
However temporary, from that
Hunger for war, if I may tarry
With you for but a day or two,
Until there is fresh Hope
In my heart – and I am sure
You good townsfolk will accept
My Request!”
