The Song of Dalsarion: Fourteen

Posted on 22/11/2011 by



Strictly speaking, by the end of this ritual, I was to be an Elf.
And with it, all intents and the devices thereof.

So, dressed as I was in supplicant’s robe
—or otherwise as it’s known, my hair.
I found I walked down an un-natural,
aged path of rose bushes—wrong season for them—
and of the blooms they’d fresh cast.
Step, step each step, a cloud-bloom of flowers risen.

Elves of many tastes, colour and family came around me;
asked me for trust and told me secrets, beg me tell them fortunes
of lovers old or scorned.

Here blushing maidens, or a youth ask a kiss,
and getting run off with tales of adventure, or those, to envy.
The carnival comes, and it is I, attract them.

Finally, through those portals of Empire I do come
down down down into Her great Lover’s arms am I.

And before those all-assembled nobles–rushed in from outside’s progression;
we two then matched vow for vow, me for myself and he-king
for his transcendent bride.
She in her absence though she may be,
gave last blessing kiss with unrivalled passion…

Withdrawing from an ever-long embrace
I am now looked down, upon, from his impressive space
and the deal, with one clause remains.
Lasts hanging in the air like a tree-seed on the wind.

‘You must no doubt do us honour as you will upon the Land.
And so, our case for claim on you would be not so sure,
if we never made payment.
In hand, now then, how do you claim against your future blessings?’

Aye. I must.

‘As your new Son, Great Absent Lady,
and through the blessings of this Chosen Lord, I do.
Just a kiss, for all action.’

I cannot think what others thought with this uttering.
And if I could I wonder if it would echo with their blessing…

But, to he who must nod and accept any request?
To he, a father whose daughter needs lean ever so precariously
forwards, to this knight’s lips…

My princess.
I can feel her smile with my lips.
And note her sadness as I pull away.

He, a father who looks like he holds to silence,
where he wishes it were louder.
Perhaps. Mayhap. I read those unshed tears wrong?

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Posted in: Dalsarion, Paul