NaNoWriMo Day 13
Somehow I forgot yesterday was day 12, so I have two day 11s, but oh, well. I couldn't quite focus on "Harry's Secrets" today, and I was in a bit of an odd mood, so I wrote this instead. A note: Ambrose means "love returned".
I who have loved you since the beginning of time, I who would do anything to keep you safe, tell me what you would of me if you will not my love be. I will be your champion at the gates of hell, fighting them to free you from your doom. I will put my soul in place of yours. I will offer my soul as your ransom. I will seek out the rarest herb from the darkest forests of darkest Africa, or the highest mountains of India, or sail the world round to find the one island where it grows,
All this, I will do for you, my love. I seek only to see you smile upon me just once before I die. Your beautiful smile, your bright eyes, and I would end a happy man, free of the spell in which you ensnared me with your lustrous hair and your alabaster skin.
For you do not smile now, nor do you frown. You merely stand and look upon me, I who am not your love nor ever shall be. You chose another, and now here I stand, and where is he? I am your slave, your prisoner, and he is your captor.
I would do anything to aide she whom I love, though she cares not for me. And this curse woven thricely, upon her, upon me, upon the one she loves, stands between her and the one she loves, and I am the only one who can save them both. So I shall save you, my love, and you shall ignore me.
I have returned, my love, and know what I must do. The sorcerer who cast this, to save you, must be slain. Your true love, the only one who can slay him. Your beloved will not go, cannot go in the state he is reduced to. Were I ten times as weak as he I would have done this for you, but his love was for your lands and your title, yours for the greatness he could bring you.
The child you bore is his, but her life is in my hands. I will save her, my love, for you, and I will save you. The one whose love for you is truest may save you, and I shall return with the sorcerer’s head. Then you shall see again, though you will not see me.
Your husband, your chosen one, is falling worse. I found the sorcerer, breached his domains, and find myself returned to you, his laughter ringing in my ears. I am not your true love, it seems, though my soul is yours for the taking. What may I do for you, my love? Your chosen one is dying, and your daughter fairs ill in care of her relatives. What do you wish of me, my love? How can I save you?
I have seen your daughter-she grows more like you by the day. I would have her know the love you would have shown her, the love of one who truly cares about her. I will take her, my love, and raise her for you. Though I am but a poor knight, lordless when your husband dies and loveless while he lives and you live, I shall raise her to be as great as you were, before you chose to marry.
It has been years, my love, and each time I return hoping that priests and wise men have found a way to save you. But I return each time to your unsmiling face, your cold beauty. Your husband died, unable to be saved while you live like this. I know the truth of the horror of his curse-your true love could only be saved by a kiss from his wife, you can only be restored by the actions of true love. And so he died.
I took your daughter to see him. She is a lady now, thirteen years of age, and learns well rulership and the managing of estates. She treats the peasants fairly, and already has earned the loyalty of your knights. You have seen her, though-I let her see you more than I took her to see him. She needed to know of his death, the sad, weakened man. She had to know what evil could do, what he never learned. She is his daughter, but I loved her and raised her for you. I will bring her mother back to her, my love. I have grown to love her, in a way, as much as I love you. I will protect her, I will keep her safe, all the days of my long life.
She has learned of your magic arts and knows how to wield my sword. Soon she will wish to go into the world, as you did when you were of age. And I will escort her, as I escorted you. But I shall not let her marry where love is absent, and I shall not allow her to challenge the sorcerer who imprisoned you. Those mistakes I had to allow you to make, your daughter will not commit. She is not able to slay him yet, and she will not intervene in his dark quest as you did. When it is time, he will die, but I fear that will not be for many years yet.
I have returned to you, my love, one last time. I no longer wish for your smiles, your poisoned love. You ensnared me to be loyal to you, and I grew to love you, but the curse is ended. I will die without love, but the sorcerer who struck you down has been slain. Your daughter stormed his castle this morning, with an army of soldiers at her heels. They slew the gargoyles of his towers. They killed the dragon that guarded his inner sanctum. Finally, your daughter told all but me to leave her, for she wished to go on alone, with me as her shield-bearer. I entered the sanctum and saw the glorious battle for my freedom. She is a wonder, your daughter, all light and life and love where you were darkness and death. You wished to strike down a rival for control of your dark spells. She wished to save the people I had raised her to love and care for. I believe no thought of vengeance entered her head, and that is where the difference lies.
When he was dying, he knew that as well, and that is what he told me, standing by the door. He told me that the actions of true love only, not ensorcelled, could vanquish him. I never loved you as I love your daughter, as she loves so many. With that I knew how to slay him, and for her sake I struck him down, as I could not before. Before, I fought for you and failed under the curse he cast and the snare you cast. This time, I struck out of my own heart, and found victory in it.
I am dying, my love, but I still love you. Your eternal curse has that still, that I shall love you as long as I live. However, that will end soon, and I shall die now that the sorcerer has been slain. I told all of this to your daughter, and from her I saw the first frown I have ever seen cross her face. You smiled only to enchant. She knows what you have done, and it is her turn to decide your fate.
Your daughter marries her prince in mere days, and I shall live long enough to see the wedding. She loves him truly, and he feels the same way. I think that will be a good way to end my life. You may not live so long-the enchantments that held you kept your dark magic intact. Your magic may not remain potent. Your life was in your magic, as mine was in you and your curse. If your magic ceases, you shall die. Mayhap you live to see your daughter’s wedding. I fear you will not.
You thought I had died, did you not? You did not understand the curse you cast, even as you cast it. Your spells cannot break the bonds of true love, and those bonds can destroy any spell you cast against it. I love your daughter, and in that love I return to as I was before I loved you. In that, I died, only to become what I am. You wonder why I have always called her “your daughter,” don’t you? If she were my daughter, I could not love her. I did not love her until the sorcerer died, until she spoke to me as a queen and not a child, and I saw in her what I lacked in you. I am her prince, for she has claimed the throne. I am her chosen, and her true love.
I see your grave, and for the first time find no pain in your cold tomb. I hold my son in my hands, and your daughter holds my daughter. There is love enough here to shatter a thousand curses, and I can go to my love whole.
Ambrose. That is your daughter’s name.
I was still under the word count and wanted to write more and not neglect "Harry's Secrets" entirely, so I wrote this:
One scar, the most important some would say, is obvious, a lightning bolt carved into the forehead. This is the scar of prophecy.
The first is a double crescent, above and below the left elbow, its shape appropriate for its purpose. This is the scar of secrets.
The other arm’s wound is smaller but deeper, one puncture mark fully healed but leaving a circle where it struck. This is the scar of snakes.
The next was left in the flesh of a rat, the first placed on another’s body. That wound will never truly heal. This is the scar of vengeance and of healing.
The right arm, again, one long slice down the forearm. This is the scar of enmity and beginnings.
The right hand, a scar still tinted slightly silver, where dark magic, an open wound, and a precious metal combined to nearly kill the one who bears the scars. This is the scar of lies and poison.
The boy knows the importance of scars. He sees them in his pack every day, and he sees them on himself. They show how he has grown, and more importantly why he fights. For the important thing about scars, as he was once told, is why, not how.
I who have loved you since the beginning of time, I who would do anything to keep you safe, tell me what you would of me if you will not my love be. I will be your champion at the gates of hell, fighting them to free you from your doom. I will put my soul in place of yours. I will offer my soul as your ransom. I will seek out the rarest herb from the darkest forests of darkest Africa, or the highest mountains of India, or sail the world round to find the one island where it grows,
All this, I will do for you, my love. I seek only to see you smile upon me just once before I die. Your beautiful smile, your bright eyes, and I would end a happy man, free of the spell in which you ensnared me with your lustrous hair and your alabaster skin.
For you do not smile now, nor do you frown. You merely stand and look upon me, I who am not your love nor ever shall be. You chose another, and now here I stand, and where is he? I am your slave, your prisoner, and he is your captor.
I would do anything to aide she whom I love, though she cares not for me. And this curse woven thricely, upon her, upon me, upon the one she loves, stands between her and the one she loves, and I am the only one who can save them both. So I shall save you, my love, and you shall ignore me.
I have returned, my love, and know what I must do. The sorcerer who cast this, to save you, must be slain. Your true love, the only one who can slay him. Your beloved will not go, cannot go in the state he is reduced to. Were I ten times as weak as he I would have done this for you, but his love was for your lands and your title, yours for the greatness he could bring you.
The child you bore is his, but her life is in my hands. I will save her, my love, for you, and I will save you. The one whose love for you is truest may save you, and I shall return with the sorcerer’s head. Then you shall see again, though you will not see me.
Your husband, your chosen one, is falling worse. I found the sorcerer, breached his domains, and find myself returned to you, his laughter ringing in my ears. I am not your true love, it seems, though my soul is yours for the taking. What may I do for you, my love? Your chosen one is dying, and your daughter fairs ill in care of her relatives. What do you wish of me, my love? How can I save you?
I have seen your daughter-she grows more like you by the day. I would have her know the love you would have shown her, the love of one who truly cares about her. I will take her, my love, and raise her for you. Though I am but a poor knight, lordless when your husband dies and loveless while he lives and you live, I shall raise her to be as great as you were, before you chose to marry.
It has been years, my love, and each time I return hoping that priests and wise men have found a way to save you. But I return each time to your unsmiling face, your cold beauty. Your husband died, unable to be saved while you live like this. I know the truth of the horror of his curse-your true love could only be saved by a kiss from his wife, you can only be restored by the actions of true love. And so he died.
I took your daughter to see him. She is a lady now, thirteen years of age, and learns well rulership and the managing of estates. She treats the peasants fairly, and already has earned the loyalty of your knights. You have seen her, though-I let her see you more than I took her to see him. She needed to know of his death, the sad, weakened man. She had to know what evil could do, what he never learned. She is his daughter, but I loved her and raised her for you. I will bring her mother back to her, my love. I have grown to love her, in a way, as much as I love you. I will protect her, I will keep her safe, all the days of my long life.
She has learned of your magic arts and knows how to wield my sword. Soon she will wish to go into the world, as you did when you were of age. And I will escort her, as I escorted you. But I shall not let her marry where love is absent, and I shall not allow her to challenge the sorcerer who imprisoned you. Those mistakes I had to allow you to make, your daughter will not commit. She is not able to slay him yet, and she will not intervene in his dark quest as you did. When it is time, he will die, but I fear that will not be for many years yet.
I have returned to you, my love, one last time. I no longer wish for your smiles, your poisoned love. You ensnared me to be loyal to you, and I grew to love you, but the curse is ended. I will die without love, but the sorcerer who struck you down has been slain. Your daughter stormed his castle this morning, with an army of soldiers at her heels. They slew the gargoyles of his towers. They killed the dragon that guarded his inner sanctum. Finally, your daughter told all but me to leave her, for she wished to go on alone, with me as her shield-bearer. I entered the sanctum and saw the glorious battle for my freedom. She is a wonder, your daughter, all light and life and love where you were darkness and death. You wished to strike down a rival for control of your dark spells. She wished to save the people I had raised her to love and care for. I believe no thought of vengeance entered her head, and that is where the difference lies.
When he was dying, he knew that as well, and that is what he told me, standing by the door. He told me that the actions of true love only, not ensorcelled, could vanquish him. I never loved you as I love your daughter, as she loves so many. With that I knew how to slay him, and for her sake I struck him down, as I could not before. Before, I fought for you and failed under the curse he cast and the snare you cast. This time, I struck out of my own heart, and found victory in it.
I am dying, my love, but I still love you. Your eternal curse has that still, that I shall love you as long as I live. However, that will end soon, and I shall die now that the sorcerer has been slain. I told all of this to your daughter, and from her I saw the first frown I have ever seen cross her face. You smiled only to enchant. She knows what you have done, and it is her turn to decide your fate.
Your daughter marries her prince in mere days, and I shall live long enough to see the wedding. She loves him truly, and he feels the same way. I think that will be a good way to end my life. You may not live so long-the enchantments that held you kept your dark magic intact. Your magic may not remain potent. Your life was in your magic, as mine was in you and your curse. If your magic ceases, you shall die. Mayhap you live to see your daughter’s wedding. I fear you will not.
You thought I had died, did you not? You did not understand the curse you cast, even as you cast it. Your spells cannot break the bonds of true love, and those bonds can destroy any spell you cast against it. I love your daughter, and in that love I return to as I was before I loved you. In that, I died, only to become what I am. You wonder why I have always called her “your daughter,” don’t you? If she were my daughter, I could not love her. I did not love her until the sorcerer died, until she spoke to me as a queen and not a child, and I saw in her what I lacked in you. I am her prince, for she has claimed the throne. I am her chosen, and her true love.
I see your grave, and for the first time find no pain in your cold tomb. I hold my son in my hands, and your daughter holds my daughter. There is love enough here to shatter a thousand curses, and I can go to my love whole.
Ambrose. That is your daughter’s name.
I was still under the word count and wanted to write more and not neglect "Harry's Secrets" entirely, so I wrote this:
One scar, the most important some would say, is obvious, a lightning bolt carved into the forehead. This is the scar of prophecy.
The first is a double crescent, above and below the left elbow, its shape appropriate for its purpose. This is the scar of secrets.
The other arm’s wound is smaller but deeper, one puncture mark fully healed but leaving a circle where it struck. This is the scar of snakes.
The next was left in the flesh of a rat, the first placed on another’s body. That wound will never truly heal. This is the scar of vengeance and of healing.
The right arm, again, one long slice down the forearm. This is the scar of enmity and beginnings.
The right hand, a scar still tinted slightly silver, where dark magic, an open wound, and a precious metal combined to nearly kill the one who bears the scars. This is the scar of lies and poison.
The boy knows the importance of scars. He sees them in his pack every day, and he sees them on himself. They show how he has grown, and more importantly why he fights. For the important thing about scars, as he was once told, is why, not how.