(no subject)

Apr 04, 2006 20:06


Samara and co. talking about doing something nice for Ancaladis. Representation of fae in literature.

"I guess that's why she's always in such a foul mood," Taramyn observed sanguinely. "Living on a hill for three hundred years. Boring."

"She always makes me think of that poem," said Yulie in a sad voice.

"Eh? What poem?"

Yulie coloured a little as the Ashcrofts looked at her and everyone else's attention turned too. "We learn it in school here," she said abashedly. "It's called 'Ancaladis, to the Moon'. She asks Yurahaina to come down from the moon and save the last fae. It's sad."

"Hmm," said Taramyn. "Maybe that's the 'nice thing' we could do for Ancaladis. Recite a poem, sort of thing. Women like that stuff."

Samara looked eloquently skyward.

"Hey, I never said anything about Ice-Queens."

"No, that one was a 'dumb idea' glance," Deill provided. "I recognise that one."

Taramyn thumbed his nose at Samara. "Why? I think it's a good idea."

"You won't if you hear the poem," she replied. "Well, you probably will, but everyone else will realise it's not."

"Really? Recite it, Yulie."

Yulie went as red as her hair. "Oh ... I ... it ... I ..."

"I can see why the poem's no good," said Luthan.

"Stick a sock in it." Deill gave Yulie a slightly excessive slap on the shoulder. "Go on, Yulie. I'll say the bits I remember with you."

It took a while - and Deill's 'bits he remembered' were way off - but at last Yulie chanted the poem, schoolgirl-style:

Ancaladis, to the Moon (4-10-8-8)

It glistens high -
your silver-cold and all-impassive eye.
So tell me, Queen of Inyaron,
who watched her older children die,
so tell me - why?
Why keep that over-lofty seat-by-sky?
The hands that slew your sons are here,
your moon-made daughter's death is nigh -
will you not try?
O, break the iron, bleed its people dry!
Let Arathalian fight again,
the Age of Iron pass us by!

It does not cry -
your silver-cold and all-impassive eye.
I know my fate, my callous Queen;
in iron-earth we all must lie,
our race and I.

"Yeah, no, probably no good," conceded Taramyn.

"Yeah, no, you're right," Samara said.

"Don't be obnoxious." Taramyn grimaced. "So what's a good poem?"

"Sounds like a contradiction to me."

"No-one asked you, Luth."

"He might have a point, though," conceded Deill. "At least in the fae poetry area. When you think about it, they're all a bunch of verses saying 'oh crap, the fae are gone!'.

"Not true," said Taramyn, grinning. "There are loads that say 'oh yay, the fae are gone!'"

"They're mostly full of historical inconsistencies anyway," Samara dismissed.

They all looked at her.

"I know that's what I'm looking for in a cracking story," chuckled Deill.

"I don't care if it's literature. You shouldn't write about things you don't understand. Especially if they're obvious things."

"Obvious to whom? Time-travellers?"

Samara sighed irritably and was about to let it drop, but then Luthan joined the fray. "No, I'm with Samara. Poetic licence is a load of rubbish. Literature doesn't give you the right to be an ignorant git."

"Writing and poetry are just entertainment," Deill shrugged. "Who really cares?"

"What are you doing to my weekend?" cried Taramyn in exaggerated dismay. "Shut up about literature, the lot of you!"

There was a moment's silence.

"Take that Ancaladis-Moon poem," began Luthan.

Taramyn threw a peanut at him. "No, you take that poem, Luthan - and you know where you can shove it?"

"Even a moron like Taramyn would know that Yurahaina wasn't Ancaladis's queen. And why's she talking about Arathalian? She's Lorian. He's Inyaronian."

"Maybe she's just buttering the queen up so she'll come down from that moon," Deill said lazily. "Anyway, Ancaladis would at least know about Arathalian. Fairly famous for that whole squashing-lame-little-Talton deal."

"Lame?" choked Taramyn, apparently forgetting all about literature protests. "We saved your arses."

"Ooh, yeah, thanks for clearing the fae and Faeborn right out of Loria."

"Right, that's it. Give me your belt."

"What?"

"It's got iron on it! That's our iron, Lorian!"

The two hit the floor, wrestling over the broad-buckled belt and then fighting over Deill's pocket watch.

Elesti glared at Samara, though it was an amused glare. "Look what you've bloody done," she sighed.

dragonmakers, luthan, samara, taramyn, yulie, deill

Previous post Next post
Up