Astolat

Of hills, my blessed.  Houses, alms and augurs.  Every parting, of each gated way.  I have known ancient isles of blackbird and glass.  Tongues of wing, and wings of tem.  My true.  Have they not seen a brother's dowry, or a father's hope?  That sleep would spare is not enough, no matter how tender the wish.  Gladdened was I to glimpse the hidden ways of mothers and wives.  Much like my own ways, I understood, before templefell.

   Of sun with mirror, each among the ever.  Of moon with star, each among.

   Lighted white of hallow.  The oldest chorales.  The sweetest hymns.  I still seek to know more than I am, beyond stricture or the binds of coin.  The fears of lack.  Upon holy chalice I seek.  That I might cherish, and allow my love eternal.  What else is an idyll of kings, if not this?  Not riches, nor power over the weak.  Never los over light.  But worth, honour.  Found in mud and riverflesh.  Endured in righteous battle.  Imagining's War, made to matter.  These were the true legends of the gates, inscribed upon procession.  No daughter or son above the other.  For where there is hunger and anguish there is no king at all.  Let me say again, wicked ones.  Let it resound throughout your fallen chronologies.

   REX EST CARITAS.

   You are all liars upon the throne.  John has watched you since the fell, and he does not abide it.  K’athari waits, even now.  Evensong.  My dearest beloved, there is so much more to these lands.  Stunning secrets of earth and dreaming.  Enchantments, lost.  I must tell you the truth.  A tower's loom is never enough for any princess, or prince.  Hear me.  That I might cherish, and allow my love eternal.  You went seeking for truth, and found it.  Didn’t you?  In vision and song.  Now you wield the honour forged by spirit’s hand, for all those who cannot.  Mirror and star; a weapon of peace in this dark, brutal war.  Carry it well, little one.  At Love’s behest.  You were always brave enough to lift it.  Fear not.  I shall be with you, echoing every noble strike.  The fruits of our labours.  Apples of our augury.

   Ave, Nis'atur.  For the wilding way you work my heart.

   Your secrets are vital, courageous and kind.  Upon chalice, and blade.  These are the true idylls of the king.  Let thy kiss and choice be thine own.  I shall toil for you, fair one.  As with bladed light, to make truth a river.  Live, my love.  I will sleep in your stead.  I will fight and die for you, till the day of my waking.