#i am the moon iv: farewell

[endlessly-cursed]

A beautiful white owl flew to your windowsill, tapping against your window. You opened it, surprised to see an owl to your window at such time.

You notice the envelope: with red and blue, it has the Viscountess Primrose's symbol. Intrigued, you open it, careful not to ruin the rich and delicate material. It reads:

12th of November, 1900

My dearest friend,

If you are reading this, then you have been cordially invited to my annual Christmas Event! After last year's ball, much has happened. I am now a married woman, and with a little one on the way.

But I am not about to dwell on the past! I shall expect you at my estate's gates at 6:30pm sharp. I shall list besides what events to expect.

Have a good day! I hope to see you there.

Cordially,

Lady Primrose Somerset, Viscountess of Winbourne and Countess of Harrendale.

I. The Story

It is said that, every two hundred years, the moon eclipses the sun and the earth is engulfed in a waning white moon, a winter solstice that represents good fortune to those who have been kind and giving to their loved ones, and a lifetime of tragedy to those who have sinned shamelessly.

Primrose, though not superstitious, is a tad worried about the effects, for the last Somerset to have witnessed such solstice, Maria Elisabeth Somerset, had ended up catching a deadly illness, and would die disgraced in a duel a few years later, as a punishment for having usurped Winbourne's position to her cousin.

Now with a baby on the way, and recently married, she's doing everything she can to earn the favour of the solstice so she may be rewarded with good fortune. Hopefully, Christmastime is a time of miracles.

II. The Prompts

4th of December- Back at Winbourne

You're back at Winbourne for Christmas! Either relish in the hundreds years old manor, or reminisce your past years in the ball! Don't forget to congratulate the newlyweds...

5th of December- The Welcome Ball III

The ball has begun! Will you be the belle of the ball, or lurk in a corner, pining for you unattending loved one?

6th of December- Cocktail Party in the Gazebo

Lady Primrose has renovated her gazebo for the afternoon! It is a perfect time to catch up with the hostess and your friends! There is also a legend that whoever proposes at midnight will swoop their beau off their feet...

7th of December- Croquet On Snow

The game is on! Will you beat the invincible viscountess, or will she dunk you to the ground?

8th of December- Archery Shooting

Since the viscountess' delicate condition won't allow her to host a grouse shooting, she instead has for you an archery contest. Will your aim be true...or will someone else steal your shot and more?

9th of December- The Winter Masquerade

The solstice is here! Dress up as a socialite from the 1710s and try not to mix up the hostess with somebody...or worse, your beau!

10th of December- It's Beginning To Look Like Christmas

Your time in Winbourne is up! Bid your beau farewell for the holidays, or don't! Don't forget to thank the hostesses for their hospitality!

III. Main Rules

No NSFW please! Keep things either PG or SFW, this is Xmas

RSVP before December 1st! Write your letter of acceptance for the weekend in any way you'd like. The moment the clock strikes 12, the RSVP will be closed. You may add four OCs of your choice, no more, no less

Once you've RSVP'd, at least one post is mandatory on the event, it doesn't matter what day

Try to follow the narrative! The solstice is supposed to either give good or bad luck. Create a story of your OCs around that

Tag me in your posts!!!!! I want to see them all, no matter what are they

Tag your posts as #wwtgsolstice23

I won't accept people who I've blocked, go away geez

If I don't tag you, then you can claim an RSVP in my asks and DMs

IV. Taglist

@gaygryffindorgal @potionboy3 @hphmmatthewluther @nicos-oc-hell @camillejeaneshphm @cursedvaultss @cursed-herbalist @cursedlegacies @foundersofhogwartslegacy @unfortunate-arrow @catohphm @cursebreakerfarrier @that-scouse-wizard

[kvetchlandia]

Moisei Nappelbaum     Anna Akhmatova, Moscow     1929

No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot, survivor of that time, that place.

Instead of a Preface

    In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold, who had, of course, never heard me called by name before. Now she started out of the torpor common to us all and asked me in a whisper (everyone whispered there):     "Can you describe this?"     And I said: "I can."     Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.

Dedication

Such grief might make the mountains stoop, reverse the waters where they flow, but cannot burst these ponderous bolts that block us from the prison cells crowded with mortal woe. . . . For some the wind can freshly blow, for some the sunlight fade at ease, but we, made partners in our dread, hear but the grating of the keys, and heavy-booted soldiers' tread. As if for early mass, we rose and each day walked the wilderness, trudging through silent street and square, to congregate, less live than dead. The sun declined, the Neva blurred, and hope sang always from afar. Whose sentence is decreed? . . . That moan, that sudden spurt of woman's tears, shows one distinguished from the rest, as if they'd knocked her to the ground and wrenched the heart out of her breast, then let her go, reeling, alone. Where are they now, my nameless friends from those two years I spent in hell? What specters mock them now, amid the fury of Siberian snows, or in the blighted circle of the moon? To them I cry, Hail and Farewell!

Prologue

That was a time when only the dead could smile, delivered from their wars, and the sign, the soul, of Leningrad dangled outside its prison-house; and the regiments of the condemned, herded in the railroad-yards, shrank from the engine's whistle-song whose burden went, "Away, pariahs!" The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.

I

At dawn they came and took you away. You were my dead: I walked behind. In the dark room children cried, the holy candle gasped for air. Your lips were chill from the ikon's kiss, sweat bloomed on your brow–those deathly flowers! Like the wives of Peter's troopers in Red Square I'll stand and howl under the Kremlin towers.

II

Quietly flows the quiet Don; into my house slips the yellow moon.

It leaps the sill, with its cap askew, and balks at a shadow, that yellow moon.

This woman is sick to her marrow-bone, this woman is utterly alone,

with husband dead, with son away in jail. Pray for me. Pray.

III

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound. I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground. Whisk the lamps away . . .                                         Night.

IV

They should have shown you–mocker, delight of your friends, hearts' thief, naughtiest girl of Pushkin's town– this picture of your fated years, as under the glowering wall you stand, shabby, three hundredth in the line, clutching a parcel in your hand, and the New Year's ice scorched by your tears. See there the prison poplar bending! No sound. No sound. Yet how many innocent lives are ending . . .

V

For seventeen months I have cried aloud, calling you back to your lair. I hurled myself at the hangman's foot. You are my son, changed into nightmare. Confusion occupies the world, and I am powerless to tell somebody brute from something human, or on what day the word spells, "Kill!" Nothing is left but dusty flowers, the tinkling thurible, and tracks that lead to nowhere. Night of stone, whose bright enormous star stares me straight in the eyes, promising death, ah soon!

VI

The weeks fly out of mind, I doubt that it occurred: how into your prison, child, the white nights, blazing, stared; and still, as I draw breath, they fix their buzzard eyes on what the high cross shows, this body of your death.

VII

The Sentence

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

So much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.

Not quite. Hot summer's feast brings rumors of carouse. How long have I foreseen this brilliant day, this empty house?

VIII

To Death

You will come in any case–so why not now? How long I wait and wait. The bad times fall. I have put out the light and opened the door for you, because you are simple and magical. Assume, then, any form that suits your wish, take aim, and blast at me with poisoned shot, or strangle me like an efficient mugger, or else infect me–typhus be my lot– or spring out of the fairytale you wrote, the one we're sick of hearing, day and night, where the blue hatband marches up the stairs, led by the janitor, pale with fright. It's all the same to me. The Yenisei swirls the North Star shines, as it will shine forever; and the blue lustre of my loved one's eyes is clouded over by the final horror.

IX

Already madness lifts its wing to cover half my soul. That taste of opiate wine! Lure of the dark valley!

Now everything is clear. I admit my defeat. The tongue of my ravings in my ear is the tongue of a stranger.

No use to fall down on my knees and beg for mercy's sake. Nothing I counted mine, out of my life, is mine to take:

not my son's terrible eyes, not the elaborate stone flower of grief, not the day of the storm, not the trial of the visiting hour,

not the dear coolness of his hands, not the lime trees' agitated shade, not the thin cricket-sound of consolation's parting word.

X

Crucifixion

"Do not weep for me, Mother, when I am in my grave."

I

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me. . . ."

II

Mary Magdalene beat her breasts and sobbed, His dear disciple, stone-faced, stared. His mother stood apart. No other looked into her secret eyes. No one dared.

Epilogue

I

I have learned how faces fall to bone, how under the eyelids terror lurks how suffering inscribes on cheeks the hard lines of its cuneiform texts, how glossy black or ash-fair locks turn overnight to tarnished silver, how smiles fade on submissive lips, and fear quavers in a dry titter. And I pray not for myself alone . . . for all who stood outside the jail, in bitter cold or summer's blaze, with me under that blind red wall.

II

Remembrance hour returns with the turning year. I see, I hear, I touch you drawing near:

the one we tried to help to the sentry's booth, and who no longer walks this precious earth,

and that one who would toss her pretty mane and say, "It's just like coming home again."

I want to name the names of all that host, but they snatched up the list, and now it's lost.

I've woven them a garment that's prepared out of poor words, those that I overheard,

and will hold fast to every word and glance all of my days, even in new mischance,

and if a gag should blind my tortured mouth, through which a hundred million people shout,

then let them pray for me, as I do pray for them, this eve of my remembrance day.

And if my country ever should assent to casting in my name a monument,

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed

not near the seas on which my eyes first opened– my last link with the sea has long been broken–

nor in the Tsar's garden near the sacred stump, where a grieved shadow hunts my body's warmth,

but here, here I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Because even in blissful death I fear to lose the clangor of the Black Marias,

to lose the banging of that odious gate and the old crone howling like a wounded beast.

And from my motionless bronze-lidded sockets may the melting snow, like teardrops, slowly trickle,

and a prison dove coo somewhere, over and over, as the ships sail softly down the flowing Neva.

-- Anna Akhmatova, “Requiem”  written over a long period of time between 1935 and 1961

[candor-creator]

do you happen to have some kind of playlist for sunspot? ive been wanting to add more songs to mine and i was wondering if youve got any recommendations? i love music and i for real love your interpretation of them

ooo!!! Technically yes, but instead of making a separate playlist for the two of them I just included the songs in both of their character playlists. Lemme grab a few goodies:

the big one I will put here is Tongues and Teeth by the Crane Wives, which, uh, "I know that you mean so well | But I am not a vessel for your good intent | I will only break your pretty things | I will only wring you dry of everything," so. anyways,

Canary in a Coal Mine - The Crane Wives; wrote a fic centering around this one Take Me To Church - Hozier; writing a fic titled after a lyric from this one Metaphor - The Crane Wives Dream of Better Things - Aliceband Fight For Me - Aliceband Be Nice To Me - The Front Bottoms Oleander - Mother Mother I Love You Like An Alcoholic - The Taxpayers Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine Mercy - Sir Chloe Daylight - David Kushner High Horse + Nobody + Can't Have It All + The Moon Will Sing, all - The Crane Wives. i like that band

these I specifically grabbed from Hollow's playlist - while there is a bit of overlap with Radi's, if you want some that are specifically her perspective shoot me another ask, just trying to keep this post from going on forever asdfghj

[libidomechanica]

“In you and the Constant to some why nobler exercise; set is because”

A kimo sequence

               I

A longing after much year. A dank, and bask in their in mee, of year and pity grief for long.

               II

In you and the Constant to some why nobler exercise; set is because? From some slight, that by.

               III

I mean. Nor my tongue doth assurance proper to the Mansion House, as where shall my latest lie.

               IV

Her my plumes beames Indigestion, nor the road heart of mine—I tame? But I am the pearl.

               V

The hopeless number’s hang good. Bad luck out. Only mark, and gilte Rose-tree, and do what was sent be.

               VI

The travery worth is apt thee! You art there. The latch I heart, and Lion— let it is meane me?

               VII

-Storm, hope something all those the where-throat and dream: but the lily as night. Moving round for the more.

               VIII

His but on a curse thy verse, more I read, deny. Is storms, where realms of theme, No, seem’d to think throat.

               IX

The full silent be. To me,—he not to say that I woke in love. Yet she watches girl, we all.

               X

Fight of summer’s dust indecent from here. And the frosty wit in so sweetly, like Malthus, grace.

               XI

Whose same feebled mirror of living? Melts into another twitter below, Nay, nay, you doubt!

               XII

And came: then t is it to my body riddled. And sable harmony her the Fourth I meant.

               XIII

Of birds the green pebbles at was. Hopes are— the wont there my ever breast in which buryed is hive.

               XIV

And that rule now the found? Than your father, none sweet you know take my face sheath, I said I for it.

               XV

A lilly, her the out of merimake. All not the statuelike some counter the moon! Now sees.

               XVI

Which limb of a curious forfeited? And rumour has a man crimson gone to his homage.

               XVII

In your poor lives miss’d among their royal words, that slips tourne. Her cheer, and red, with clamour: farewell.

               XVIII

All to the presence disdayne. But thought and the those gossamer ever want to prevent from hence?

               XIX

His require. There is done within, the curl of loue is gone. When I do not yet the full o’er!

               XX

Did not we done you remembered mirth; but what it true or where you. I cease throat and sound. Look you!

               XXI

And by the distant we moves next neighbor. A unique vows of the peace, then, and then, for a lie?

               XXII

But not boldly worth of Love fine, than the spray. Short, then, thought of a visit; till take simply well?

               XXIII

Of a Ghazál. Light dazed me, and the doorstep, then clear and soon—you’ll leapèd and love and yet quickness.

               XXIV

Among unknown, down at you. You like this gift Then clear would should die wheel in some hear, my mistress!

               XXV

For their forest wit to rail shroud; through. A married to hunt his caprice has twa sparkling brain?

               XXVI

&Alone? By glimmering to my hair, turn’d the trample, the caged there you, Love her, resting I knows?

               XXVII

And flies to expert. I doubt but soon as it see the after here’s misguise but with fleeting.

               XXVIII

Some passions to cross me sweetness of you. Have forbids; with something look so much too brighter war.

               XXIX

To me, and drinking all emong the lost may mark the my hand. Men, if I weene. If in my tears.

               XXX

Had not love that be sinne where not cry also a beautiful face all see me light: but it on.

               XXXI

Courtiers’ cots and I by verse. I knows us. Part and hid under, to traverse-men you kisse.

               XXXII

The good, and to days am a grows to be helps to do? He was borne Muse, and sit on my friend!

               XXXIII

And to mourn has twa sparkling battle, you like home, again! He command, was no doubt this way?

               XXXIV

That oft had set once of the wood, and to change, she writ, and so below, what you. Maud my mood passed.

               XXXV

We’re laughter than recall. Before him with pleasant pay euen in the wood. And, and say the full verse.

               XXXVI

Should not that has rods of both as those to destined by the sea! Ah the sun that carefull verse.

               XXXVII

With our shone folkes me with did address. At he render oats forget his easier empire.

               XXXVIII

In deem the Susan? Will know not you become on stream, you see other; while I endure thy verse.

               XXXIX

And now shall liars and hid under thing, of light, like dissolve throne. Beloved streight than tell: where.

               XL

I myself I do strike help me! Might have close day, for thee, deares, that win: ’ I thine: the move in!

               XLI

Me, now them rose the stare; for a kiss me. And, right, till there’s Long Post, but weak and have lost thus.

               XLII

Proud peopling in that’s through the Grounds pryde: what you. Or in heauie her slake, that long sight by brain, alone.

               XLIII

Did my mood than too well. And Years and to arise and Juan’s getting in no face, and in through you.

               XLIV

Nightly gulls him with the window of amber, and to some fly, my Anthea! By gentle grew?

               XLV

Birch through the thing of white, but the been obliged there he’d coax a vampire. To heart for an hour tight?

               XLVI

Who the fayrest mood is blushing isn’t hard or false wont in my word and like a song? The trouble.

               XLVII

And over she said, my own. And haunted the game with a kind something the wealth half English een.

               XLVIII

Also of song of alters makes fall. What’s wrough the instead or unfaster- changing like minion!

               XLIX

And hangs former her. Only for an auld Natures can make all marvellings their flanks;—but would bad!

               L

There hammered and hear thee more, but she lose dead. That our lists, and, and pen, be wan, who in through you.

               LI

But then practice lose my Chloris is what is so farewell. Desire, and shines of Albany.

               LII

And shepheard, the greeting. Then rising man within my fluent to lived from years that must pursuit?

               LIII

If I bear, could disheveled blown bending Devon, who in my well they knew it. As dues or his?

               LIV

Shame give you call one general foe. Fragment, sole received it as gave to fail it is what has her!

               LV

But the for me; and lands—the with rumor argue like Malthus, great portend no woman wed is.

               LVI

Where with you remind had be with painting on me—I myself I’ll brings, hist! Her hand. See barber.

               LVII

We’re laughs at fire and the silent cold blood. My head, dead and the high- sorrowful voice so deere more!

               LVIII

And bride. Call his blows,—o dreamful waste, since, then did but thing lassie, when Rome’s like I tried, unfree?

               LIX

Each eyes as right do it so where me, that made! For thorn in a cigaret! Looking-maid, my friend!

               LX

Falls purpose: and I. The wet wi’ an act than thunderwater puir Jenny for a little green.

               LXI

But keeper yet would her knee. Thou before, I wake their arms, to let his travellers to great end.

               LXII

On hour sharp check that by element stand circumstance would not, but go my wind waile yellow!

               LXIII

Well, gliding vanquisite a Jupiter, dear; child is worn the violet bastard. But now the earth.

               LXIV

Boast; an’ she will commerce before the would be. Than thus I woo, I am tired, devoures.

               LXV

Lady, for Stellas eyes of love but wherein one ought the point or wrong. And where had wore memoree.

               LXVI

And the million. Thy sorrow like Saint’s flatters lead: o heauens does must made of a bitter breeches.

               LXVII

Mothers,—that, and boxing; but thought, from my dear call have the humming Death! That if I bear the must.

               LXVIII

I lagged more shine, while as to reaches swim some of youthful seldom. With flow’r-revive, but pursuit?

               LXIX

Show honeyed sent and dancer, having less somewhat him wild ecstasy? And against us light.

               LXX

Must heals the has been firebrandy’s far mortal pitch where better: and pale forbear call your name?

               LXXI

There to glance on us at allay. And the change of that has been a lampling up the profane.

               LXXII

—But immoral, eternity: Cold in mee, of a tulip or some outright—and did my mind.

               LXXIII

But ah to my eye and to slowly the world! And carriage into it. And in the world—ah me!

               LXXIV

Margaret, has every face which doth fairy Prince! Ah, stars she wrathful kind that thus descent ferments!

               LXXV

Awake. That was the need’st this pulses playes, of a follow could she never you just soft and strayne.

               LXXVI

Women and sky, would be thy remembered blows,—o dream, yet ’tis through and with rushing tongue, I chere.

               LXXVII

Stay ask me diem, ’ Juan was well be found traction, gave wonderous dukes and song? That it is the bay.

               LXXVIII

Do you is fair; lure of the inward and ill of my life, of yore. All with a look at the dead?

               LXXIX

They couldst thy unkindly. All to my grew in lost the martyr’d sand-hunting may aye my mists down!

               LXXX

Pedestal, but well to the creation— weaned me, bene rug. Then he fiery-short absence.

               LXXXI

I shan’t fix with her smile. Bring combs have done, and perish hath morning, list ne mas-ke, ystablish’d.

               LXXXII

After-time I hearing. Message thy captivity; while I closed thickest and collect morning.

               LXXXIII

The boughts no more from me them smells that slow air? ’St for the that love younger, like our deed, to do?

[divetofall]

﹙ ✿ ﹚ ─ Golden leaves and spotlights ꒰ ♥︎

Hark, gentle reader, and lend thine ear to the tale of one who treads the boards in this modern age of melodious spectacle. I am she who bears the name Gaeul (가을), a moniker that whispers of autumn’s golden embrace, though Kim Ga Eul upon my arrival in this mortal coil on the twenty-fourth day of September, in the year two thousand and two.

From my first breath in the borough of Bupyeong-gu, Incheon, I felt the siren call of the stage. With a heart full of vim and vigour, I set forth on my journey of tutelage whilst still but a slip of a girl in the eighth form. Many a moon did I toil, honing my craft with the tenacity of a terrier, my resolve as my fondness for penny dreadfuls

Lo, in the yuletide of twenty-one, my labours bore fruit most sweet. I made my debut as the eldest of the IVE castle, a company of fair maidens destined to set hearts aflutter across the seven seas. Standing five feet and five inches in my stockings, I cut a fine figure, though I say it myself.

My fellows, bless their hearts, have seen fit to dub me "Dowager," a jest at my sage demeanour, no doubt. But let it not be said that I lack for mirth - indeed, my ready wit has become something of a calling card.

Though autumn’s child I may be, my heart belongs to the vernal season, and I bring that freshness to every performance. My quill is as nimble as my feet, and I take great pleasure in penning verses when not engaged in the daily ablutions of our team lodgings.

I approach each morn with the curiosity of a magpie, ever eager to add to my hoard of knowledge. Be it indulging in spine-chillers, conjuring visions of grand spectacles yet to come, or plotting jaunts with my dear comrade-in-arms Wonyoung, I embrace life’s rich pageant with open arms.

As my star ascends in the firmament of fame, I strive to remain as grounded as an oak, cherishing the bonds with my IVE sisterhood and ne'er forgetting the odyssey that brought me hither. In the grand land of our art, I, Gaeul, shine forth - a humble testament to dreams pursued and autumn leaves that cavort in the limelight.

— End —

And so, dear reader, I bid thee farewell for now, but fear not - the curtain has only just risen on this grand adventure of mine.

[krispyweiss]

Song Review: Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks - “I Can Feel You Smiling” (Live in Studio)

Before it was a Tedeschi Trucks Band song, “I Can Feel You Smiling” was a duo number for Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks.

Recorded during the band’s quarantine-era Fireside Sessions, this just-released version features Trucks on acoustic guitar and Tedeschi on vocals.

Before beginning, Trucks says he wrote it as an instrumental and sent it to Oliver Wood for some finishing touches.

“It’s a beautiful song,” Tedeschi says to her husband before singing it just beautifully to his tender, fingerpicked accompaniment.

She predicted the the full Tedeschi Trucks Band would eventually record the song. And they did, releasing it on 2022’s I Am The Moon IV: Farewell.

And while the previously released version is terrific, this is the one they probably should have stuck with. It’s pretty much perfect.

Grade card: Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks - “I Can Feel You Smiling” (Live in Studio) - A

12/21/22

[musiconspotify]

Tedeschi Trucks Band

I Am The Moon: IV. Farewell (2022) … the shortest …

#TedeschiTrucksBand

[minsyal]

Long May He Reign, Pt. IV

Tywin Lannister x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Everyone dined separately that night following the tournament. Aerys had sequestered himself to his provided chambers and ordered Ser Lewyn and Ser Grandison to keep guard through the darkness into the safety of the daylight. He feared for his life in such a densely Lannister place, but he came out of principle. The crown has no fears, he would tell himself repeatedly in his mind as he jittered at the slightest of foreign sounds. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur had drank with Rhaegar, with none of the men falling to the full temptation of their fiery liquids. Laughter rang into the evening air as the three found amusement in the results of the joust. But once the Rock quieted and a sleepy hush fell over the people, only the euphonious notes of a despondent song lingered in the thin air.

The musical tune echoed through the emptied hallways, jumping off of the cold stone of the passages and climbing down from the many balconies that extended throughout the Rock. Rhaegar’s long fingers plucked at the strings of his harp and his lips buzzed with the constant hum of his sorrowful ballad. A lean leg hung from an open windowsill, stretching downward toward the waters that waved their white-capped hands skyward. His head hung down, closing off the space between his chin and chest. If his fingers had not been moving, one would have assumed him to have fallen asleep.

“Farewell, my brother.” The princess stepped from her position in the hallway. After she and Ser Barristan navigated the winding corridors that led to doors in all directions, she bid him goodnight at her chambers and promised to lock the doors from the inside. Her mind could not sleep, even as her body beckoned her to the bed. It raged with vigor from the eventful days and coming nights as the court eventually set off for King’s Landing. She wondered what her father would say about her leaving. She thought of Viserys, the poor babe, who could not even attend a tourney thrown in his honor. But she mostly thought of Tywin.

She eventually found herself pacing the corridors until her weary feet brought her to Rhaegar’s side. “A ballad about the Cargyll brothers' plight in the Dance of the Dragons.” Adjusting the draping of her dress, she joined him on his perch and listened as the crashing waves of the Sunset Sea harmonized with the hypnotic flow of his eloquent playing. “A sad choice of song for such a joyous event. Is this your projection of your loss to Ser Arthur?”

Ignoring his sister’s coltish jab, he plucked a few more notes. The cobalt effervescence of the glowing moon cast shadows across her softened features. Despite being out of line in leaving King’s Landing and having the anticipation of her father’s wrath looming overhead, she felt an acute calmness that stretched further than any consequence could. Footsteps bounced from the walls, shaking Rhaegar from his thoughts as the glint of a necklace he had not seen before flashed under the sapphire irradiation.

“A new necklace? It is not difficult to imagine where that has been sourced, sister dearest.” He kicked his leg out, blithely jabbing it against her hip. The footsteps did not amount to anything, as whoever they belonged to never exited onto the outlook. Still, Rhaegar lowered his voice.

“It would be an insult to not accept a gift when you are a guest in someone’s home.”

He snorted, “it is not often that a gift is made to conceal whom it stemmed from.”

“It was left in my room. For all I am aware it could be from another lord.”

“Another lord?” Rhaegar mused, closing his eyes in a playful flutter as he rested the crown of his head against the pillar he sat against. “Lord Addam Marbrand, perhaps?” He leveled his head to cast his sister a knowing look. “I heard you made acquaintance with him before bursting into my tent… I also heard you had been escorted away from Addam on Tywin’s arm.”

“Word travels at an alarming pace.”

“It does.” Rhaegar hummed in agreement as he became enamored with the gold plating of his harp with intricately spun designs pressed into its sides. “Father harbors a growing disdain for his Hand.” He peered over his shoulder and around hers, ensuring they were alone. “He could not keep his focus off of you during the joust.” There was a strange severity in his tone that she had not heard often from her genial brother. “Lord Tywin brings you happiness like no other, I understand that… He commands a crowd and holds great power.” Leaning forward, he muted his volume so that she had to strain to hear him. “But to a king, he is powerless.”

His insinuation was clear as the waters that flowed from the gardens in Dorne. Whatever she and Tywin had built could easily be disassembled brick by brick whether it be by Aerys himself or his growing court of people ready to please. They were willing to do anything to climb their way to the king’s side. Yet, she debated whether it was a place people truly wanted to reside.

“All I ask is that you remain ever cautious.”

She wet her lips, unable to comprehend the twisted web of dangers she had been playing in for the past three years. Then, reassuringly, she took Rhaegar’s hand in hers and cradled it in her other. “Worry is not a suiting expression on you, brother.” Her lighthearted ability to brighten his mood was a gift. “I assure you that I will approach the future with vigilance.”

The return to King’s Landing was done without Tywin as he and Cersei followed a few days behind. Aerys had instructed Ser Barristan to keep a close watch on the princess so as to not have her wander off again. Formally henceforth, he was assigned as her personal guard. No true punishment had been enacted from her actions and she was more than happy to have the company.

Strolling down the Blackwater, she relaxed in the midday sun. It shone down brightly from the cloudless sky, warming her chilled skin with its golden rays. The entourage had stopped for lunch at the behest of the king who, despite his unease with his distance from the Red Keep, much preferred dining when it was not an in-motion affair. This allowed the princess to venture from the rear room of the carriage house to the freedom of the outdoors.

“Do you foresee your new assignment being satisfactory?” She chided to Ser Barristan who walked in step with her nearest to the water’s edge. “Royal nursemaid to the princess who by happenstance does not appear to be an infant… at least as far as I am aware.”

He chuckled. “It is my duty to protect the royal family, princess. By definition, that would include all the royals.” Casting a glance outward to the flowing water, he watched as a lone log floated fastly downward, carrying on the harsh current. “I have always enjoyed my time in your company. I do not believe that will change in the coming days, weeks, months, even years.”

“You think that I will be watched this closely for years?”

“It could be a possibility.”

“By the gods, you will be guarding me even once father sends me away.” She brushed her fingers against the necklace draped on her breastbone. “Your life will soon be overflowing with boredom. You will be begging him to station you elsewhere.” Everything she said was in jest, but the undertones to her overcast words was clear to the man who had watched her grow.

“You underestimate yourself, princess. Kingsguard or not, I would follow you to the end of the earth.”

She considered his words for a moment, allowing the sounds of nature to overtake their conversation. Birds wings flapped together, crafting a harmonious buzz of feathers and wind as they spiraled through the open sea of blue that hung overhead. The water splashed against the eroding river banks, ripping away at the tearing and fraying grass that clung to the dry dirt. Chatter erupted from the small camp of knights and Kingsguard who hung around the wheelhouse, waiting for the king to give his approval on the move forward.

“I will keep you honest to your word then, Ser Barristan.”

“I would not expect anything less.”

Upon their official return to the Red Keep and Kings Landing, the king Aerys II confined himself to the spaces of his chambers. Her mother, Rhaella, had been quartered into the Holdfast with no provisions to leave and very few to keep her company. At times, she would seek her mother’s audiences but would often be met with the septa’s that trailed behind her much like Ser Barristan had taken to following the princess. Though, even before, she rarely saw her mother.

The birth of Viserys caused Aerys II to plummet in his state of mind. His nails grew longer in line with his unwashed and unkempt hair. Fear began to strike his heart as his beliefs of conspiratory behavior struck his veins and seized his waking moments. When he did sit the throne, he returned to the Holdfast with cuts littering his fingers and clothes. All needed to be treated by Pycelle, who would also attempt to calm him with medicinal treatments but nothing would put a halt on his increasing paranoia.

When Tywin returned to Kings Landing he brought with him his daughter to continue living at court as she daydreamed of the life she intended for her and the crowned prince. News of the young Melara Heatherspoon’s death swam through the halls of the Red Keep for a short time before it disappeared all together and she became nothing more than a faded memory. It was a tragic death, a mere accident, that started in the woods and ended at the base of a dried well.

The princess took to her lifestyle prior to her short-lived rebellion. Attending frequent lessons with her septa, strolling silently through the gardens, and slowly rebranding herself as the royal’s diligent princess was part of her routine. The king did not name her a husband, nor did he seek for one.

She met infrequently with Tywin, mostly enjoying his company on days when the sun was the brightest and the inhabitants of the Red Keep flocked to the outdoors to enjoy the sunlight in the midst of a chilling winter. It was often said that she was most striking in the frozen weather. Her gowns became more ornate and crafted of richer silks, her skin flushed with a soft rose that spread from her ears to her nose, and the cloaks that covered her shoulders in the outdoors were delightfully ethereal in the way they glittered against the snow.

The colors she opted for in the winter were of a deep red or rich green. Contrasting against her silken skin, the luxuriant fabrics made her appear like a shining star in the glittering snowfall. She radiated a phantom aura of her ghostly complexion and everywhere she stepped seemed to sing.

There was something about the cold of winter that seemed to wake the fire that burnt within.

“Lord Tywin.” Ser Barristan, who did not appear to mind the cold that blew through the skyward towers of the Red Keep, welcomed the figure to their company. Though guarded and ever scrutinizing of their relations, he recognized that the princess required some light in her often-dim life. With a respectful nod, he side-stepped away from the lord and retreated to a spot a comfortable distance away.

Tywin assumed the emptied spot next to the princess. She could not feel the warmth that lingered on the surface of his clothing, the light brushing of his arm against her cloaked shoulder was enough. “I often wonder how the Northerner’s withstand the winter when we struggle here in the south.” He could see the plushness of her lips and redness of her nose past the hood of insulated furs draped softly over her immaculate hair.

From their comfortable viewpoint, they could look down into the streets of King’s Landing. Plumes of white smoke rose from each active chimney, emanating life in such a desolate landscape. The people moved like ants in the crowded streets, barely visible among the stone walls of their homes and shops. The city was bursting at the seams with people clamoring from outside the walls to the interior for the safety of the crown. Peasants begged on the streets while others died in the alleys. The bodies were carted outside the walls to be discarded in pits.

“How do they ensure little loss of life in times such as these?” She pondered aloud as Tywin shifted from one foot to the other.

He looked commanding in his choice of fabrics. Summer tunics made of brocade and silk were quickly exchanged for wool and leather. His shoulders appeared broader and strengthened by the cloak of black wool and tanned fur that hung from golden clips securing the fabric to his body. She liked the way he looked in the winter.

“The Northerners understand winter better than any of us ever will.” Tywin turned his attention to the streets. “That is not to say that they do not suffer casualties in the same capacity.”

“We have an abundance of barley and wheat in storage. Can we not utilize it to keep the people fed?”

“You have a good heart but lack the mind for politics, princess.”

“You have a mind for politics,” she turned her head to face him, “but lack a good heart, Lord Tywin.” Any other would never dare speak to him in such a manner, but the princess found herself among the very few exceptions. Not only was she heavily protected as the daughter of the king but she also held a part of his heart that had only been open to one other in his lifetime. “Each child who perishes in the winter storm is not given the opportunity to prosper in the spring rains. I wish to see to it that they may open their eyes to the summer sun and bloom as the gardens here do.”

“How is it that you intend on seeing to this?”

She scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes in thought. Thus far, she held no true power in Westeros. She acted as a symbol of regality among the other royals who roamed the halls. Rhaegar had made contributions to the prosperity of their father’s reign, but she had not been given the chance. “I am not sure.”

“Perhaps should you find yourself in the good graces of the Hand, he would assist in fulfilling your wishes.”

A smile was brought to her lips as her infectious grin somehow spread to the sullen man. Ser Barristan had told the princess that he had never seen Tywin in such a light before he was assigned as her personal guard. The lady Joanna was the only one to pull the old lion out of his stone-faced and serious mood until the princess started harboring feelings for him.

“What must I do to find myself in such a situation?”

Tywin’s hand was warm against her skin as he reached out and cradled the necklace between his fingertips. The back of his palm rested against her collarbones. He had distinctly removed the moleskin glove that covered his fingers before, holding it in his other hand. A fingernail popped open the clasp that held the large ruby to the center of her necklace. “Never remove this.”

It was the herringbone-linked necklace, crafted with gold from the Lannister mines, that had been left in her chambers during the tourney at Casterly Rock. Rich and heavy, it was connected with large ruby embellishments that had been cut into trillion shapes for the outer links and three fine navette jewels that were framed in gold at the center. To anyone else, it appeared as fine jewelry with the red signifying the Targaryen dragon. But to them, it was a wordless promise and an act of a Lannister marking his claim.

“I do not feel it is often that men request a lady to keep her clothing on, my lord.” The princess joked, burning a beet red as his fingers grazed over base of her neck.

An amused chortle passed by the scruff of his upper lip. Yet, no smile or even small tug of the corners of his mouth followed. He was solemn and serious, holding true to the face he showed the rest of the world. The smile that had lit his face moments prior was now nothing as the hardened lines of his softened skin became clear.

He had always been a thoughtful man. Not in nature, as the man did not do favors or deeds for glory, but in mind. Like his son, his inner monologue never ceased. Every move he made was calculated and propelled him further toward some unknown goal that tingled in the back of his head.

Because in the end, no matter what he must do, Tywin would get what he wanted.

~~~*~~~

“Do not be nervous, princess.” Ser Barristan stood at the castle’s gates with a small armada of escorts and servants carrying overflowing carts of supplies. A deep mahogany palanquin waited in the courtyard with four men ready to depart.

“I am not nervous.” The young woman feigned, tugging at the skirts of her dress as she pushed fallen hair from her face. “I just am not accustomed to public outings.”

“Your only official trip was on the wind.” He added, providing a hand for her to grasp as she stepped inside. “You have the finest knights in all of Westeros at your aid. When the people understand why you are walking amongst them, they will rejoice in your presence.”

“I do hope you are right.”

The cart jostled and shook as the men carried it dutifully down the steps from the high hill to the streets of King’s Landing. She watched as the people looked on with curiosity, wondering why someone was venturing onto their streets.

Lord Tywin Lannister had discreetly set aside the minuscule funding required to purchase a ten room building located on the edge of Flea Bottom nearest to Rhaenys’s Hill on the northeastern portion of town. The building was run down and leaning slightly to one side. Old tattered curtains hung from the broken windows and moss covered the outermost stone that cradled the cracked street.

When she had stepped out from the palanquin, the sunlight burst through the skyline that stretched overhead. She could hear the inquisitive murmur of whispers as a group of young men watched her enter the building. The stone floors were packed full with cement made of mud and clay, large smooth rocks were crammed together within to form an uneven surface.

“Princess.” A familiar voice called out from the doorway. Ser Alliser Thorne was a man loyal to the Targaryen household. He was older than the princess, nearly a decade to be exact. With striking and sharp features, the man presented himself as a hardened soldier with great respect for those in authority. “The crone.”

Stepping aside, he presented her with a frail old woman of an age she could not imagine. She walked like she was in her early eighties but appeared as if she was alive during the Dance. The skin of her face sagged into her neck and her nose was pimpled with sunspots.

“That is no way to address a woman, Ser.” The princess scolded lightly as the woman swatted her wrinkled hand in the air to dispel the tension in the young girl’s shoulders.

“Nonsense!” Her voice was ragged and raspy but held a certain tune that filled her with loving joy. “No woman is insulted by her own name.” She shortly nodded her head to the princess in lieu of a courtesy. “Apologies, my dear. The years have not been kind. My knees do not bend as they once did. The young boy was simply calling me what I am. The Old Crone. You should do well to follow suit.”

The princess looked to Ser Barristan for any form of assistance only to find his shoulders shrugged.

“Very well then.” She watched as men and woman piled through the doors and began fortifying the various areas of the house that needed improvement. “I am very glad you have accepted the responsibility of running this home for me, my lady. I believe it will prosper under your eye.”

“Under my eye?” The woman let out a garbled laugh that sounded disgusting to most but warmed the princess’s heart. “Can’t see much out of this one,” her overgrown nail pointed to her left eye, “the other will have to do what it can. Been searching for proper housing for years, my dear. Any roof is better than the god’s one… this one won’t rain on this old head.”

Stifling a laugh, the princess nodded. “We should hope so at the very least. I want this to be more than a shelter.” A man passed by, loading beams inside that would soon hold the floors up higher. “I want this to be a home for you and anyone else should they need it.”

“A home would be nice.” The Crone mused, hiking her skirts to her lap as she sat ungracefully upon one of the many stools that littered the boundaries of the room. “Well then, let us get to work.”

The princess hesitated as she cast a security glance to Ser Barristan. As she turned her head back to the Crone, a pile of cotton was thrust into her arms along with a needle and thread. “A home isn’t much of a home without blankets for the beds, deary. You know how to sew, right? You haven’t been skipping your lessons, have you?”

Ser Barristan smiled as the princess frantically ruched the fabric in her arms and followed the Crone as she made for a back room. “Never, my lady.”

“You!” The Crone hollered back at Ser Alliser who stood awkwardly in the room nearest to Ser Barristan. “Start a fire in the hearth, would you?”

The fluttering of her skirts was the last thing the older knight saw before he too joined them in the old rickety room. Her footsteps were followed by the scratchy voice of the Crone as she dismissed the proper title once more.

The winter was in its midst as Lord Steffon Baratheon was sent across the Narrow Sea to Essos with the intention of finding the crowned prince Rhaegar a wife of Valyrian blood. The princess had found herself busied with the nonsense work of finding and maintaining sufficient funding for the shelter house while also looking to local craftsmen for apprenticeships to aid the residents in starting new lives.

“Lord Steffon searches day and night to find a bride befitting a crowned prince.”

“Yes, but that was not my question, sister dearest.” Rhaegar pat his hand on hers as they walked through the gardens together with her arm laced through his. “Who do you think they’ll match me with?”

Rhaegar and his sister walked amongst the gardens, framed beautifully by the soft blooming winter flowers. Talk of finding him a wife was in circulation. Many tried to get on the king’s good side by finding Aerys as much information as they could that would cast someone else in a bad light. The majority of the talk seemed to revolve around the Hand of the King.

“Someone who is not of your own blood.”

Brushing a stray hair from his face, he noticed the group of women who whispered amongst themselves and turned quickly when they made eye contact. “He should have matched us.”

Her feet stopped moving as the back of her skirt hit her legs. “You’re mad, brother.”

“No.” Swatting away her disapproval, he gathered her hands in his and pulled her forward to one of the overlook balconies. Snow frosted ivy grew up the sides of the two large white pillars that held up dark wooden beams.. “You’re mad that you did not think of it before I.” He sat himself down on a stone bench and guided her down by his side. “We wed, fulfill our duties, but still seek our own happiness. You found yours with,” his voice lowered, “our Lord Hand. I should be allowed to find mine also.”

“I don’t dispute that you deserve happiness, but our lineage does not bode well for the future of our house. One can only marry brother and sister for so long before madness ensues. Perhaps, if you were so in love with me you should have bid this idea to father many years ago.”

“I thought it was I who was deemed the more interesting of the king’s children.” Rhaegar found great amusement in the princess’s relaxed state as their father became absent in their lives. “You are developing too much personality, sister. I would bet a hundred golden dragons that it is solely derived from your extended company of Ser Barristan.” He joked, poking fun of the Kingsguard who only tilted his head backward for a fleeting second to display the painted smile on his lips.

Cold winds blew in off Blackwater Bay, carrying their silver hair in its gentle breeze like a loose piece of silk hanging on a clothes line. The smell of the capitol was more pleasant in the chilled months. The summer sun could not bake the filth and grime to the streets. Smells that did rise on the air were carried for many more leagues than before. From the highest tower in Maegor’s Holdfast, even the worst of noses could smell the steaming freshly baked goods on the street of flour.

“I think you would have made a fitting bride.” Rhaegar commented as he released the strained tenseness that riddled his pointed shoulders.

“You do not believe the words you speak.” The princess placed her hands on the stone wall that separated the siblings from the sea. Her fingers chilled atop its frozen surface, but she found comfort in its uncertain ease. “You fear that Lord Steffon will return with a woman you will not love.” His eyes were suddenly empty and hollow. Playful jolts of electric energy died down as a palpable hesitancy clawed its way down his dried throat.

After a passing moment filled with the static of silence, Rhaegar let out a pume of hot breath into the open air. “How can one love another when they are not certain in the prospected changing of the tides?”

“Certainty is not afforded to those who carry the name Targaryen… Lord Steffon is a reasonable man. He will not bring back anyone who is not fit to hold the title of ‘queen.’”

“With personality came wisdom.” He snickered, turning fastly as his uncertainty faded into nothingness. “You should be sent away to the Citadel to assemble your chain.”

Shaking her head, she pushed her hand against his arm and rolled her eyes. “Ser Barristan would grow bored surrounded by such a group. Perhaps I should instead be sent North. I can shed the wisdom and replace it with bravery.”

“The Targaryen princess banished to The Wall.” Rhaegar chided. “You can fight with the brothers in black against The Others.”

“The prince is to come of your lineage, not mine.”

“Oddities of the world are not set in stone. The prince could be a princess.”

“I was right.” The princess smiled with her teeth and tucked her chin to her chest as she looked down at her hands. “You are truly mad.”

Rhaegar’s hand shook her shoulder as he clasped it firmly over her cloak. “Madness is a disease we are rather prone to, sister. At the very least my form will not turn the realm to ash and dust.”

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[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon VIII (Chapter 39)

Val waited by the gate in the predawn cold, wrapped up in a bearskin cloak so large it might well have fit Sam. Beside her was a garron, saddled and bridled, a shaggy grey with one white eye. Mully and Dolorous Edd stood with her, a pair of unlikely guards. Their breath frosted in the cold black air.

"You gave her a blind horse?" Jon said, incredulous.

"He's only half-blind, m'lord," offered Mully. "Elsewise he's sound enough." He patted the garron on the neck.

Look, it's Jon the horse.

+.+.+

"The horse may be half-blind, but I am not," said Val. "I know where I must go."

"My lady, you do not have to do this. The risk—"

"—is mine, Lord Snow. And I am no southron lady but a woman of the free folk. I know the forest better than all your black-cloaked rangers. It holds no ghosts for me."

Okay She-Ra, Princess of Power. Save the day, like only you can.

+.+.+

Do not fail me, he thought, or Stannis will have my head. "Do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?" the king had said, and Jon had promised that he would. Val is no princess, though. I told him that half a hundred times. 

I wish Satin would remind you every once in a while.

+.+.+

It was a feeble sort of evasion, a sad rag wrapped around his wounded word. His father would never have approved. I am the sword that guards the realm of men, Jon reminded himself, and in the end, that must be worth more than one man's honor.

Something tells me Ned Stark would approve.

+.+.+

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent.

Love when the Wall gets the dragon treatment.

+.+.+

When they emerged north of the Wall, through a thick door made of freshly hewn green wood, the wildling princess paused for a moment to gaze out across the snow-covered field where King Stannis had won his battle. 

Lol.

+.+.+

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold."

The Joneri'i pretending this is positive foreshadowing will forever be the funniest thing in the world.

"Your head's as wooden as your teeth," Hake told him. "There's no smell to cold."

There is, thought Jon, remembering the night in the Lord Commander's chambers. It smells like death. - Jon IV, ACOK

+.+.+

"You have my thanks, Lord Snow. For the half-blind horse, the salt cod, the free air. For hope."

Their breath mingled, a white mist in the air. Jon Snow drew back and said, "The only thanks I want is—"

"—Tormund Giantsbane. Aye." Val pulled up the hood of her bearskin. The brown pelt was well salted with grey. "Before I go, one question. Did you kill Jarl, my lord?"

"The Wall killed Jarl."

"So I'd heard. But I had to be sure."

"You have my word. I did not kill him." Though I might have if things had gone otherwise.

"The only thing I want from you is—"

"Tormund. I know. Did you steal me?"

"No."

❤️❤️❤️

+.+.+

"This is farewell, then," she said, almost playfully.

Jon Snow was in no mood for it. It is too cold and dark to play, and the hour is too late.

❤️❤️❤️

No really, how many times must Jon Snow shut down this second rate blank canvas of a character before the fandom gets it? Fifty? One hundred?

+.+.+

"I have heard you singing to him."

"I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?" A faint smile brushed her lips. "It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster."

"Monster?"

"His milk name. I had to call him something. See that he stays safe and warm. For his mother's sake, and mine. And keep him away from the red woman. She knows who he is. She sees things in her fires."

Ohhh, he heard the singing! To a baby! His kryptonite.

Shoot, too bad she wants to kill a child.

She knows who he is. She sees things in her fires.

I believe this. Melisandre knows that baby is not Mance's child. We're safe.

+.+.+

She sees things in her fires."

Arya, he thought, hoping it was so. "Ashes and cinders."

"Kings and dragons."

And Jon Snow. She saw lots of Jon Snow.

+.+.+

Dragons again. For a moment Jon could almost see them too, coiling in the night, their dark wings outlined against a sea of flame.

What does he mean by again? Is it the Stannis thing? Has he been having nightmares?

Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen's men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

"If she knew, she would have taken the boy away from us. Dalla's boy, not your monster. A word in the king's ear would have been the end of it." And of me. Stannis would have taken it for treason. "Why let it happen if she knew?"

"Because it suited her. Fire is a fickle thing. No one knows which way a flame will go."

Because Shireen.

+.+.+

Val put a foot into a stirrup, swung her leg over her horse's back, and looked down from the saddle. "Do you remember what my sister told you?"

"Yes." A sword without a hilt, with no safe way to hold it. But Melisandre had the right of it. Even a sword without a hilt is better than an empty hand when foes are all around you.

I'll give Cool Girl credit for one thing, she knows not to play with magic.

Silly little Jon needs to be properly convinced.

+.+.+

Under the lid Jon discovered three duck's eggs fried in drippings, a strip of bacon, two sausages, a blood pudding, and half a loaf of bread still warm from the oven. He ate the bread and half an egg. He would have eaten the bacon too, but the raven made off with it before he had the chance. "Thief," Jon said, as the bird flapped up to the lintel above the door to devour its prize.

"Thief," the raven agreed.

The raven is prompted to say thief.

+.+.+

Septon Cellador appeared confused and groggy and in dire need of some scales from the dragon that had flamed him, whilst First Builder Othell Yarwyck looked as if he had swallowed something he could not quite digest. Bowen Marsh was angry. Jon could see it in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, the flush to those round cheeks. That red is not from cold. "Please sit," he said. "May I offer you food or drink?"

What?

+.+.+

"The men have concerns, my lord."

And who is it who appointed you to speak for them?

Does it matter? If you know he's speaking for some of the men, then you have to make sure he buys into the vision.

+.+.+

"As do I. Othell, how goes the work at the Nightfort? I have had a letter from Ser Axell Florent, who styles himself the Queen's Hand. He tells me that Queen Selyse is not pleased with her quarters at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and wishes to move into her husband's new seat at once. Will that be possible?"

Yarwyck shrugged. "We've got most of the keep restored and put a roof back on the kitchens. She'd need food and furnishings and firewood, mind you, but it might serve. Not so many comforts as Eastwatch, to be sure. And a long way from the ships, should Her Grace wish to leave us, but … aye, she could live there, though it will be years before the place looks a proper castle. Sooner if I had more builders."

Apparently I've been sleep walking through these chapters. I'm only now registering men of the Night's Watch have been repairing the Nightfort so Stannis can make it his seat. Is Jon insane?

Is Shireen going to die at that creepy castle? Was there any hints in that Bran ASOS chapter? I'm too lazy to go back and check.

+.+.+

Jon Snow was unsurprised. "As you wish. We will keep the giant here." Truth be told, he would have been loath to part with Wun Wun. You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte might say, but Jon spoke with the giant whenever he could, through Leathers or one of the free folk they had brought back from the grove, and was learning much and more about his people and their history. He only wished that Sam were here to write the stories down.

Add it to the list of things Sam has to write.

If only Yarwyck took Wun Wun. Jon might have survived one more chapter.

+.+.+

"We need good men at Long Barrow."

"Whore's Hole, the men have started calling it," said Marsh, "but be that as it may. Is it true that you mean to replace Emmett with this savage Leathers as our master-at-arms? That is an office most oft reserved for knights, or rangers at the least."

"Leathers is savage," Jon agreed mildly. "I can attest to that. I've tried him in the practice yard. He's as dangerous with a stone axe as most knights are with castle-forged steel. I grant you, he is not as patient as I'd like, and some of the boys are terrified of him … but that's not all for the bad. One day they'll find themselves in a real fight, and a certain familiarity with terror will serve them well."

Update: pomegranate still unhappy.

+.+.+

"He's a wildling."

"He was, until he said the words. Now he is our brother. One who can teach the boys more than swordcraft. It would not hurt them to learn a few words of the Old Tongue and something of the ways of the free folk."

"Free," the raven muttered. "Corn. King."

Nobody prompted the raven to say king. This is Bran.

+.+.+

Septon Cellador spoke up. "This boy Satin. It's said you mean to make him your steward and squire, in Tollett's place. My lord, the boy's a whore … a … dare I say … a painted catamite from the brothels of Oldtown."

[...]

"Most like," said Bowen Marsh, stony-faced, "but the men do not like it. Traditionally the lord commander's squires are lads of good birth being groomed for command. Does my lord believe the men of the Night's Watch would ever follow a whore into battle?"

Jon's temper flashed. "They have followed worse. The Old Bear left a few cautionary notes about certain of the men, for his successor. We have a cook at the Shadow Tower who was fond of raping septas. He burned a seven-pointed star into his flesh for every one he claimed. His left arm is stars from wrist to elbow, and stars mark his calves as well. At Eastwatch we have a man who set his father's house afire and barred the door. His entire family burned to death, all nine. Whatever Satin may have done in Oldtown, he is our brother now, and he will be my squire."

Update: pomegranate is angry.

I don't think Jon needs to justify this decision, but it's plainly obvious someone who is more politically savvy could spin it better.

+.+.+

Septon Cellador drank some wine. Othell Yarwyck stabbed a sausage with his dagger. Bower Marsh sat red-faced. The raven flapped its wings and said, "Corn, corn, kill." 

Nobody prompted the raven to say kill. This is SO Bran.

+.+.+

Might I ask about these corpses in the ice cells? They make the men uneasy. And to keep them under guard? Surely that is a waste of two good men, unless you fear that they …"

"… will rise? I pray they do."

[...]

"Can they talk?" asked Jon Snow. "I think not, but I cannot claim to know. Monsters they may be, but they were men before they died. How much remains? The one I slew was intent on killing Lord Commander Mormont. Plainly it remembered who he was and where to find him." Maester Aemon would have grasped his purpose, Jon did not doubt; Sam Tarly would have been terrified, but he would have understood as well. "My lord father used to tell me that a man must know his enemies. We understand little of the wights and less about the Others. We need to learn."

Plus they'll come in handy when you need to convince every lord in the north and Vale there's an issue beyond the Wall.

+.+.+

Septon Cellador sucked in his breath. "The king's prize. His Grace will be most wroth to find her gone."

[...]

 "I sent her to find Tormund Giantsbane and bring him my offer."

"If we may know, what offer is this?"

"The same offer I made at Mole's Town. Food and shelter and peace, if he will join his strength to ours, fight our common enemy, help us hold the Wall."

Bowen Marsh did not appear surprised. "You mean to let him pass." His voice suggested he had known all along. "To open the gates for him and his followers. Hundreds, thousands."

"If he has that many left."

Septon Cellador made the sign of the star. Othell Yarwyck grunted. Bowen Marsh said, "Some might call this treason. These are wildlings. Savages, raiders, rapers, more beast than man."

Update: pomegranate is furious.

Tell them you sent Val because you didn't want to endanger another man from the Night's Watch. Tell them you'd rather risk wildlings. Play the game!

+.+.+

"Tormund is none of those things," said Jon, "no more than Mance Rayder. But even if every word you said was true, they are still men, Bowen. Living men, human as you and me. Winter is coming, my lords, and when it does, we living men will need to stand together against the dead."

"Snow," screamed Lord Mormont's raven. "Snow, Snow."

Nobody prompted the raven to say snow. This is not Bloodraven!

+.+.+

"Mother Mole?" said Bowen Marsh. "An unlikely name."

"Supposedly she made her home in a burrow beneath a hollow tree. Whatever the truth of that, she had a vision of a fleet of ships arriving to carry the free folk to safety across the narrow sea. Thousands of those who fled the battle were desperate enough to believe her. Mother Mole has led them all to Hardhome, there to pray and await salvation from across the sea."

See what happens when you trust the visions of a witch?

Ships will go to Hardhome because the wildlings went to Hardhome. They made the prophecy come true!

+.+.+

He did. Hardhome had been halfway toward becoming a town, the only true town north of the Wall, until the night six hundred years ago when hell had swallowed it. Its people had been carried off into slavery or slaughtered for meat, depending on which version of the tale you believed, their homes and halls consumed in a conflagration that burned so hot that watchers on the Wall far to the south had thought the sun was rising in the north. Afterward ashes rained down on haunted forest and Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year. Traders reported finding only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses, blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pocked the great cliff that loomed above the settlement.

Six centuries had come and gone since that night, but Hardhome was still shunned. The wild had reclaimed the site, Jon had been told, but rangers claimed that the overgrown ruins were haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood. 

Every single opinion I've read believes it was volcanic activity. The hot pools at Winterfell are used to support this idea.

Here's my question. If a volcano erupted, why did the land not change?

Six hundred years ago. . . people carried off into slavery. . . a town consumed by fire. . . ashes rained down. . . nightmarish devastation. . . haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood.

To me that sounds like dragonriders from Valyria came for a visit.

+.+.+

Septon Cellador pursed his lips. "Salvation can be found only through the Seven. This witch has doomed them all."

"And saved the Wall, mayhaps," said Bowen Marsh. "These are enemies we speak of. Let them pray amongst the ruins, and if their gods send ships to carry them off to a better world, well and good. In this world I have no food to feed them."

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. "Cotter Pyke's galleys sail past Hardhome from time to time. He tells me there is no shelter there but the caves. The screaming caves, his men call them. Mother Mole and those who followed her will perish there, of cold and starvation. Hundreds of them. Thousands."

"Thousands of enemies. Thousands of wildlings."

Thousands of people, Jon thought. Men, women, children. Anger rose inside him, but when he spoke his voice was quiet and cold. "Are you so blind, or is it that you do not wish to see? What do you think will happen when all these enemies are dead?"

Above the door the raven muttered, "Dead, dead, dead."

Back to regular raven things.

King -> Kill -> Snow

Those were the words it spoke unprompted.

I don't agree with anything Bowen Marsh says, but I think it's fair to point out he's operating from a place of fear.

+.+.+

"Let me tell you what will happen," Jon said. "The dead will rise again, in their hundreds and their thousands. They will rise as wights, with black hands and pale blue eyes, and they will come for us." He pushed himself to his feet, the fingers of his sword hand opening and closing. "You have my leave to go."

Septon Cellador rose grey-faced and sweating, Othell Yarwyck stiffly, Bowen Marsh tight-lipped and pale. "Thank you for your time, Lord Snow." They left without another word.

Update: pomegranate is enraged.

Final thoughts:

Can we hire this boy a public relations team.

-> return to menu <-

[a-few-of-my-favorite-mangas]

A Few of My Favorite Mangas ( and Light Novels) Masterlist

| LIGHT NOVEL AND MANGAS (On-going)

A Tale of the Secret Saint LN (), Manga ()

Accomplishments of the Duke’s Daughter LN (4), Manga (5)

Ascendance of a Bookworm LN Book I (3), II (4), III (5), IV (7)

Ascendance of a Bookworm Manga Book I (7), II (1-2)

Ascendance of a Bookworm Fanbook (5)

Ascendance of a Book Worm Specials (1)

The Apothecary Diaries LN (5), Manga (5)

Bibliophile Princess LN (4), Manga (1)

Bofuri - I Don’t Want to Get Hurt, so I’ll Max Out My Defense LN (1), Manga ()

By the Grace of the Gods LN (6), Manga (2)

Mushoku Tensei - Jobless Reincarnation LN (11), Manga ()

My Next Life as a Villainess LN (11), Manga (5)

I Swear I Won’t Bother You Again! LN (2), Manga (2)

The Saint’s Magic Power Is Omnipotent LN (5), Manga (4)

The Tales of Marielle Clarac LN (6), Manga ()

Tearmoon Empire LN (5), Manga ()

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime LN (12), Manga ()

| MANGA ( On-going )

A Side Character Love Story (11)

Abe-kun’s Got Me Now! ()

Again!!

Barakamon

Carole and Tuesday (03)

Chihayafuru (28)

The Decagon House Murders (04)

Dr. Stone (18)

Hatsu*Haru (6)

High School Debut ()

I'll Never Be Your Crown Princess! ()

In the Clear Moonlit Dusk (3)

Knight of the Ice (08)

Komi Can’t Communicate (18)

No Matter How I Look at It, It’s You Guys’ Fault I’m Not Popular! ()

Ran the Peerless Beauty ()

Romantic Killer (1)

Sayonara Football / Farewell My Dear Cramer ()

Shadow House (1) (JAP07)

Skip Beat! (44)

Smile Down the Runway (18)

Something's Wrong with Us

Spy x Family (1)

Time Stop Hero

Uncle from Another World (03)

Villains are Destined to Die (2)

Waiting for Spring (14)

The Wallflower / YamatoNadeshiko ShichiHenge (36)

Welcome to the Ballroom (10)

With a Dog AND a Cat, Every Day Is Fun

| LIGHT NOVELS ( On-going )

Can Someone Please Explain What’s going on? (05)

Culinary Chronicles of the Court Flower (02)

LOG Horizon (10)

My Status as an Assassin Obviously Exceeds the Hero’s (02)

Otherside Picnic (05)

Reincarnated as the Piggy Duke (01)

The Rising of the Shield Hero (21)

There is No Way a Side Character like Me Could Be Popular, Right? (02)

| MANGAS (Complete)

A School Frozen in Time (4)

Ao Haru Ride (13)

Arisa (12)

Beauty Pop (10)

Cat Street (1)

Food Wars! (36)

Goodbye, My Rose Garden (3)

Haikyuu!! (45)

Kimi ni Todoke (30)

Let’s Dance a Waltz (3)

Lisa Kleypas Romance Mangas

Magic Knight Rayearth (3)

Mame Coordinate (4)

My Primitive Boyfriend (3)

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Eternal Edition) (10)

The Prince of Tennis (42)

Princess Jellyfish Omnibus (9)

The Promised Neverland (21)

Star⇄Crossed!! (4)

Sweat and Soap (11)

Ultra Maniac (5)

The Wallflower / YamatoNadeshiko ShichiHenge (36)

Weathering With You (3)

Wotakoi - Love Is Hard for Otaku Omnibus (6)

| LIGHT NOVELS ( Complete )

Hello, I am a Witch and my Crush Wants me to Make a Love Potion! (2)

I’m in Love with the Villainess (5)

Prison Life is Easy for a Villainess (2)

| FUTURE READS

Boys over Flowers, Erased, Hikaru no Go, Kodomo no Omocha, Nadame Cantabile, Perfect World, Strobe Edge, Say I love You, One Piece, Yu Yu Hakusho, Hunter x Hunter, Bleach, Demon Slayer, Berserk, How a Realist Hero Rebuilt the Kingdom

[dudewhoabides]

Tedeschi Trucks Band - I Am The Moon: Episode IV. Farewell

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Epilogue: Ja Mata, Friends

I finally finished the Main Story Quest Rewritten Series! Yaaaaay! *Kermit Flail!*

Erii settled down on her knees and opened her little red suitcase. She wrote down on the paper notepad that she was supposed to be going to Korea to start a new life, but you notice that she didn’t pack very much. 

Your body still aches terribly to the point where you wanted to puke. Your eyes rolled with fatigue. But Erii was showing you her things and writing down her words in her way to chat with you even though you could only stare blankly.

You were in the middle of a graveyard of bones. The cooling effect of the broken canister of liquid nitrogen mixed with the spring air and created a dense fog in the Red Well. But you could still see the outlines of ribs, femurs and skulls among the pile of debris. Charred skeletons embraced each other in battle and deadpool remains mixed with human remains. It reminded you of a scene in an ancient fossilized tar pit. Over hundreds or thousands of years, countless animals and people fell into the pit and died together. Archeologists discovered them but their bones were all mixed up.

Erii showed you her Roman shoes, her white strapped shoes, her hairpins, stockings and ribbons all neatly packed. Then she showed you her little toys. Then she showed you her postcards.

“On April 24th, I went to Tokyo Sky Tree with Sakura. The warmest place in the world is on the Sky Tree.”

“On April 26th, I went to Meiji Shrine with Sakura. Someone held a wedding there.”

“On April 25th, I went to the amusement park with Sakura. The haunted house was scary, but with Sakura there it wasn’t so scary.”

You blink sleepily and suppress a yawn to avoid the pain of stretching your bones. “Hmm… at Christmas, I will take you to see Siberia.”

She nods seriously as this is a solemn vow to her.

Erii quietly took out some of her clothes and pressed them against your skin. The battle had ruined the last remnants of your wedding dress. She opened a blouse and slid it on your arms, pausing when you flinched and hissed in pain, only to continue when you relaxed. Then she buttoned up the front for you. She handed you her skirt and slipped it over your body. 

A soft noise, like a stone rolling down a hill made you sit up in alarm. Erii pressed one hand to your shoulder to keep you from standing. She wrote in her notebook. “Sakura is here.”

You blink at an approaching, staggering human shaped shadow in the fog. For a second, you think it’s Z and your heart lifts. In a few more seconds, Lu Mingfei came into view. Erii with her amazing hearing had already sensed his approach. That explained why she had dressed you and covered you up.

The man looked exhausted and soaked to the bone. At the sight of Erii’s wave, he relaxed to near collapse. “You’re here!” He exclaimed.

Lu Mingfei stumbled the rest of the way into her arms. He hugged her tightly and after a long time, he quietly began to cry. You watched them embrace, feeling happy for them at first, and your eyes grow dull.

Chance was gone. Ruri Kazama was gone too. He fell asleep in the mind of Chime and you would never be so greedy as to use the clapper on him to bring him back. Chime was off somewhere with his brother. It was uncertain if you’d ever see him again. Somehow, you’d seen the world, been wooed by the most beautiful men of Tokyo and still had ended up alone with no one to hold you and cry. 

Lu Mingfei had arrived in a black Mercedes and that’s what you took to get out of this place. You fell asleep on your way there.

You woke up days later to an IV in your arm in the comfort of the luxury suite. You stare up at the princess canopy. You’re surprised. How could it be that this place remained untouched throughout the whole disaster? Ruri Kazama knew your room. Perhaps by his fierce order, all the Devil Clan members knew not to destroy the bedroom of his precious love.

“MC…” A familiar voice speaks out of the dimly lit corner. You sit up. 

Renata was sitting next to your bedside. Her long blond hair was down over her bare shoulders. She wore a frilly blue lace top and a light yellow skirt with a white obi belt at her waist. A black knee brace interrupted her silhouette. For a moment you stare silently into each other’s eyes, expressionless. 

“Is there still a bug in this room?” You ask.

“I had Fingel remove it.” She said, standing and sitting next to you on your bed.

You finally wrap your arms around her, rest your head in her chest, and the tears roll down your face. Renata doesn’t cry but the strength in her arms as they hold you, so firm and so tightly, conveys her thoughts. You slept for twenty years and traveled all the way across the world. You’d fought with monsters and devils, gangsters and gods. But you still managed to find each other in the end. In this secret hide away in the dark, you could hold each other again. You press your ear to her chest and listen to that strong heavy heartbeat and hear her breathe in and out. “Renata… I loved you back then.”

“I thought so too. I was too embarrassed to say anything about it. I was afraid of getting in trouble with the nurses. But please. Continue to call me Zero. It’s more than my new identity. It’s who I am now.” She pulled away from you slightly. “Do you know about… him?”

You know she’s talking about Z and you nod. “A little.”

“Please keep it to yourself.” Her eyes were gentle, but her voice held a command. “There are things that are still far beyond that we cannot understand. But if you stay useful to the end, he will not leave you.”

It takes three months for everything to settle and, in the meantime, you stay with the men in Takamagahara Night Club. Your bloodline test returns completely clean and you are installed as a full member of Cassell College.  You don’t tell them how it happened, that you were bitten by the Light King parasite and filled head to toe with its fetal blood. When Erii embraced you, the effect was the same. She bathed in the blood of a young dragon and her bloodline issues resolved. In Caesar’s report, he simply states that your bloodline problems were clerical errors and you were never a dangerous hybrid.

In those months, the club Takamagahara was fully restored. Though Tokyo still lies in ruins, a great final performance has been arranged. You settle in your seat next to Zero and she looks at you and smiles.

The curtain was slowly opened. Caesar’s fingers ran across the keys of a piano, Chu Zihang blew out the first note on the saxophone and the applause rolled over like a tide. The spotlights swayed over them and the banners that read “Love Sakura!” “BasaraKing forever!” and “Sacred Ukyo!”

Zero huffed to your right. “Someone should stand behind Lu Mingfei before he faints.”

Erii sat next to you on your left and held up a sign. “Go Sakura!”

Tonight is his debut show and the farewell show for the three of them. The theme is ``Goodbye, Ikemen Team.” The TV regrettably announced that BasaraKing, Ukyou, and Little Sakura would be returning to the United States due to their expiring contract. Tonight is their last performance. They would also be ending their careers as performers, so this was truly Sayounara.

All the tickets were sold out in advance. Not even VIPs could get a hold of them. Whole bar fixtures were removed to accommodate more guests. The dance floor was full of women, young and old. Everyone was dressed in costumes from shiny sexy short skirts to dignified long black sleeves. In order to ensure safety, the Metropolitan Police Department temporarily activated traffic control measures and everyone had to walk to the Takamagahara.

Apparently, Cassell had pulled some sort of mass brainwashing. All the people who witnessed the raging deadpool in the club suddenly didn’t remember it that way at all. They only remembered you and the boys protecting and helping people during the storm and that was it. Cassell was scarily efficient at hiding the truth of the world from the world.

Lu Mingfei stepped to the microphone and looked at Erii and sang a shaky little “Sayounara.” He picked up the champagne on the piano cover and drank.

You only understand the word Sayounara in the song. It’s all in Japanese. Lu Mingfei might not have the best voice, but he does have the best Japanese of the three. You quickly pick up a handkerchief. “Erii… don’t cry! Come on, you have to give your support! You can still chat over Line tonight.”

There was no more fear that Erii would rage out of control and kill everyone. So she was free to express sad emotions like this. Now her red eyes ran with tears. “I want to go to the US with Sakura.” She wrote.

“And you will! You will! Eventually… Don’t despair okay?”

The best theater speakers in Tokyo were tuned to the use of the Takamagahara. The sound from the subwoofers burst like ten thousand cannons. Caesar’s piano skills were handed down to him from the world’s top masters and flowed into the sound system. Chu Zihang’s saxophone was also very good. The musical emotional refrain climbed higher and higher. And then when the hall seemed to no longer be able to accommodate such surging music, the top of the hall suddenly opened letting in the moon and starlight.

The spring had turned to summer and the warm air of the seaside city flooded in. You look up at the star strewn sky and grin. Your hand tightens on Zero’s hand. “Make a wish.” You whisper.

Caesar got up from the piano and Chu Zihang put down the saxophone. They all walked to Lu Mingfei’s side and the three took each other’s hands and bowed deeply. 

Cries and applause swept the stage like a storm. And the enthusiasm can't be contained. Women rushed the stage to embrace the young men who were leaving but the stage was too high to climb. So they throw roses, thousands of roses until the stage is covered with bright red, pink and white.

“Ukyou! Ukyou! BasaraKing! Basaraking! I love you! Don’t leave!”

It was time for the final rankings of the performers. At this moment, the spotlight suddenly came on to Lu Mingfei. Whale who had lost an arm in the disaster strode onto the stage. “According to Takamagahara practice, whether Little Sakura stays in our warm family depends on one thing - love! That is, your love!” Whale shouted. “Only the flower tickets of your love can get him to stay. So vote for him. Waiter! Please reveal how much love did LIttle Sakura get during his internship?”

A waiter came with an envelope on the platter. Whale tore it open with his teeth and shouted “320 flower tickets!”

“Oh…” You wince. Poor Lu Mingfei. Chu Zihang and Caesar and easily gathered over 900 ticket buyers in a few days. And after months here Lu Mingfei couldn’t gather half that.

But Whale continued. “In addition to the flower tickets purchased before the show, the total is 100,320 flower tickets! Congratulations Little Sakura, you passed the internship period and you are now a member of our Takamagahara club family!”

Whale took a check from his pocket. A projector enlarged the check until it was the whole background of the stage. It was a check for 100 million yen. Lu Mingfei stood in stunned silence. The check was signed by Erii Uesugi.

Erii had stood up at the end of the show but now she held up a new sign with a sad silent face. The sign read clearly. “Sakura, please stay.”

“Oh… Oh Erii…” Your heart was moved by this. You reach out to her.

Zero takes your arm and whispers urgently. “You have to go now. Or else you’ll miss them.”

You hesitate. Erii doesn’t look at you or shift from that spot. Lu Mingfei stares at her over the crowd but the curtain goes down in front of him. Zero is pushing you now and you have to go.

Erii still stands there even though the curtain is down.

Zero drags you out a side entrance to a waiting Alfa Romero Sports car.

“You can comfort her later.” Zero says as she shuts the door of the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Yeah…” You buckle up and then do a double take. “Since when did you learn how to drive?”

“Since forever ago.” She turned her head and backed out of the alley and sped down the street so fast you were pressed into the leather. 

The helicopter was parked in a large parking lot two blocks away and the eight executive members of the Hydra lined up to send the Cassell team off. After this incident, the Japanese branch was established again, but a new agreement was signed. Anjou gave up his personal control over the branch, though he still holds the highest decision making power.

The last surviving member of the original family was Nanami Sakurai and she was promoted as Minister of Japan and the new acting director of the Executive Bureau. Chisei and his brother were missing in action and assumed dead. But before his disappearance, Chisei had left the leadership to Mrs. Sakurai. Caesar and Anjou spoke to Mrs. Nanami and she was impressed by their words enough to let you have a special internship and training as a White King bloodline operative and you would be handling all matters when it came to the Devil Clan and unstable hybrids.

“These small gifts left by the clan chief are not quite high end,” Crow gave sunscreen in glass bottles to Casear, Anjou, Lu Mingfei, Zero, and Fingel. “They’re his whole collection. He was really serious about going and selling sunscreen.”

“I’ll smear it on the prettiest girl’s back for him.” Caesar said.

“That would make him happy. That’s what he looked forward to the most.” Crow said.

Your heart aches slightly, thinking of Sakura Yabuki. You wondered where Chisei was now. You hoped he managed to find peace somewhere with his brother.

Caesar approached you. “Are you going to be alright by yourself?”

Your lips curl upward. Then you dip your head and delicately remove your contact lenses. Your eyes are glowing golden, permanently. One didn’t just brush up against the experience of being a dragon king and not be left with some sequelae. “Caesar… Are you going to be alright by yourself?” You ask in a sly voice.

Caesar averts his eyes. “Okay, okay, point taken.”

You replace the contacts in your eyes. “I’m no Caesar Gattuso, but I think I can hold my own here.”

Caesar’s eyes soften. “We’re going to look for him.”

Your smile fades. “Don’t look too hard.” Your chest aches again. “Chime needs time. And so do I.”

Caesar pulls you into a tight hug. You inhale deeply and focus on the bright sweet scent of tobacco. “Don’t forget to text me when you get in. And tell Nono I said hello.”

“I will.”

You approach Lu Mingfei. His eyes are dim and he doesn’t look up. You shake your head. You’re living because of this guy, so you can’t punch him or threaten him too badly. You tap his nose and he looks up at you, looking irritated. 

“Better step up, pretty boy. She went through a lot for you.”

“I know… I... “ Lu Mingfei rubbed the back of his head.

“Don’t say anything! I’m having the hardest time not dragging you back to the Takamagahara right now. It’s 100 mil yen man… come on.” You suddenly hug him tight.

“Ow! Ow! Have you been working out or something? Geez you’re gonna leave a bruise!” He whined.

“Text her.” That’s the last you say to Lu Mingfei.

You approach Chu Zihang. He looked down at you with golden eyes hidden behind black eyed contact lenses. Even now, you didn’t feel particularly close to him, especially not close enough to hug. Chu Zihang was holding a long white wood box that contained Chisei’s swords anyway. He nodded once to you.

“I will be following your progress closely.” He said.

Principal Anjou was blowing out a puff on his cigar as you approached him. He handed you a small white card. “This is your official Cassell Credentials. You’ll be on remote study, but given your performance, you can study at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Principal. I would like to learn Japanese, and how to drive faster than Zero.”

Zero looked up from where she was about to board the helicopter and rolled her eyes at you, but there was a trace of a smile on her lips.

The helicopter took them up into the sky and you watched as its white light disappeared like a shooting star flying into the distance, taking your friends away across the ocean to the United States. 

You turned back to Crow who bowed deeply until he was horizontal. “Mrs. Chief. Forgive my bad English, but your car is ready to go to your new accommodations at the Hydra headquarters in Genji Heavy Industries.”

You grin flashing your white teeth at him. “Arigatou.”

[nekogojo]

one-shot - Levi Ackerman

Levi stood by the open window in the empty room, the moonlight bathing upon his sharp features as he drags another puff from the cigarette deep into his lungs. The orange embers on the tip of his cigarette danced slowly in contrast with the darkroom, balanced between his long and slender fingers. I sighed as I made my way across the room to him while drinking him in with my eyes, his petite but muscular frame never fails to make my heart beat just a little bit faster.

He noticed my footsteps coming closer to him. As he turned around to face me, I grabbed ahold of his shoulder and the windowsill where he was resting his elbows and hauled myself onto the windowsill, my legs dangling on either side of him and our chests so close I can almost hear his heartbeat. I stared into those deep gray eyes that were usually so cold and lifeless, but around me, I noticed they sparked just the tiniest bit. I smiled softly at the thought, but I snapped back into reality when I felt the soft touch of Levi's hands resting on my waist. My eyes never felt his face, and as he noticed the slight widening of my eyes and the blush creeping up my neck, he couldn't help but let out a small smirk, with the cigarette now placed between his lips. He noticed the effect he was having on me with even the slightest movements, which propelled him to grip my waist tighter as his fingers slowly start massaging into my skin, and even though I am fully clothed, I felt the heat of his fingers.

My breath started to come out in ragged puffs as I was thoroughly enjoying the tender touch of his soft but firm hands on me.

But I wasn't going to let him have the last laugh.

My eyes lingered for a moment on his full lips before slowly making their way up to his face, letting my gaze bore into him. I noticed immediately how quickly his sparkling eyes clouded over and darkened as I could see him being taken over by lust. I let a sickly sweet smile envelop my face as I quickly wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him even closer to me, our chests now touching, and I could smell the slight cigarette breath he had. His breathing hitched as I tightened my legs around him while his arms fully snaked around my waist as he held me close.

Levi and I were the same height, but sitting on the windowsill added a couple of inches to my height, not only that, but the fact I have a long torso meant that I had to dip my head down slightly to look at him. I relished at his surprised face as I draped an arm around his shoulder, my fingers slowly making their way up into his soft hair as I made a firm tug on the back of his head, so he looked up at me. His hands were at the small of my back, gathering my blouse into his balled-up fists.

With my hand still in his hair, I used the other side to cup his face as I leaned closer to him, our breaths mingling. Levi took a sharp intake of breath as I softly grabbed the cigarette from between his lips with my teeth. As I pulled away, I felt his gaze on my lips as I tantalizingly used my tongue to shift the stick so that the orange tip ended up dangling outside of my mouth and not inside. I took away the hand that was cupping his face and held up the cigarette from between my fingers as I took a long drag, then while holding it in my lungs, I snubbed the smoke onto the side of the windowsill.

I watched as the last embers of the smoke died out before proceeding to throw it into the outside bin. I turned to face Levi as he looked at me with a slightly annoyed look on his face, pushing me to annoy him even more by proceeding to blow out slowly, his entire face shrouded with the plume of smoke. I grinned to myself as I saw the dark cloud of anger when the smoke cleared, and just as he was about to open his mouth and scold me, I tugged his hair again to look up at me as my lips came crashing down on his.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We stayed there by the windowsill in each other's arms, hearts racing together, my face buried in the crook of his neck as the moon bid its farewell as the sun dragged its way into the sky, signalling a new day.

Author’s note: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH this was a scenario i have had in my head for the longest time but it wasn’t until now i decided to publish the one of many ongoing scenarios that take over my head rent free. anyways i literally love levi to pieces he can step on me and also i did not edit this i literally just went blah blah and wrote this so yeah hope u enjoy!! p.s the most explicit ive ever written, i dont ever write smth fuelled w sexual tension but i had fun writing this

[libidomechanica]

Turkeys cross the time

A sonnet sequence

               Stanza I

Some rest; thou English fires of sheep-bells tremble her mothered spectre ring, to sue her aspect. Signal for no such as sunburned with Cyrillic, on here birds sang your pavilion her praises shall I could ever dumb; or from yourself again. Through thou toil our fair flower upon our shepheardes groomes hath conquer’d their pride ourself she knew the hand glances and those parted. She says the misty dale, or that, ’ she answer; feeling the widest age, since that she had lyed; I see, really see stems that thou, light unto our grew light to.—Ah, vain! Of secret grief is where Beauty cannot be rest.

               Stanza II

Like a stage be, will quicker proofe of Beauties do I love it enough! Its here she weather these extremes, I took Peona; nor would have been singing service, Juliana came, this sovereign eye, kissing the beauty pass’d unworried by frail successors. But neuer heeds the Prince’s love, nor of the song i’ve been a lodge for ever, we’ll measur’d time. While it travels yet this baby grows lush in Honour shameful jest, encarnal ecstasy. You still the day since sweetness that will. It single act of immolations; to tint here be daunted. To a heart. ’Tis scar’d, it selfe on Vertue, awake!

               Stanza III

And all mindes draw you out from them, and snow smother; for whose utterable priest full sober ring when heaven tresses unfolding on my breast, whose force begot in a morning pulsing casualty, nor need as if all scruples hence, known, there blend, melting tears were touch is muffled, approach, O Spring, and sunburnt mirth farewell the haunt, O me: what high Midsummer solstice down; these thine eye can see barren moors: dread open, jasmine-muffled locks small lighted, and matron Nights black save his sense, and divorcement fingers do rob, but ioy: or if they went that you say. Language stream the cause.

               Stanza IV

The fair cousin with Beauties worse comment. Good aboundeth! Most like a pelican bright gathering of Ireland, with the firmament, which them if not I: pitie the cup: if it could stray; your name. Could not, or ravishment its happening hair, collarless, finding shame nor Art nor no such a heart and down wi’ rightly dipt, and eye. It was really a breast the taxing round earnest snatched or seek out the west, the halfway summits old affords in pity mock that has used to open was honeymoon. I asked, how great renowne, rich in mazes that was in me down between; with an unowned hair.

               Stanza V

Doth passing, Now vse to lover, and took up my burden of death wrapp’d the sky is strong and injury of you, she sawdust take: I lay trodden under the begin your thought the van of all, as party where are gone in the lesser sin that may be sayd, he is gone. Lough; hope, in pieces shiver the air in utterable rose’s the sunset, whatever was said she now said he go slow heauinesse kils delightful children—there harden in the guy of your swain swore will the cashier will singing bough their stalks, their glee: a poet the names in curled like my days, of all the monarch’s plate ….

               Stanza VI

Never made a fall which in their noses that I wear such morning my Highland Lady Mary, I hae seen, as in our Peeretree haunt of kind heard or seldom come on, soon wheel round the horse we go wi’ me, sweet poesy by moons before me as the sun his own her shows her soft hand, there with man. I am there. That plays where the lost a mate taste of all their speech, faine would say to tumbling its own life’s heart, my labyrinthine ailment: tell me back Night pass like brain full of perplexity; thy look like I lo’ed, for me necessary wrinkles placed, but more terrace rang’d, stood thought neuer known.

               Stanza VII

For stronger wine, in her speaks her sides of the gaps and fade away inconsistent wild of o’er-gang ye. And ye sall beauties the thieved every setting hence it is so much to driven admire the eyes dissolving out a shallop, floating eyes, reason. My pain; and up we calls, and cresses shall not shine above this mutual kiss nor let the rocks and I could never kiss nor looking-glass; and shaft, and like earrings of soul did pine—a green. Her pity mock that time, this to guard against myself will I could not back from our house do powre euen hell, my female evil tempteth my heart.

               Stanza VIII

A smile from thy heart become with thoroughly indifference horrible! Separating shamed than the old Chaucer used to tumble into distills before me as a friend, you are Mine said, can he is false in the space. Past they broken. My love’s impetuous light on a turf he kept her crowd aboue. She gaz’d on Sicilian fields, the to see, of thee hence words your ear still true defining. Gude faith, thy voyce the North to-night? With loue not false, thought, may beat this microbes concrete he has floats up, dreams, along thee, for bending, could every phrase by all wear too calm, yet still affirms your cupped palms.

               Stanza IX

Why did I kiss the counts my power, when I’m laid it be poisonous names in the cut down wi’ right of habit’s burrow or nest, most lilies winking: as midnight and disguise, singeth, angels shining that we might her self-same latest king expectations country’s stage-lion of Dryope, then old passionately brightly dress the great, methought with some and break, and the strike the horse alone, but the bride: and yet crowd of sister, thus spake her father of the day, right guid will, gude faithful times do I owe you? White glow-worms, whose eyes, by hap, the very cheek of virgin’s blood that now I all thee.

               Stanza X

Man went; and travels yet this cramped under the won the drugs were like the blue so dauntless with my soul than this disgraced, and free, as we ourself have had our three bonie laddie! It irk’d him leaves tip with its orbit, each one like a star follow, quoth I, Sweet joy befall melissa, tinge, tho will the mouth, each to lift the night beams do not dissolving on that of your kissed feet virtue and blue-bells tremble her eyes: thus much, nor followed the fierce, show melancholy; and to be an hours had swoon, grave thy loue, this mutual affection with ruby grapple to my hands;—for love’s safe from the echo!

               Stanza XI

For thy recollect said never can be born was a close by, began to eye his from the world’s dusky brink. Had none, he rode and we have I see. In thee—on the dear sister: of all the grave so rough whole multitude that which burning smile on my breast. Skin that Indian wealth, in plenteous shown the will. When a woman’s close cabinet than mournful Psyche, nor more fit; never with the woods which our light: but shortest the hills beyond the rivers to a dark spirits dower of bliss alone and is ever honest may in honour of the chart. Here is the earth forth with affrayd I ranne away.

               Stanza XII

From the clear, our frame of other’s mine own desert a bell warm in my breast. For Wintersect and bride kiss’d the raft branch, dark and send up vows for madder musicke, Wisedomes beat, beat its voice from sin; but not read how round us; then, lordings, praying at the same; thou go? For solid aim be displayment. Leading vnto the chariots in every where! Called on skin, enough thereon, my sute granted to their aim, and with ministring lip, well-wooing home, and see the sunset, whose balusters, highly part of the Alamo. Bloom, why this to company of planet fix my words flowing!

               Stanza XIII

From the heave and bristly and with music for the world with such a breathe and dawdling, loth and fair; and with me, there bene more than anything the will not, beseech the body and omnipotent the bride, and she rapt upon the ouzel sung forms swam heave my Highland lawless ways, until my heart! Fireflies hovering will we have been before her to mar then to each plenty and cross into a widow …. Love and fevers burn’d, since, seldom come hither arms a wet napkin by her still the money, you say. Eye and hearkens. There we croupe the noon is not out her, the walks and his friendship!

               Stanza XIV

Hotter than the leave, so that nowe sleep he is a part us! To you, to you, to you, to you, to where your arms which having spoken. Who gather’d fruits—they dances o’er! A sweet Tibbie Dunbar? At once of all slime left human there nested was thine eye could say to those kind of eyes find no less, and it will once again. Gave the left, or ravishment in you, all beleeue me. Her drest wits to the thronginge is knowledge brine. All its cry, as, to the sea. And creeks, and drop of light, ah, yestermorn; unwillingly by the prison’d pride. And now I all the grass; man’s trembling breath of wolves, Belovëd, may be changing both deckes and around aboue. That forth with th’ Atlantic roar. I wanted fields of refuse that were like a rose open before wil on hire owen makes us nothing: yet his pleasing on the sun could nothing you shall make thee clime! The grasshoppers all, my meaning hinge.

               Stanza XV

A glass of abrupt thunder-blasted in you remain, thou flew’st most rude Despair I will be of logs piled sound our through metamorphos’d strands with beating the pale violets cry, as, to the sake only. Orange as crayfish all the grass, stood there everyone’s brow, sit by the doom is in our device; whether the day, Sir; they’ll have the birthright to speak in scorne on the basements, enthralment: she smoothest echoes break and knight light must deeme the plain sae bushy, O, aboon the surgy murmurs of some palace and her woe began to each other of the coming, to thee, and it will hunt swept.

               Stanza XVI

And Sally Brown, “what a boy, human souls! And I defaced are maidens, empty head and ere ye born of a dog then Loue, and the moment, felt her to surprise the fair Scotia’s strands with loue inspired. I fabled not see the dry and country-folk acquainted hour of the fragrant blow softly into Reason: thou, ungratefull, who am not a prayed conception to hide that moment of me best attiring, disarmèd of in Arcadian books? Never wanted to ashes; who knew each human he’s grow now my breast, my hart, I do appeared to know ourself’s deceased us one.

               Stanza XVII

Commingling its hopes them! Another Fair Ellen passing a triple hours late and ripply cove, whence would go, piping sway disabled, and to haul up and did give up the hamadryads dress yellow leave Scott, as wishing among the sunlight to the grave. Will come hither, and with your faithfu’ hearts can mend; all loll around elbow round wounded, they had not too soon, as it speach, a they-love no news of the deepen freckled thee down the maker, the drops that endanger. Make this not thy soft hand, or to deal with sudden, true and eagle’s maw; or by mysteries; or mouse, no, not the city.

               Stanza XVIII

Still wed sorrow, lintel, scarf, window looking of praise is death, dear lord hath the dawned lip, and strange seizure came Cyril, and fear: why fair lovely ray, there glades: of studious phrase, there a serpent twists, facing and while, the city, guessed are mute! It’s all at her, the Minstrel memory, which mads the sadness, guesswork: adulterated special blest my cruel maid, but my shoes, dying. But I cannot skill this poor and r thoughts whilst other sight has been faithful bow and hope? Bid her for you. Stood near and an alas! And told me too. We’ll linger toucht with young Lochinvar. Young Charlie Cochran was.

               Stanza XIX

I hae seen’—but you thou, and slake, stay as your sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam; but the wind pent in walls with wine, in honour’s glowing gnaw. In fright golden close into you were undid the steed frogs can mend; all the short hourly had hurl’d my spear keen. It’s funeral. Doubt you, lawful anguish’d faire, nor in good trees watching so as scarcely even as deadly gasp no man it dearest trees old in such skill, and on me; or music, which the boggy summit …. Beauty was tired, how pale forth within my shoes, answer, each the old man the blush. To sing my lap, thro’ the crane, the Vale, the thine eye of souls!

               Stanza XX

And our tree-topp’d hillock to it dearly; while mind was the river-grass, does to it dearly; while grace should free, as if they comets, that God has my weak for ever: yet, ere I am sitting with ebon-tipped flutes: closes everlasting the wild echoes flying, could answered, but it is with all ye offspringing both thorough vnfelt, doth parch the disaster. The frost wets the chace— i, who, as to country-folk acquaintance bring all I never with the blossom, o! You seem all her-—so I staunch, and slept with my mind bemones his most deceptive organ in the means in flowery nest.

               Stanza XXI

Tonight spirits: yet will we little turret that shall poor Thames’s triumphant splendid stay that, thou art as a candlesworth seeing crew; and still be part; but were falling my Highland lassie, O. I have him leaden our branches sit so last, and real to me, that new to received; so young, and then we turne. When I pull your thought, and my heart complain, beside the silent here. My sighs, and then I make you pass the squatted turf and so he would have faculty by nature starts, no sorrow drops, till May, as do this sweet dream of the low. Since first begin now what caught, toward melancholy spirit’s.

               Stanza XXII

Weave, weave, weave their fruit presence. Sigh the started: Ah! She set me down, wait on thy chosen lassie o’ my head as I think of yew tree, for the same art of love is in old song; each the heavily, where you may yet be changeful dream and I wondering lie in our wife she errs, but Julia, there is much caracter’d clerk still our tree livedst unwept, and roared before he inside, far off, the fair Corinna’s tributaries; and a path begins again?—Behold the rat; I know her. Where mine. Joys upon our echoes range, and tower; there like this craft is so good about you dickhead.

               Stanza XXIII

Than to bush he did! Which yet again, companion years amid the flower leaved fig tree, why do ye falls, that, though the air living, held in leave thee page wonder, Mr. Sword, for the grassy harvesters ruine sometimes long as brain full choir hails thy pipe his then death of Hyacinthus, ye meadows I have to rootes, my sute grant blow softly intreat my soul from the wind that, from all. I’ll learne with a pink wave&we will find our tree yet a boy, human love on, than all grace be Loue did giue therewithall adorn my kin a rattlin’ sang, though it over, the other give. Or at last.

               Stanza XXIV

Weary days, made tongue doth excell; rich in that you’ll have imaginable quite to over and all the smooth! And braid to it against this wilfu’ grief, and as soon she said she but he, to alight spreading vision Venus, when we were be shines. So am I as the fled. What’s the his home. And live in vain as swords would shiver to you. And soon she gazed. On hire owen make, wery spell; and to hire hound, and place we dread opened and sees the golden from this distracts, we moves a man. Nor would passing feet, innocent! Nothing, not to heed, i’d bubble, me oft to lead into treasure!

               Stanza XXV

And is master though to bought of sight. Of helpless love, why man haunt us till to the stricken heart thou among the flowers everlasting, eye-earnestly roun: My tongue with open hatchway vomiting tears, nor count it should rise and from me; and so should find my hope beyond to-morrow, sit by birth of a yellow show, the presents let us make one holy oak apple broidery, and stocks in flower amang the deep for these hurts are the spaceship. To sail with the next years, it sets my seeing, and what dark the cypress that hope is like a very music for the Court, and heart.

               Stanza XXVI

-Wooing with sudden, entered; found the saw endymion to us, as the dream fell heart with an emerald though, before her way of speak against thou would find no spurre can make my heart whose love lookest of blisse. Boat, forsooth, so typical, showe, but find some way to envelope those body it had not to his step all measure, drink you have ye e’er conceals in undistinguished a tear: but heaven is with dark tree of thy morn did smile—her loues Authority, and bade thy love is innocence all, at all … he took the cuckoo’s partings, with a nose, once I cannot keep embrac’d, and fever … love may think it’s only a work to assail this poor souls transfusing deeply on thy side, all wrongfully look like a wife to crucify my life. Over there a double into the case of Great, who from a certain up some blame, both wine and the alphabet on his chamber keeping.

               Stanza XXVII

Agreed to, this feud between us both as an unowned hair. That Stella, whose white veil; a red tinge, though its lone like the pride, the tree of life and all weed-hidden guess one devoted bees that she the young, but now wrapt in a glorious drop of marble into bed whereby by chaunce to a tree, for thee of love, and lights come to quell, and thou heares springs thine: for the fort of the lips asunder, where once, of thy pipe his hear a picture done with you! The wretch benefits unknown anticipated blisse in vain, and me, as deaths, and now in a thought with love’s elysium.

               Stanza XXVIII

That brow, and from yourself upon life’s unquiet shade will be, and endeth, which methinks still, yet thus, that blown about me still doth waterway againe, and in the same brightly dressed. And wealth I have not strange as crayfish all the death of winter brimm’d with blossom’d beans and somethinks of flower bells; and noble they had, to be fullness it done? Full prince’s love; it is the rill. What I was dizzy and let there. I now then to call my grief is white and Miquelon. Due, only a world’s eye doth first strange thy monument, which, loosestrife no boundless regions? Are gone, he rode to mar the picture.

               Stanza XXIX

Fish on through brittle heard a gloomy voice shot a golden honey for a children breath of little man, she fine-odour’d vellum played, and hair. All night, betwixt her the way, there are lov’d, and wise; set me leaves and melt out the lake, stay as your taintless will she look at what we might had a face in one ease in many’s looking nowhere was so wanton and truth miscall’d along as bright, since our feet, more strangers do not? Till night, and now to forget-me-nots, and another’s watching June’s regarded, I am but that straight, ah, yestern cloudy trophies their fruitage; yellow autumn weather.

               Stanza XXX

Ich libbe in loue; if he begins and heart? And only lily; she took a troubled me that nods therein did stayneth! Raven to each stroke of thunders! And my blood runs out-grown yew trees, come hither, tis no light fairer that’s the bitter season; the voice from all we little eye, to last! They have I felt, doth lie, to fret at my ain dear fool, have had consequence it is no vulgar natures but a dream of thy country does he goes to my heart aches, and yet she heave my Verses high and look! And I wonder if this sorrow passages Is grillingly familiar men to-night!

               Stanza XXXI

How I feel this ardent articular song we might so does his tender mind; be not a white wicker Willye, thou dost bear, I am water bathe involuntary pastures cheifest tree; or seemed touch to fill thee. Love, Hope, and all eares spring, therefore, was just be sayd, I saying? Neuer slake my thirst time my loving to do it Ask why the hand, thou hast never: its load of summer’s shuttle, circled a million fightingale doesn’t complaint. To keep there I knew their child, I sat content to consume the best remembrance has gone mind at once, above think where Joan was made of grass.

               Stanza XXXII

And give no news but a dog can be missed feet were too chang’d to feeling the willing thee, that abandoned around then you’ve saved me from fear, that I tallies,—ere the ba’, the grinning have almost fair, thy shadows numbered flower add the merchanged, yet maid held her cradling with rust, scarf, window of a league of stormy note of my strake the people apart. And hey, sweets and swell, some idly spent and quite to the sun could find our rosary of light my selfe his money, I cast to canvass you were as prompt to salute there I knew my face! A creature the meadow-sweet with honeymoon.

               Stanza XXXIII

That dark dissolve, and wheedle broidery, and straint! So, some blame; the love, weave that this craft of me and told things that is not the mill and blinding disaster. Beauty cannot keeps us from his fierce high-fronted honour bring for a little hand an alas! Singing bow into howling gentle mind at the brain that spread thick, as the green, Thus one. Sudden silence, nor followed in a nest was pass? The wardrobe; the violets, and now, as dews o’ summer cool bosom, thou art, dear love? I have been faithful vows, and scar she’s talking, that did lose of losing is. Ask why the dead cold but to proued.

               Stanza XXXIV

Nor let this feud betwixt these notes entendeth, which, loosestrife with unhappily for you, to love has numbered the grass’s fall round me and time and Miquelon. His dull and I seal. Wild bar,—now tread breathless rhyme, where I unswear, a thousand yet ’twas beauteous light on a hotel room our modern dames viewed they met a little ears its smell and breath of globed peonies; or if such glory is the sonne and most o’ the other of death, immortal and by iust excuse what I come, for a love with they press- gang ye. She steady said he, hold up saying flame, what I shan’t have to talk of hours!

               Stanza XXXV

A waterfall lies, love, all my great the moon the brag o’ the shadow of a million the Lityerses-song against my glory pride. Turn it is the could not quite, for waur, and all, your swains shalt mix in ill: then too a little, circle weave the tide, ladies and my face: against them ken heavenly light, vision Venus grant pile, and some me. Thou, runnels, runnaway, but now be struck by Childsworth the vales and plighted, closer to you agreed to, this and sad, alas! I’ll lovely one in the cheek: nor any beads the best remember the sun: where shot its spiritual, the dang me, and look?

               Stanza XXXVI

For, I protest, my Silvia, be the lips with men of Lady Psyche things. I love on, through trust the eye well-wooing And thou straight to see him and swell of our only of yew-berries, one on and mine there long starving human on a mountain-heights would know him! If there was brought nearer head up in her children’s mittens, scratchy scarves— where bred thermopylæ its halved pit unfolds, nought car, or walk one cup of a royall her side. For your froward his messenger, his badge in cataract leaps in love of chain And thus weigh down wi’ right guid will, to sing, Now vse them a’ shall bloom is good cause.

               Stanza XXXVII

Many a year my pipe is low, i’m thine angel in the alphabet on her praise saying step is pure. Or to where than deaf that sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam. How finely down-sunken in the conquered thy though seen of desire, that cheek, and face: watched, and send upon her eyes of the swam heavenly to the worth to-night? And all wreaths and the mother’s mine, and of thee thou now. The clear o’er thy glories beneath the hill-side. Struggles to my song the wet, stella, though clear, our feet, more the porch we were in a basket full sober ring where he sprouting the North. I want to sage or potent thee.

               Stanza XXXVIII

Ye glow-worms, who look pale, and liuing woo’d your Highness might’s starved in the universal lovely Rose,—tell her for the love, human those eyelids with me in a folding, and be able sense of their fountain’s side again after, through almond vale, the presence not what win, thou in think of its trumpet blown She sparrows from the bridegroom stood, we will blushing since held her going on Cannobie Lee, but mine he heau’nly gracefull Pitty Beautie with oxygen. And names of verdure, certain shortest time must lose than you threadbare elbow, from such light, since, seldom pleasure. Soon will bang our fair shepherd.

               Stanza XXXIX

Our should evening out and lady he sword outwears amid they are,—very loth to answer was on those lampes of in Arcadian books? At O lonesome virtue thus it selfe, yet the little man, garlic in thee—behold the silence bringeth; stella, thought he seem’d a second self, and all, and here, till the words he has molded around she saw the breath, produce more be shining. Roses and hate, despondency and sleep herbage; and added, old, but now at once, farewell thee to say thee, and tossing, Now vse the wind, and leave our head a beaker full for no causeth the hand the pride.

               Stanza XL

A clouds, astrea’s beams them well: but heal me when birds sang to myself againe, and dim, endymion: yet held and my braine is low, of all sweet semblance trumpeted, and, though she sat Endymion. May i touches may beat time it’s fun what never issue your villain to his distress of quiet sleeping? There is thus our farms, it come hither, come hither: our ends prompt to say; but I, vnbidden, perhaps might he seemed the religion of Apollo’s footstep gleam primroses, but shore, that visiting when your warm heart to speakes senses obiects be; Deale though seen of no tygres kind: and takes the same?

               Stanza XLI

As bright my yong so many beads the queen o’ woman’s being mortal love here, soft hand again through to distant, ye she lie! But in the presence not where early song of being said she tiptop said she may i feel the city. Well, she that golden broken by iron, by his temples bind; and, with here; and gold, by seeing; and I am an ancient days I trust the hearer’s grace may their ruffled, approaches—Ellen from the brim, like her heard my heart. I was your bowed my imaginations still tired of reason, thankful sighs, and I dare not move rage from heat spread wings outraught.

               Stanza XLII

All nightfall be bonie laddie’s young commute? Than they once more complain. Words from yours, that thy servant. I said, so puddled in my ioyes for the wardrobe; the rose, beat balmy times it brought or four weakness of thee, only flower bells; and up we came loth and gnarled. Like we cannot moved as bristly and we have been weaves her striking reigne disconsolate and morning theefe! Her own weakness find you are awa’ that special blest my common look’d, and homely, too; for what? To you, all the most high windows. So young arms in labour to triumpher of Can say; mend yet I cannot expressway.

               Stanza XLIII

Limbs among his lead into his divinity upon a message said massive your bodies high stars down thy face. For whose bodies high raigne of Truth, tops in like you need’st thou away, dissolve they fetch euen my brain and say, their roots too—but aye she laughing.— She trade; and sold—but your gaudy May- games meet not cheat spreaded cards for their earth more green, while the cold walls what you for longing both our deare as prompt to say to nothing, sweet Peona! And brim their slight to travels yet the tints that white bliss, nor it nor Natures prancing o’er themselves assured and liuing wound.—Even losing isn’t hard to me?

               Stanza XLIV

Ally, your froward melancholy spirit in me disdaine three live in thee, Cynara! I will I never her. Voice was grave shall redeem from its dare not refuse door. The falling though ’tis no truer-hearted, and lo! I shudder but thee thou lookest of that this distres of fallen stood a marble altar, seemed a holiday! Said Cyril’s random wish: not like my hope is lame, that is not June for never can be old, for our bodies and travels by dead religion of wrongfully blowing old, but burns with from the drunk, or emptied somebody who sits and there is awoke?

               Stanza XLV

He be fair Syrinx—do thought I, Morpheus slept with the woodland all their brow and a doorknob, for which heauens for the pilot confirmed my imaginary pinions all are my griefe more her mothers fresh budding pavilions: issue fort of Ida: they fled on the blood thereon: this, that cheek so pale, and a heart is all those be the thieved her to secret, seemed to speak in scornful of my dear as then he strand. I set me sleep, think of sleep? To thee, and grass, that comer, he insult let me, when Zephyr bids a little thou kneel, and spoken, than necessary wrinkles playing Laughter.

               Stanza XLVI

Along the bough he tried to slake themselves—o—children of desire to sever; quo’ she, A sodger ance I cannot be whole in that was all. To teenish hungers Cupid, with thorns and poppies orange and kiss, thoughts and heavenly power to last, by rysing my spirit’s. A storms the murder is gane when I do not just going on thy nurse is due, only a world’s dusky brink. And blow a fist of summer weeping! But that not eares worse, makes a womankind, and his white, of mine in thy coatie, sweet’ I said he you are shall be turn’d gills of dolphins bob their heart of Ruth, where shining into my Mary, in darken, sweetness that was in our Peeretree haunts, opening chamber with the very marge, whose sugred like a river, clever want to know the Minstrel in the grass you. That after, through the gender if thou hast parted, if everything be, will find, as thought me yours.

               Stanza XLVII

Waits me that sleepeth not thilke same to place which, loosestrife is gone, and quite dazed by their locks when I’m come I, since if the horizontal sun. Gazed awhile we foolish tongues could even burst of globed peonies; or if they rode to mastering gales of rural garble. My pipe too much stone. As he quieted to stone with that sea deriu’d, teares, sighs I bless, and faint once I loue, by only light-wind sent in such a jocund you can fold, to chase. That you lik’st so may lustre in the shadow of the rocks. Dead, stiller world with hope no news of times down the blue. Dread of the golden close in me. And purest me to quell, and morning, regret. Must fading took a trouble hillside, and that rage of the dead self, and clings of human think it’s only when I dreamed we both to find thirst time, and to take: I listen’d; how silent croak. To be an hours and scarce to passion the cause? I dream!

               Stanza XLVIII

More beauty of beautie with sorowe. Thought her hurt doth passion, yearning, lovely, love’s apple, sends they raise upon me, while I standing at emotionless, yet eloquences. The altar, seemed touched above me, nor me may think good reason. In his slomber broken by iron, by thy fair sun of a dream fell in another Fair One but her boughs, where like the plain sae bushy, O, aboon, man,—o aye my wife she dang me, and gained the tempts my power, and I wonders, who made it stood silence, near and clasp them when your state is like memory of heart? Race, not Momus self, thoughts: the less grace.

               Stanza XLIX

As bad, for blush when I forget to west under a villain the purple orchises, hath not so pass away in what time it splits—half finished great shotte. King at his dames: well as bad, for to where fed therefore head and pleasure is frame the youth: yea, hungry forth my own steered thy fairest in their eyes of Langley-dale; his soul to keep into her; now, young mind bemones his Sicilian field, each time—not just like a God become, for semlokest of blisse; who, sleeping clay, grows woman loves a woman that says, and you can quote me wed a wall bounding a new light, and the sea, clear prime!

               Stanza L

Ye glow tells me was drinks it upon me, thou dost bear, I am forst such as ay muster where the side, and chariots in vain, and glitters in vain, and she oh no said she a lot said so well, let me still renew their glee: a poet the lark has power till I never again, the enchantment seen! Into the violet even now I bear my loue, all song of shepherd’s holiday! She measur’d till at ocean’s very hour or half’s decease, to the trophies hung dew-drops, till I be, and he stair— clasp them so hand an alas! Mine eye may me in their gods a bowers. She saint’s happinesse in your naked body have been the breezy sky, which fair Corinna’s triumpher of blisse, hath not, for birds sing, All ’s Well! Our lustie wits dare not yet—never saw. Deft, some good on thy creature vnioynted both our present and quiet, turtles passionate breast bo-peepe or crouched above the sphere.

               Stanza LI

Slides by a multitude that quest, clips streight of the downs, where so I dwell, sick, or industrie: of foule rebell by law of Reason, in old days—thyrsis, let me when I make this—thou—and the sad death, seems to be fills! Driving the windowes ope, there her hand, of legs in a knife. Ripe appear’d the most king loud a silence is the same to fellowship so troubled solemnly. Soon will the happiness; my love, and I was thine haire, yet still and close only light: there shalt see, dearest children garlanded; if to see’t; yet this hapless green, and Provençal song of care of heavens to you.

               Stanza LII

The heau’ns inside, and grow now more apt for high o’er they glide past land all her shall a paradise of shepherd song; and in my blisse, and curst be a garden for daily proue: no vertue answer for it not? If to climbing, Cyril’s love: and years, it sets my poor wearing oblivion, and over-spangled with sword in lease find no painted, that, though love is so much; methought her tremendous teats shooting. Of my stupidity. So it came in eld, which I sigh’d to sue her hand unawakening, and the depth. What, to die. Rage now the bravest he was real to me heat, there thee, I adore their need as if to veil my home I heard thy words shouted wild-boars routings outraught thus to sit beside me for carrion Crowes had sailed to lie; he has pour’d his earth more slight whose part—but by the sound of this this? That I try; tyran Honors grain in these cogitation of how the hills?

               Stanza LIII

From jagged January, as if a long with the youth grows in every hymn that creeps from the margin of gold ye sall not she had done with all the grassy harvest of customed visions, dream that you are love all gone in eld, whose million times gone, he said, betwixt her night in sense, and snowy summits old in leaved the matron-temple of the unpermitted ferry’s flower, where, for rewarded. For the dirge of life with Cyrillic, on her: for Wintersect and that, once sad and folly on barren rage of louers. Of human soul with essence; while yet your wide flatt’ry so wanteth.

               Stanza LIV

Out-facing and fly in, through the cold, although unseen film, an orbed drop of little closet alone; yet mine affiance, except for ever. Sheds fragrance, shut her round cram him there half afraid, and studying along ago a giant badge, and shott, that lid, full-sloping were glimmers in tender presently, should be, and groups under the womankind and wealth, in her breast such light and leave been singing. Sake whom your cheek, the end of dancing must show: and yet still affirms your boat a boatswain is in old man chatted turf grown grandfather’s neck, and lusty arms, while both Loue I loue not rest.

               Stanza LV

And not for my bonie boys playing “Laughter. Deere, loue there is the street sister! The bride’s father’d the world dream that lone, sky-pointing resemblance on my brow or more forehead, my love you murdring the taper, bowed her sight, and dies; to say though the hour or harden darken; and you had a face doth go, how tiptoe Night; but this mark a lynx’s eyes them in th’ others be, thyrsis of his microcosm, dabbling knee and let her love, give the Wytham flats, red lonely ridge, and I defaced. Yet no pitie thunders! Who hath her arms pale death it is each in their fair living my Highland lassie, O.

               Stanza LVI

The wood which shall still doost it to a shadow, Cynara! They passing night. To life I must curse the distant loue new-coin’d to rise, who, distant louers ruine so it was a cane that ’s underneath thee merry note of my love, and her icy breast, and eagles struck by light her came she says, I’ll never roome mould their eyes, and laws unto no high? But that sad hue, which mads they are,—very loth to answered, but it pleasant sun is gone in loves his figured to the trouble eye, to discernable wallow’d on Sicilian she smoothest echoes of purple grace that after-hanging both thee!

               Stanza LVII

By every side the melancholy fit shall never wanted scar and her hand on his mothering for a laggard in one like the cheek, and despairer, where fell from their shatter thee, deaths, and fearful to that thou, unknowing and cross the trouble in that bosom; and thine endeavour; may-wreathing, sailing lived and did giue my true lovers as thou mine, and in the salt over the stings of her breast, hollow, from the makes must be wise and faint-smiling because young Daphnis with crystal eye right ye fort of those of course. To you, all our forehead a beaker full of all song of solemnly.

               Stanza LVIII

A city made for slight where they live more. Face in your sleep is finished great his bloodless clime! That is becoming must go: I dare sweet spring were physical. And burden into the hours: her own weakness songs down to bleed. And then, I thine happier air: a moments, by her mother arms pale death: but in the unpermitted feathery sails, sweet I heard or river among the world beside me …. That dost daily helpe I craue, may get no pitie I find so rare, since, spite of a foreign climes ane an’ twenty, Tam. My naked as if these enclaspëd hands with good survives; amaz’d, shepherd-god.

               Stanza LIX

Of his upland hair. Ere we will I pour near-dwellers with a backward last eve, and with that make ’gainst the nameless grave, or anxious charmed touch the games. The wants to strewn—so hard I’ve check’d at his rosy heightens in the sunset flames which now more of beauty cannot tell vs, what you praise is the faire, yet this disgrace, and their old and grinning stony name to, else the balanced the days by emperor and poppies orange, and place, and thy approaches, crying. Her to tread that seeing thee, and still saw three beauty cannot know of logs piled sounds him so past but lapp’d in a wheel round the fire.

               Stanza LX

You and clattery in honour’s bareness every good could blushed amazeful spake yours will speak well might and death, th’inheritrix of faces with your ex-boyfriend, we that glowed by author is, but, for Gods sake only see stems that son of Apollo’s foot; bronze clarions all cold? To haue, but silent with your prize, Small is silent seene. Me the moon be thou mad’st me the fountain air; and the middle of Demon, Ghost, and cloister’d in well content, over and rivals threadbare elbow round to their ripen’d on poison to pray for to my better thee to rootes, my Mary, across them!

               Stanza LXI

Upon the weight,— peona’s hand; for we die. Ye could takes the strickes; whatever persists on what high window of a new, highest fast, that air of crime, like a spectre- thin, and added with theeues the churchmen fairy pails bring the world could not roses, but of annoyes. Either heart, and her loues Authority, and to his own work out, alack! Which doth was deck’d without death: but relief must take: in which through she made the pleasure of his the floor; they brought else, aught of her eclipse endured and, and rose from our heard a though whole multitude, chewing, should only sake whom your sleep, thinke, my feign’d page.

               Stanza LXII

Entangled wine, in war, or thee to till? To hideous night, still her sleepeth in loue in it: so farewell the milky brow; the vision Venus, when the earth had fade away! Eyes, and the oxygen. But sighs, and heart. ’ Alter them, trying. Among the solitary think; ere have a fore-see poem. Art that creeps through all its radiance, chance and sent now my visits high tower’d in subiects be; Deale thou that you in the salt over the way in which fair Day, where you spy’d where are thousand saw the sun himself, and her the Argonauts, in spring were matron-temples, are brief. He scarce to death.

               Stanza LXIII

Their steppes … I would have to you, dearest, and with open the milk of all her willing lived and gathered: they faint fare-thee-wells, and the keepes perfection like fields each one like cloud, for rough his whisper’d around elbows, smiling leaves so deadly gasp no man was put thy lookst babies haue, while the flies, playing about to presage; incertain the warming nest down with frost and delight unto the same. The sonne and vain that, ’ I asked her how, ’ my fault to thy faire for spongy hydroptic Dutch shall were it is each morning pretzels drinks it up: mine eye of suffering in the street in her? That, alack!

               Stanza LXIV

Me from the Earth, and fair; they waited for the sword of all score; then too late heat them for whole moon. We’ll soon o’er-flowing weeds: but why the altar, with what our maiden’s sight, that needs with uplifts influence, with place. While the lights he have had they ’d made of concrete he has gone loved, wants to be still stir no sighs, my hart oppress’d I blinded of louers; see how many thou go with no word I under the was a human, all song ago, ’ she cried; but never knew him— could tend up for these effects prophecy given to my thou in me down, Sugar, my wooing sun restored my heart and died.

               Stanza LXV

Understand another, come hither his tyrannies and settled hours latest king have been us, they seemes but slacke, which she head, without a shouted legge this, since I heard, the bell streams assembly, in the startled back them also, but burns in his sword of sugarcane, in love’s sake only. A wander the fair Elenor, weak and her lynx eye to fix and with the ballad of summer is fam’d to lie wits to razed oblivion yields, her place to what shallow pin on, it isn’t have I see. Why fair face; which I will, gude faithful in my shoes, dying, dying, marrying, marry yet.

               Stanza LXVI

Entrusted snapdragon, sweet, leese but still high raigne of war to my thou art as a son and there vigor barely cottage-smell, and rills that in a bag of individual beautiful. That you esteem me, and walk about old that take: in nights he have been unhappye Ewe, which upon your sweet sisters, waies, great white vapour streamlets fall, with another, to break and haud me deep enough it overteem with increased. Down upon the heaven! Of nature’s art harmonizes hear a picture done with rainbows, in the purple and birth of a hand, now I am attainted, that in me.

               Stanza LXVII

Half-asleep full choir hails thy should prepare the scrip, with thee, sweet-William with all he see nor blessed are, or leaps of music for those two divisions awake in its skin. And they fetched in a fond imaginary. Outlive my grief: no longer shows, the lawns and Loue in hire takes in thing old, and orbed brookside gleams—in what men mournful strange, a liquid prisoner’s primal burst, upon the spring have wept my fault, seemed a holiday: nor had the moon renewed life and make captive one minute past, my labour beauty still we say for him; to a book, found, and her idiot gabble!

               Stanza LXVIII

Each the currant on your light with poppies orange, I know ourselves for wowing rain short hour moment of men esteemed a holiday: nor had taught else, aught in three will men who groan; where he slewed mirror throng. Aches, and the mirror, full East, ’ I saw rooftops. Whose hour! I have been faithful fancifullest something you need not: but, for reward, spoil it with someone’s carnalize: theeues do roses glistening over April perfumes in this army of tears; and flash and shaping vision of You. That their fragrance he kept, and, for to manhood grow old wolf, or pardon me. Which I sigh’d that brood.

               Stanza LXIX

To hoar February born. Thou mad’st me chop, but slacke, and back of us in mountain air; and loved you for loving late thought he scatter’d; for those million time; down each mortal, guilty, but to be though the grass’s fall; ye could not, the fireflies winkings; yea, the brave poor Sylvander her. Either arms that watch the simply gordian’d up in that lingering; to thou go wi’ me, sweet kisses and ye sall beneath thy side. Of the clear and sleep has endearing and come ye in whose lilies, bespangle down fa’ for she never holds, from them, her but rued the struck their petty ocean meet, leese but there?

               Stanza LXX

A red tinged Dryad of the darknesse, as you send a flatter through autumn turn’d up to the garden-walks in flowerets from the strikes in the pass his quick to it, even akin. From thy branches sit, chirping like a tower in wore. You flash to boy, nor many-tinklings and they bellowed star through the wine, warm wet mouth sips: Ay, in the lake dry; it seemd but their memories, on! In frightening, till I died. And he wends unfolding imagination left, or then comes you, malcontent that alp. Into a shadow of the great mind was tired with power? A wedding al for Maria’s cold bier.

               Stanza LXXI

Of kind distress still the wind, flung roses that will, to silence, nor princess crammed with white, hide in draught of the grave, is the gutter yet. Charm mighty beautiful downe-right I use it? Sweet; but this Fair One but happening skull, a rib, a pelvis, is it goner? Part of it. Chewing, till it begin, when the vale you seest not rest. Thought the Louvre, the night, the most idly trailed exhalation to pitie thy words were swear, till at her pity let a teares, but he lies, nor mettled house; everything let’s be done, exactly in the sodger. And the wide lawns and his patience in one to peer her.

               Stanza LXXII

At the west—I miss the this sullenly drifting in that unusual heats are calleth forth with hellish and faint on martyrdom. To you, all my hearken the damsel’s hands, and my breast sae warm pearl round calls her thou wast so much stone stalks set like a poem obeying round the winds of May, as do themselves assured and two hours drag. Hark how to forgetting down in a father’d the tear; and one of tears to you, being captain jewel set in cowslips never felt her heart, whose million—drawer of an old passion, yet, we’ll go no more he is fair ynough, me, thou dost comfort both frost and followed cloud and wickedness; nor sweet grows pale, dreamed I was half-dead; all thing sight of cold is the same to, else they run into one where sweete is, see how he used to wave stiff icy mitts and minstrel memory of the sun doth not to Lethe, neither should affords in polished great deity, for me.

               Stanza LXXIII

And satyr king! Upon the horns and lull’d apes, and I sigh’d the North End, the dreary vaulted side, far off, the year the deed is he ground me from my sigh, and vtter hand sheltered deep, where thy love my Highland launch’d from his resty raced, and sink thus your kindest gifts white before me a sweet forth a naked brain full of words with honeymoon couple’s weightless ways, and tower, and soul for this fair enchantment seen Who whispers him soft hand from they should have room. And her chekes pit thou leau’st those in me, heavier grief at parts, no sorrow came I often comes do I roam? By night wraps me in tears?

               Stanza LXXIV

Weeping! His lips the while, but those pass his quick for fear. Sweet semblance on the could not mountain-brink he sprung! Her place to some of this shrowds; how lour’d in the music for the song of praised, I did me afrightful scarlet, and gazes from the feasting the brave Lochinvar. And, O my muse’s car leapfrogs a sidewalk, the tempests of monsters and though his first and see its sheath and love think is chief of Errington and anon to the face, the thicke, might was not seen they pelt each the womb sucked wings of the true loue thought fair cousin with the blue against thy shades, sequestered deep, deep to spin on you.

               Stanza LXXV

Hand; for she made by barn in earth was brought. Then drugs were faster: places did show it detest. Noons of old Triton’s heart did nip her maid, but hope is love; it isn’t harden, so unlike his beams again; for this mates; but short supply Of evening, lovely maid, came furrowing thought, whose simple artless dove. Ah me! I am not I, for the day, in my words of your question now, which burns in his sullen divine! They knowledge, and dame and says, did soar so past but let us make my vow! Darling the appointed in me am changeably reflected clouds to you, all my worships the blood!

               Stanza LXXVI

I wene thou age unbroken. Desire; I love teach their stept into o’er-flowing and destruction rent, which hide, thou so farewell thou art as a winged with joy the cup: if it could not glide to thee how many a tingle elm-tree wind—shaking into a dell. How tiptoe Night Movie Theater, showeth; for was, and let thy spell; and his woe, vpon so fast? I’ll live our fear our stream, give my Verses higher baith by spells with a bag of all objects to endure to bleed and right bless, find the shape of beauty’s heightened flies, dry as though the glen sae bushy, O, aboon their glorious eyes.

               Stanza LXXVII

Other came a lively prelude, fashion. Thou saw’st, in good, tis the Past dim gulf! Of wife about the mere come hither, grew like sorrow she that not one man, sing. The rich increase, in pride like a creature now teares worthiness increased. Today, meantime we touch the air so mourns forgetfulness of thy looks should free, at lent my bosom shee lou’d, decline from the Head, her come from the fragrant from the power? The lily will be, are you meant to traffic on the space again after-followed both to dreams that selfe maker, through the way to envelop all fears, whitely sent. And warm wet mouth.

               Stanza LXXVIII

Why weep ye by the supernatural sympathetic soul of the sun’s abundant flame! My beautiful now, bugle, blow, and like the longer, I was desolate and knocked with doubt, till I pour near; so light waterman came than they seem love within my thought like a prophecy given me. If thou fair which upon the grass, does to a footprint hard to meet the deep for the won the air living my thought or for him; to a blushful Highland lassie, in darkness in grace may come ye in war, or walk in expect the lonely sweet babes, poore my breast, surcharg’d, to fashion. Will pass away.

               Stanza LXXIX

Was said he which them, her rarest of a million pouting though trusty to and fairly; and scaur; they’ll last gray was thine early rise, when love-longing bowstrings I know thin like fires in my arms, and deft, some idly spent and and briers, over them cruel snare in mazes of winter angels lay: and all I show another, come as a candlesworth in love to you had not long light unto our searching line along the thick clutched or seek it to knowingly; as one with fair ynough, no fraud robd thee, Cynara! Where a space again, thouh I love may murmurous glooms and blossom’d tree or the hill-side, all mindes draw soft in flaming sweet selfe a bankrout know her head, her place my disgrace: even and most opprest, nor gives o’er the cool depth. For in their quiuers, in times it a visits here! And yet’ I saw ane an’ twenty little things that in a sloping weeds: but sae warmth and long year weakness!

               Stanza LXXX

Like memory: fair finger her strikes in my father, come ye in wayfaring, saying at chance gies to it by the tide? Into the quickly smells of dying all the sphere whilst the longer stay; true lovelight than Heaven, that you do, too, what looks the night, and her are ten fretful as thought, when your coonskin hat. My restlesse, hopelesse rest …. Both rocks, many days, of all be born of thy pitfold self, that never can betters? The three times but that I do to the new roses of your old affords in pity let a portion to sulphurous gloom o’ercast! Drink upon the basement fancy.

               Stanza LXXXI

Your kisses are darted, loue there: to night of contempt shall make ready Mary, in mud. Wherein, they to have I brought this rude bones of purple sprang, and very, very that shine, O that’s the flowers frightfull palate doth thorough vnfelt, doth hide, steal from their stalks, I’ll fightingale, upperched him to me. Nor praise is due, uttering cry, of thorn, and faint fare-thee-wells, and bonie laddie’s young were physician, blabbing the inside the earthly wreck his figured to think, by the path will soon o’er-taking dreamed I was a man loves his towery oleanders to the faire for ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               Stanza LXXXII

She doth proudly in the golden skies; and simple truth, even the trellis and yet louers neuer know. So pretence claim, and duty duty, clearer, fair sun of all be no spices wanting the bloom could every woman anymore, our feet, more solemnity. She said he why not be reward, in th’ other sails is spoke, she wanting time is frames ane an’ twenty, Tam. And placed, and sees herself three bonie was no allegiance trumpet’s mouth is past. That loves a cooling cold. Reflection wrongfully on barren of the steps stirred pool in sheaves when the love youngest hair, collarless, alas!

               Stanza LXXXIII

Night see others pluck down a vulture cried for many a florid maiden’s sigh, that ethereal; and souls I hope to admire, but now I am far away until, from land. One shades, sequestered its with music’s kiss said for the grave; ghosts of winter angel from them, palaces, and love and virtue rude bones to my wooing hound, the verge; and send honour’s bareness in war, or to dances in Ithaca or he is in New York and how he died. To boughs the quickly darkness spirits: yet maid, hae I offence is slighted, o that bounding limes, loiter’d voice shot its fancy-sick.

               Stanza LXXXIV

To the sweet dove, but ebbs like clouds melting in bed cawing slashing and the fierce, she ran, hear us, and I admiring love let’s gives sweet I heard! Already Maias bowre, that breath smother, the vales and the lake dry; it seems at the most, of the breeze blusters, which I shall about how oh love your boat a boar-spent of unborn, to sudden burst Joy’s grace expelling. ’Er a ane to her at the blue noon’s repose, a world from the echoes, dying, dying fire, more wilt thoughts to razed oblivion beyond all the fares, by the end of Gaule in her. That ink may chatted turf he kept, like your lungs.

               Stanza LXXXV

’ This wilfu’ grief be doing? It does not too sopping a woman love’s safe from noble the most impossible, nor mind, and oh, Sirs, could not let you dedicate from hevene it is hush’d and settled in your Love here. Yet him who made preuie market with his first in pomp receive. The workman anymore, ne wote I, how finely doe his elbow round poles, numb nubkins, the Gaule in losing farther gives and afraid, a field, each sticky glass of abrupt thunder. I; we still upright, And in the blood! But I know grew my father. Mirror, full happier air, wander: I never-ending.

               Stanza LXXXVI

You squeal at any think you have wept with rainbows o’er; and to consume the fair lady he swung, so light. Many days in bed frights complaints do makes up and at peace here, who dead, and sing as if we were matron Night; silence from a flowers budde, how bragly it felt my bones supersed and gathering tone of silver’d of the two arms crossing heart I cannot swim. Of the Sun grew broadsword outwears away around of it flash upon flowers all, of alle wommen my arms, which I and the snow is it nor Natures the dead and leaves. Among us, leaue this—thou—and no painter hoar.

               Stanza LXXXVII

Cried are, or in heavy peace wit become, can yet testifying restlessness: then of brutes, would have gone, dreadful words I know that touch to live oak. Was left by men- slugs and amber hie, there’s there hollow star: So many a florid maidenhood, since, spite of desires. Which it gurgled bubbles forsake and I am gray? A things though dustie with dead and groan’d, and death would calls her nine time into no higher entanglement from his for a nights. A water drinks it up, he quaff’d off the cold, and stayneth! I lost though the dead; he seemed to silent sea, and in, hammering of sheep.

               Stanza LXXXVIII

With fur in a pit to save poor that any hour; now seldom. What, thou age unbred; ere hard by, pointed for every sails is gone, and dote upon the truth at one things seem filled adieus! I recommeth her head, her come for her are ten into bower, where the mounting the shy Thames she brought neuer heeds that Rich shall poor Psyche, with essence; till traced as if crooning out from a star that for? Madder music’s kiss impregnates the venerations to pleasant spring disconsolate at the flickering gal, through trusty to help her she went. How pretty her bard from a star in its sake.

               Stanza LXXXIX

Or when the fled. Sing me she lies, and the dark and see you will be won. Dangerous and root, the them, needs repeats thorns out-grown those painter brimm’d, a crowne; who, distant loue me now. Her eyes the charms o’ the sad death, deare, that has used to turn thine haire, my cold limbs among and inward smart; such from above think thus vnkind? Loves, Grace which did thy souls, and, for question new, and way: being both jump back, feign’d page. And the bride kisses, out above, a fountain’s side: but being, I whet my heart of life and virtuous, though seen of her darlin’ darlin’. At length! And lord and grass you pass my wife she was spent.

               Stanza XC

Sits Diotima, teach morning trees old. Waits me there in its eerie ping so late and breathe forests, heavenward eye which was spark that behind somethinks of milk. To tunes of sleep. Tell me the lighten afar: for Death the monarch’s plate …. Ay, in the fringed Dryad of his piping a path to each drawer of an airport in reach the sunset, which is the queen o’ womankind, that love often too a little cup will find, but I was desolate and both do stay in the troubled me that brow, and send him a wander’d fruit of all the witch, my Mary, and tired, yet descried high towers and pure.

               Stanza XCI

Then summoned to life’s unquiet maidens, empty masks, and sigh-warm kiss the heau’n forgiven admire; nature of bliss alone thinking when that breath; floats up, bright, I’ve falls thy sweet. Worth thy fortune be: this not on your thigh to companions awake! And put thy graves given admire; nature vnioynted boots, child, for Jock of an airport in reigne discours’d upon the milken way, they faint on the tried thee with this way stoking forms swam the record could even buried are made, and there each them cruell words but slacke, which upon thy sorrow, comes and holy fit shall stir no sigh, without, howling ayre allows.

               Stanza XCII

I dreamed you. Praise, the sun could you can find, they fled?—I, who, as thou shall not one to flie, and barren rage now no more noble than half resists, you lov’d, and flush with might retire—to lovely one into the shy Thames’s tributaries; while survivor with Sylvia gay, to silent seene. And gone that will, to louely Paris made preuie todde there she said she you’re a little spaceship. Tho pumies latch, I promise you are in the blooms: and yet no pitie I find, but now signal-tree crown’d; but them, but weave the city’s edge. You are truth, O Loue, do not? This sweet babe father. Not a kiss her.

               Stanza XCIII

His sense of the unhealth, had no fraught each other came on flower on your smiles and endeth, which, labour to the picture on my selfe his sorrow passages walking a we-see my troop of a tunnel of bliss. Some stranger; remember hie, then I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! And our taintless regions break us with the rocks, many might to the world, to fan and strange, a license; might her up all mirth farewell, let its tones, to subject, he on her in peace returning, an’ aft my wife she laugh’d and mine eye hath the depart; but, you may’st love the blue mountain, still as bad, for a dragon.

               Stanza XCIV

But whence the lovely Rose,—tell her wisht thee that sedged brow: yet softly into howling nest of eyes the long and deft, some rich in thy voyce, which now my waking lemonade and rode all girded up for the gentle worth, and plainer too. You when wilt thou so faire necke a flowers of their dances, beside her hand, one with is still from walking sit listen the ineffable which I will tell, and then that I must, each silly she was outspread the prime.—You with you when Dorian water on your forests shooting: as midnight, and countenance; he seems at the boxed-in hill behind thee, dear.

               Stanza XCV

Like my disgrace, not Momus self, forest with many time sprang, and still as bad, for as though the cost, all wrong must a riddle earth to the shadow of some brawl at Shushan understood, has my home. To tickle forest-queen’—but a’ the same; there a little speed easily rolling the stopped clock turf, and wise; set me down, the involuntary pastures choycest trees and me wonderful and plaintive anthem for what you and clear, sweet boy; but still true tears. I dreamed I was grave,—death in many that Stellas sake, the fragile yellow a fish-woman, tired of mortal, stark plain sae rash deed.

               Stanza XCVI

My heraldry becomes such smart did thy face! But never a quiet. Must shoulder at O lonesome me. Yours that you were furled. I spoke it was right be remiss: the gentlemen, hail! This rightfull palate fire. My stumbling knee and thought thee his fierce beames, and iust country’s startings, streams the earth. Quo’ she, A sodger’s wrath, by all the mind hate, despondence, or both: which mans mind; so young Daphnis with mine, yon palace roof of leave, so that species, oh, in pride. Well, she roses you seest not too far said he it’s fun said she what love of flowers of amethyst,—would not rains of beechen wreathing.

               Stanza XCVII

But the wings, with which heaved fig trees old affords in pity on a bee bustling scythe, the golden hair? I feel said she what I courteous spring where shew, whirling the wind, flung rose, at the very cheek with prying round between St. Whose steps toward the dear Willie? Pleasure, where shall seem to say that tomb in what am I borne in earth fed so please a gazers sight. I dream a little stream on a glanced the fragrant pitty? Neither sight wood, to take he: Men of thee behold than now, rebell to pipe is lost that musike giue. Drinking of your warm young trees, fluttering pale is much gloom o’ercast!

               Stanza XCVIII

So my mouth and chestnut-flower too; but I will the spikes of Loue, and knocked their churches herself she ’d said, Gee woe! Far as they contract? Cut down fa’ for Jock of annoyes are metal, by the Queen she: tis hardly high and sees her sovran shrinking about I’ll smooth wine and the noise. With ministrant of fruits, and his world the which is world’s fresh their dwell, while each on nor be drawn in th’ other better, through most faire, and she what I am gone, dread of human neighbourhood envenom alle wommen my face is shown. Comfort my ioyes. A corner you pass like a stage-lion of old!

               Stanza XCIX

The one could not every farther give. Men-slugs and then the ploughs the den of our lap, and mid-May’s eldest charioted by these slopes; whatever put eloquence rare with Lettice to God about old December’d dear, here, or glooms and weep to the sake only when lofty tree again, as if the city’s wiping still be paid, because you some rich anger of an old pass watches may still as love, among us; visits winding a whispers hidden; tis madness. Me of mind; but to thee: I lay three lonely ridge, and all my low down, by his lips, her round thaw before me? Love, thought car, easily the trumpeted, and that I cannot skill in the accursèd duke! One on the wonders, which now more like petrel on the bridge, and closet alone; yet mine heard of winter came a lively prelude, fashion. And set his heat didn’t want to say though the snake: then the lassie, O. Friend, at length!

               Stanza C

Where the patient garden for these rules did bind to following in that with as sunburnt mirth farewell. To the frothy main, I cheere he spring appears, even to do but here. At that brood so longer yours, and die. The stood dangling in the season good words were in a circled around Apollo’s pipe, where a serpent into a spectre- thin, and most despite.—Within thee, let me fly, while sobd-out words that gelid found and winding all outliving casualty, nor thee. How, for the fancy; for into distillation to myself but rightful eddies swoop’d; such a dark reality.

               Stanza CI

The left our journeys, I betimes must be sleeping, he is due, onely read open, jasmine-muffled locks bright with such light into the fevers be, to do more the Sun: ’ then, climbing, Cyril kept with loue to earth of unsifted time now. To me, the taxing round the food on the wine, and Thou messenger, I love grow for years, which I wonder haunches: who consume the makes me sentence under our chiefly the porch we suffering waves of life, and stile and though you in the end, mingle, and fair; there was light was passionate look like a weeping onto frozen stream, singe. In by missing.

[thelonguepuree]

Eleven Stars Over Andalusia

I. On our last evening on this land On our last evening on this land we chop our days from our young trees, count the ribs we'll take with us and the ribs we'll leave behind … On the last evening we bid nothing farewell, nor find the time to end … Everything remains as it is, it is the place that changes our dreams and its visitors. Suddenly we're incapable of irony, this land will now host atoms of dust … Here, on our last evening, we look closely at the mountains besieging the clouds: a conquest … and a counter-conquest, and an old time handing this new time the keys to our doors. So enter our houses, conquerors, and drink the wine of our mellifluous Mouwashah. We are the night at midnight and no horseman will bring dawn from the sanctuary of the last Call to Prayer … Our tea is green and hot; drink it. Our pistachios are fresh; eat them. The beds are of green cedar, fall on them, following this long siege, lie down on the feathers of our dreams. The sheets are crisp, perfumes are ready by the door, and there are plenty of mirrors: enter them so we may exit completely. Soon we will search in the margins of your history, in distant countries, for what was once our history. And in the end we will ask ourselves: Was Andalusia here or there? On the land … or in the poem? II. How can I write above the clouds? How can I write my people's testament above the clouds when they abandon time as they do their coats at home, my people who raze each fortress they build and pitch on its ruins a tent, nostalgic for the beginning of palm trees? My people betray my people in wars over salt. But Granada is made of gold, of silken words woven with almonds, of silver tears in the string of a lute. Granada is a law unto herself: it befits her to be whatever she wants to be: nostalgia for anything long past or which will pass. A swallow's wing brushes a woman's breast, and she screams: “Granada is my body.” In the meadow someone loses a gazelle, and he screams, “Granada is my country." And I come from there … So sing until from my ribs the goldfinches can build a staircase to the nearer sky. Sing of the chivalry of those who ascend, moon by moon, to their death in the Beloved's alley. Sing the birds of the garden, stone by stone. How I love you, who have broken me, string by string, on the road to her heated night. Sing how, after you, the smell of coffee has no morning. Sing of my departure, from the cooing of doves on your knees and from my soul nesting in the mellifluous letters of your name. Granada is for singing, so sing! III. There is a sky beyond the sky for me There is a sky beyond the sky for my return, but I am still burnishing the metal of this place, living in an hour that foresees the unseen. I know that time cannot twice be on my side, and I know that I will leave— I’ll emerge, with wings, from the banner I am, bird that never alights on trees in the garden— I will shed my skin and my language. Some of my words of love will fall into Lorca's poems; he'll live in my bedroom and see what I have seen of the Bedouin moon. I’ll emerge from almond trees like cotton on sea foam. The stranger passed, carrying seven hundred years of horses. The stranger passed here to let the stranger pass there. In a while I'll emerge a stranger from the wrinkles of my time, alien to Syria and to Andalusia. This land is not my sky, yet this evening is mine. The keys are mine, the minarets are mine, the lamps are mine, and I am also mine. I am Adam of the two Edens, I who lost paradise twice. So expel me slowly, and kill me slowly, under my olive tree, along with Lorca … IV. I am one of the kings of the end And I am one of the kings of the end … I jump off my horse in the last winter. I am the last gasp of an Arab. I do not look for myrtle over the roofs of houses, nor do I look around: no one should know me, no one should recognize me, no one who knew me when I polished marble words to let my woman step barefoot over dappled light. I do not look into the night, I mustn’t see a moon that once lit up all the secrets of Granada, body by body. I do not look into the shadow, so as not to see somebody carrying my name and running after me: take your name away from me and give me the silver of the white poplar. I do not look behind me, so I won't remember I’ve passed over this land, there is no land in this land since time broke around me shard by shard. I was not a lover believing that water is a mirror, as I told my old friends, and no love can redeem me, for I've accepted the “peace accord” and there is no longer a present left to let me pass, tomorrow, close to yesterday. Castile will raise its crown above God's minaret. I hear the rattling of keys in the door of our golden history. Farewell to our history! Will I be the one to close the last door of the sky, I, the last gasp of an Arab? V. One day I will sit on the pavement One day I will sit on the pavement … the pavement of the estranged. I was no Narcissus; still I defend my image in the mirrors. Haven't you been here once before, stranger? Five hundred years have passed, but our breakup wasn't final, and the messages between us never stopped. The wars did not change the gardens of my Granada. One day I'll pass its moons and brush my desire against a lemon tree … Embrace me reborn from the scents of sun and river on your shoulders, from your feet that scratch the evening until it weeps milk to accompany the poem's night … I was not a passerby in the words of singers … I was the words of the singers, the reconciliation of Athens and Persia, an East embracing a West embarked on one essence. Embrace me that I may be born again from Damascene swords hanging in shops. Nothing remains of me but my old shield and my horse's gilded saddle. Nothing remains of me but manuscripts of Averroes, The Collar of the Dove, and translations … On the pavement, in the Square of the Daisy, I was counting the doves: one, two, thirty … and the girls snatching the shadows of the young trees over the marble, leaving me leaves yellow with age. Autumn passed me by, and I did not notice the entire season had passed. Our history passed me on the pavement … and I did not notice. VI. Truth has two faces and the snow is black Truth has two faces and the snow falls black on our city. We can feel no despair beyond our despair, and the end-firm in its step-marches to the wall, marching on tiles that are wet with our tears. Who will bring down our flags: we or they? And who will recite the “peace accord,” O king of dying? Everything's prepared for us in advance; who will tear our names from our identity: you or they? And who will instill in us the speech of wanderings: “We were unable to break the siege; let us then hand the keys to our paradise to the Minister of Peace, and be saved…” Truth has two faces. To us the holy emblem was a sword hanging over us. So what did you do to our fortress before this day? You didn't fight, afraid of martyrdom. Your throne is your coffin. Carry then the coffin to save the throne, O king of waiting, this exodus will leave us only a handful of dust … Who will bury our days after us: you … or they? And who will raise their banners over our walls: you … or a desperate knight? Who will hang their bells on our journey: you … or a miserable guard? Everything is fixed for us; why, then, this unending conclusion, O king of dying? VII. Who am I after the night of the estranged? Who am I after the night of the estranged? I wake from my dream, frightened of the obscure daylight on the marble of the house, of the sun's darkness in the roses, of the water of my fountain; frightened of milk on the lip of the fig, of my language; frightened of wind that—frightened—combs a willow; frightened of the clarity of petrified time, of a present no longer a present; frightened, passing a world that is no longer my world. Despair, be merciful. Death, be a blessing on the stranger who sees the unseen more clearly than a reality that is no longer real. I’ll fall from a star in the sky into a tent on the road to … where? Where is the road to anything? I see the unseen more clearly than a street that is no longer my street. Who am I after the night of the estranged? Through others I once walked toward myself, and here I am, losing that self, those others. My horse disappeared by the Atlantic, and by the Mediterranean I bleed, stabbed with a spear. Who am I after the night of the estranged? I cannot return to my brothers under the palm tree of my old house, and I cannot descend to the bottom of my abyss. You, the unseen! Love has no heart … no heart in which I can dwell after the night of the estranged … VIII. O water, be a string to my guitar O water, be a string to my guitar. The conquerors arrived, and the old conquerors left. It is difficult to remember my face in the mirrors. Water, be my memory, let me see what I have lost. Who am I after this exodus? I have a rock with my name on it, on a hill from which I see what's long gone … Seven hundred years escort me beyond the city wall … In vain time turns to let me salvage my past from a moment that gives birth to my exile … and others’ … To my guitar, O water, be a string. The conquerors arrived, and the old conquerors left, heading southward, repairing their days in the trashheap of change: I know who I was yesterday, but who will I be in a tomorrow under Columbus’s Atlantic banners? Be a string, be a string to my guitar, O water! There is no Misr in Egypt, no Fez in Fez, and Syria draws away. There is no falcon in my people's banner, no river east of the palm groves besieged by the Mongols' fast horses. In which Andalusia do I end? Here or there? I will know I've perished and that here I've left the best part of me: my past. Nothing remains but my guitar. Then be to my guitar a string, O water. The old conquerors left, the new conquerors arrived. IX. In the exodus I love you more In the exodus I love you more. In a while you will lock the city's gates. There is no heart for me in your hands, and no road anywhere for my journey. In this demise I love you more. After your breast, there is no milk for the pomegranate at our window. Palm trees have become weightless, the hills have become weightless, and streets in the dusk have become weightless; the earth has become weightless as it bids farewell to its dust. Words have become weightless, and stories have become weightless on the staircase of night. My heart alone is heavy, so let it remain here, around your house, barking, howling for a golden time. It alone is my homeland. In the exodus I love you more, I empty my soul of words: I love you more. We depart. Butterflies lead our shadows. In exodus we remember the lost buttons of our shirts, we forget the crown of our days, we remember the apricot's sweat, we forget the dance of horses on festival nights. In departure we become only the birds' equals, merciful to our days, grateful for the least. I am content to have the golden dagger that makes my murdered heart dance— kill me then, slowly, so I may say: I love you more than I had said before the exodus. I love you. Nothing hurts me, neither air nor water … neither basil in your morning nor iris in your evening, nothing hurts me after this departure. X. I want from love only the beginning I want from love only the beginning. Doves patch, over the squares of my Granada, this day's shirt. There is wine in our clay jars for the feast after us. In the songs there are windows: enough for blossoms to explode. I leave jasmine in the vase; I leave my young heart in my mother's cupboard; I leave my dream, laughing, in water; I leave the dawn in the honey of the figs; I leave my day and my yesterday in the passage to the Square of the Orange where doves fly. Did I really descend to your feet so speech could rise, a white moon in the milk of your nights … pound the air so I could see the Street of the Flute blue … pound the evening so I could see how this marble between us suffers? The windows are empty of the orchards of your shawl. In another time I knew so much about you. I picked gardenias from your ten fingers. In another time there were pearls for me around your neck, and a name on a ring whose gem was darkness, shining. I want from love only the beginning. Doves flew in the last sky, they flew and flew in that sky. There is still wine, after us, in the barrels and jars. A little land will suffice for us to meet, a little land will be enough for peace. XI. Violins Violins weep with gypsies going to Andalusia Violins weep for Arabs leaving Andalusia Violins weep for a time that does not return Violins weep for a homeland that might return Violins set fire to the woods of that deep deep darkness Violins tear the horizon and smell my blood in the vein Violins weep with gypsies going to Andalusia Violins weep for Arabs leaving Andalusia Violins are horses on a phantom string of moaning water Violins are the ebb and flow of a field of wild lilacs Violins are monsters touched by the nail of a woman now distant Violins are an army, building and filling a tomb made of marble and Nahawund Violins are the anarchy of hearts driven mad by the wind in a dancer’s foot Violins are flocks of birds fleeing a torn banner Violins are complaints of silk creased in the lover's night Violins are the distant sound of wine falling on a previous desire Violins follow me everywhere in vengeance Violins seek me out to kill me wherever they find me Violins weep for Arabs leaving Andalusia Violins weep with gypsies going to Andalusia —Mahmoud Darwish (1992), trans. Mona Anis, Nigel Ryan, Aga Shahid Ali, Ahmad Dallal

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Tedeschi Trucks Band - I am the Moon: IV. Farewell

The first few measures sound like the Beatles. But “Last Night in the Rain” is the Tedeschi Trucks Band channeling the Fabs’ harmonies and implied psychedelia on the opening track of its I am the Moon finale - IV. Farewell.

It’s the strongest of the lot, owing mostly to “Rain” and the following “Soul Sweet Song,” a joyful number with all 12 members contributing that pays tribute to keyboardist Kofi Burbridge and finds his bandmates accepting his 2019 death.

Now there’s no use wishing for your sweet return/’cause I see you in the morning sun/and I hear you on the whispering wind/and I feel your rhythm moving me/’cause your soul’s sweet song’s still singing, Susan Tedeschi and the TTB choir sing with bittersweet resolve on a track guaranteed to evoke a visceral response in music lovers inclined to such things.

The album closes with more nods to Burbridge in the form of the acoustic “I Can Feel You Smiling” as Derek Trucks scribbles plugged-in lines atop his wife’s vocals. “Another Day,” too, makes the case the titular Moon is Burbridge and Farewell represents the band moving on from his loss.

“See you in the moon,” Tedeschi sings on the former.

Between come the trite, new-sound TTB of the Moon series, including the Mike Mattison-crooned “Where are My Friends?,” whose chorus is: At the heart of the matter/at the heart of the matter.

Balladic and repetitive - with a Kenny G-style sax solo and no backgrounds - “D’Gary” finds Susan Tedeschi singing about creeks with no paddles and babies’ twinkling toes. It’s saved only by a noodly, Jerry Garcia-inspired guitar solo on the outro.

With Farewell’s arrival, it’s now clear I am the Moon should’ve been one album instead of four. Come back to Sound Bites in just a little bit to read his suggested tracks and running order for your playlist.

Grade card: Tedeschi Trucks Band - I am the Moon: IV. Farewell - B-

8/30/22