Re: The Lady of Shalott

[Keryvian]

Melusine,

Thank you, this was just wonderful. I hope you get to post the rest of it, because I'm looking forward to it.

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Nid yw'r hoff o lyfr yn fyr o gyfaill.

[Melusine]

Originally posted by Keryvian: Melusine, Thank you, this was just wonderful. I hope you get to post the rest of it, because I'm looking forward to it.

LOL , don't thank me, thank my b/f, who wrote it I'm really glad you liked it though....here's part three! (BTW if anyone wants it emailed in whole let me know, because I can imagine it reads annoying on a website in parts...)


III

But she could not sleep. Too many things tugged at her mind, and since sleep was not necessary, it was often difficult to manage a peaceful hour away from this place. She thought of the paintings again, and of the book. Lancelot and the Lady had tried hard to come up with a reasonable explanation that could explain their presence, their existence in this room. Part of their suspicions were influenced by the gallery, part by the book that Lancelot had once brought back when he had returned from below. It came from a tiny room that had contained only one bookcase, and only one book. It was a slim volume, prettily bound in leather, and the handwriting, while already very faint, was elegant and attractive. The book contained one text, a poem. The Lady had read it first to herself and later to Lancelot. The poem’s story seemed to connect to the imagery of the paintings in such a manner that it left little to the imagination. Unfortunately, the book did not last very long. After a time the pages began to crumble and fairly soon it had become unreadable. Lancelot had thrown the binding on the fire, annoyed because it had lasted only so shortly. The Lady still knew some lines by head, and they occasionally floated through her mind. Only reapers, reaping early, in among the bearded barley, hear a song that echoes cheerly, from the river winding clearly. This part was nonsense, since the Lady never sang, but it was nicely put anyway. The language had such a powerful, natural flow to it. Out flew the web and floated wide, the mirror crack’d from side to side, ‘the curse is come upon me’, cried The Lady of Shalott. The Lady was intrigued by these lines, and regretted deeply the fact that Lancelot had disposed of whatever was left of the book. What they had read, combined with the many paintings in the gallery, had made both of them realise that they had some sort of role to play in a story featuring them, but exactly how it worked was unclear. Whether they had once been the people the story started with, or merely served as wire models for others to model their stories after, they did not know. One fact was, that in the countless representations of the story, there were many mistakes. It was almost as if anybody attempting to construct a part of their character, was unable to complete it satisfactorily. Lancelot in particular was resentful about the whole business. As he said so often, there was more to him than the knight in shining armour, which was true of course, and he hardly featured at all in the paintings. The Lady had no answers available for these matters. She herself could become quite vexed if she saw what the artists did to her. To be so many persons at the same time was strange, and felt unnatural.
Lancelot’s general theory was, that the moment someone had started to think of the poem’s storyline, they had sprang into existence. The Lady disagreed, and thought that they had always been here, and that at a certain time someone had borrowed them and made their characters into a story. Some time back, Lancelot had told her that occasionally he had disturbing dreams, since they featured not only the Lady, but other women as well. There were far more details, but he was terrible at remembering a dream, or so he always said, so the Lady had never received more than an inconclusive summary and an apologetic smile. Maybe Lancelot did not want to tell. She suspected that he went down also to give himself a chance to find out more about himself, perhaps to find another book that explained his dreaming.
It was obvious that he was tired of discussing this, and he had grown more irritable every time she brought the subject up. Maybe it would pass. She got up and moved to one of the large cupboards in the room, opened one door and poured herself a glass of cold water from a crystal decanter. Back in the chair, she would try to sleep again, and with Lancelot still at the back of her mind, she finally drifted off towards a worried sleep.
She dreamed. Lancelot was in glorious armour. It was almost as if he was emanating light, for he sparkled like the stars. The moment the Lady saw him she turned away from the loom, away from the mirror, headed to the window and for the fist time in her life she looked down. It appeared that the moment was stretched indeterminately. There was time to admire the view. The river glittered like a snake slowly slithering past her tower. Water lilies bloomed, and the grass at the banks was so green it nearly hurt her eyes. Then, the moment was gone and she heard a deafening noise. Shards of the cracked mirror were flying through the air, but none of them touched her. She knew she’d done something terrible, but she didn’t feel guilty. It did not feel wrong. The brilliance that Lancelot’s armour had radiated when she looked down was so much clearer, so much more real than she could ever hope to capture in her loom, so why remain here? From one moment to another, she was suddenly in the boat. The weather, which had appeared warm and fresh, had turned gloomy while she slowly floated on the river, past farmlands and forests, on her way down to Camelot. Would Lancelot know what he had brought down upon her? She would tell him, when she saw him. She would definitely tell him. As she floated down the river, Camelot’s walls came into sight.

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Melusine, High Queen of Fluffies, Archbabe of the OHF, the LH,
the HADB and the SPAE(Society for the
Prevention of Acronym Extinction) &
Official Entertainer Elf of the BG2 Bar

Your voice is ambrosia
Amy Brown Fantasy Art


[This message has been edited by Melusine (edited 07-06-2001).]

[Melusine]

OK....I'm not going to leave you hanging in there any longer
Here's the finishing chapter!!

IV


A door crashed open, and the Lady jolted awake. Lancelot entered, and panting for breath he grabbed a chair, while all the time in his eyes was an oddly triumphant look. He sat down, breathing heavily and unable to speak for the moment. The Lady opened her eyes and looked around, the dream still clinging to her mind, but then remembered where she was and saw that Lancelot had returned. She wondered how long she had slept, and only then noticed that something was the matter with him. He appeared exhausted, but at the same time energetic beyond belief. She had never seen him like this before, and she tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. ‘Lancelot, are you ok?’ she asked, and stood up and walked towards him. ‘Never…..been better’, he replied, still trying to catch his breath. ‘Make ready, I’ve found the way out and we’re leaving. I’ve …. ran all the way, before it closes, we must be back.’ The Lady stared at him. She could not believe what she just heard. She decided she was still dreaming and pinched herself, only slowly realising that she was in fact not dreaming at all. She had no idea what to say, so she mumbled something incomprehensible and kept looking into Lancelot’s shining eyes. She saw this was no joke, she saw he was dead serious. ‘We have but little time’, Lancelot said, ‘we must leave soon. I was right about that door. I found a key and descended a staircase, and after some wandering around there was a door that led to an underground river. A boat is tied there, and at the end’ – Lancelot paused for a moment, not for dramatic effect but to breathe – ‘at the end I saw light – perhaps daylight.’
‘Real light’, the Lady thought, ‘I wonder what it looks like’. She thought of a painting’s bright blue sky, and wondered. She looked at Lancelot, and spoke musingly: ‘This cannot be true, now can it? We cannot get out of here, we cannot escape what we are part of, what we are linked with so strongly. It’s not supposed to be possible’. Lancelot shrugged. ‘We have never seen the rules, so who knows what’s possible for us. I only know what I saw, and I want to get out.’
The Lady of Shalott was awestruck. She looked around, her gaze glancing off the furniture, the shutters, and the door leading to her gallery. The oil lamps cast long shadows on the walls, and from the corner of her eye she saw Lancelot’s eyes sparkle with light and anticipation. ‘Would a couple of musty old paintings keep me here?’ she thought, and while answering her own question she turned round to Lancelot. ‘I am half sick of shadows’, she said, and smiled at him. ‘Lead me away from here’. Lancelot nodded and opened the door.
The Lady stepped over the threshold onto the first stone step of the spiral staircase, feeling nothing this time and trusting in Lancelot for guidance. He was a couple of steps ahead, his contour outlined by the candle he carried. It could sometimes be dark downstairs, he had said. The Lady stayed close behind Lancelot, a mixed feeling of exhilaration and fear slowly seeping through the amazement that had been all consuming. She did not pay much attention to her surroundings. Lancelot led her through doors, along narrow corridors, through empty rooms, across ladders, but always slowly downwards. Her mind was wandering to her paintings again, and a possibility of actually seeing daylight, maybe even a countryside as she had often seen it in paint, maybe a castle, as strong and fierce as the Camelot she had seen. She rapidly lost track of time and trailed along behind Lancelot who moved with a strong determination, not once looking back. After a while, Lancelot suddenly stopped and the Lady bumped into him, for it was dark. ‘We’re here’, said Lancelot, ‘this is the place’. He slowly pushed open the a small door, and the Lady peered in, seeing the outlines of a high rocky ceiling, and smelling a faint odour of stale, underground water and something undeterminable, something salty. Lancelot moved further, and there was only a small landing on the other side of the door. The Lady looked around eagerly for the hint of daylight that Lancelot had spoken off. ‘Lancelot, where did you say there was light’, she quietly asked, and he pointed. She was disappointed. Far, far away a little speck of light could be seen and it could have been anything. ‘I know it’s small’, Lancelot said, ‘but do you feel the draft?. It must be coming from there, I’m sure it’s an exit. Get down into the boat. Let me help you’. She moved past him, and put one foot into the small and ramshackle rowing boat. She thought again of their room, the game of chess and the countless discussions they had had together. It already seemed so far away. She wondered if she would miss it. The Lady realised Lancelot had said something, and that she had not heard him. She looked up questioningly, and he shook his head. ‘Never mind, get your other foot in. Be careful.’
The boat rocked dangerously, and the Lady felt faint. Maybe it would be better if she could lie down. She straightened her dress, and slowly she first seated herself, careful not to disturb the boat any more, and then lay down. The water sloshed against the sides, and she closed her eyes for a short while. For just a moment, she was gone, maybe drifted off to sleep. When it had passed, she found herself still lying in the boat. She was not entirely sure where Lancelot was. Then, from nearby she heard him laugh, as he spoke softly ‘Here we go then, lovely face. God in his mercy lend you grace’. He pushed off the boat towards the light.

He loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott


* * *

Somewhere else, in a red-carpeted room on a bare wall, hangs a painting. Discoloured squares on the rest of the wall indicate there might have been more, but they are all gone now. It is a crude work, no finesse or elegance to be found anywhere. It has no frame, and hangs slightly askew. The canvas shows an ill-lit room, chairs and tables scattered, and in one corner a man and a woman sit, playing chess. The woman sits quietly, apparently lost in thought; the man, oddly enough, is dressed in full plate armour, and wearing a helmet with a red burning feather on top. He plays with his visor down. The game has ended in a stalemate. The pieces have nowhere to go to.


FINIS


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Melusine, High Queen of Fluffies, Archbabe of the OHF, the LH,
the HADB and the SPAE(Society for the
Prevention of Acronym Extinction) &
Official Entertainer Elf of the BG2 Bar

Your voice is ambrosia
Amy Brown Fantasy Art

[This message has been edited by Melusine (edited 07-06-2001).]

[Tancred]

O_O Y...yikes. He... he can't do that! That... that's not fair! AWW! Jeez, my guts feel twisted! Mel, tell Seb that's a damned evocative, strangely emotional piece indeed. Fantastic.

Tancred

"They don't call me Tancred the Mighty for nothing. No, they do it for money."

[Melusine]

Originally posted by Tancred: O_O Y...yikes. He... he can't do that! That... that's not fair! AWW! Jeez, my guts feel twisted! Mel, tell Seb that's a damned evocative, strangely emotional piece indeed. Fantastic. Tancred "They don't call me Tancred the Mighty for nothing. No, they do it for money."

Thanks so much Tancred...I felt the same way...Even after reading it about 20 times to edit etc the story still hit me in my stomach
He wrote the piece for a school assignment (we both study English Lit) and it was the best short story in class (though I have to add that it was not very difficult considering the level of the other students...boy, did they write some horrid stuff )
BTW I saw you posted (the beginnings of?) a story yourself once, but I often feel too tired to read the longer posts on the board...my eyes simply can't take it... so I would ask you if you could email it to me....I'd really love to read it


People, any more comments? I had to move heaven and earth for Seb to allow me to post his story so I'd like to know what you guys think


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Melusine, High Queen of Fluffies, Archbabe of the OHF, the LH,
the HADB and the SPAE(Society for the
Prevention of Acronym Extinction) &
Official Entertainer Elf of the BG2 Bar

Your voice is ambrosia
Amy Brown Fantasy Art

[Melusine]

B-U-M-P

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Melusine, High Queen of Fluffies, Archbabe of the OHF, the LH,
the HADB and the SPAE(Society for the
Prevention of Acronym Extinction) &
Official Entertainer Elf of the BG2 Bar

Your voice is ambrosia
Amy Brown Fantasy Art

[Melusine]

BUMP... *sad smile*

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Melusine, High Queen of Fluffies, Archbabe of the OHF, the LH,
the HADB and the SPAE(Society for the
Prevention of Acronym Extinction) &
Official Entertainer Elf of the BG2 Bar

Your voice is ambrosia
Amy Brown Fantasy Art

[Cloudbringer]

Whoa...sniffle...wow, nice, Mel. Tell Seb, he has us all sort of sitting in a mist, thinking on his story!

CB

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Raindancer of the Laughing Hyenas Clan
Storm-Queen
StormCloud of the Black Knight: Heart Mind Soul Forever
"To sleep, perchance to dream..."

[Yorick]

Is this Sebs story! I haven't read it yet, but I will! Thanks for posting it! YAY! Thanks Seb!

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I am the walrus!.... er, no hang on....

A fair dinkum laughing Hyena!

[Tancred]

Originally posted by Melusine: BTW I saw you posted (the beginnings of?) a story yourself once, but I often feel too tired to read the longer posts on the board...my eyes simply can't take it... so I would ask you if you could email it to me....I'd really love to read it

Dang, only just got back to this. Er, which story? I remember quite a few.