Notes: What if nyo!Poland in terms of fire and water... Companion piece to Earth and Air. Be warned, here follows a shocking lack of capital letters.
the fire is her brilliance, crackling, sparkling, passionate, warm – the reason sometimes people are unable to look away, the way they find her guileless and utterly alluring. mesmeric as a flame. she knows she's brilliant. as for the rest, she likes feeling the fire, though it can get exhausting.
never a dull moment. her anger which flares hot and sudden, but generally burns itself out. her welcome. her bright smile flickering.
she feels more like water sometimes. like when there's this passivity, bearing with; it's a strength but sometimes it means putting off a moment of decision because it's uncomfortable or inconvenient. to go with the flow, or to avoid caring? (this is how it happened when she let france seduce her, in a way. it isn't fair to say so, but… and france was so carefully caring, but… but it was almost all her. poland drifted along, and she never said no. (she said yes.) (she meant it, too.) (but she'd been refusing to examine her own mind.)
when she led a cavalry charge, when she cut down her enemies like wheat—was that the fire or was that the flood? (one thing: it was the image of the young lithuania, who she admired so ardently.)
/
fire was how she raged and blazed at the last, every last time, as over and over she was brought to an end. she was glorious on her pyre. she knew that perfectly too, what a picture she made; she thought with pride that stung her throat, behold! you who averted your eyes from my misery for so long, by God you will see me now.
and once more you couldn't look away. you'd never tire of that sight, be it ever so conventional now.
england, watching, moved to tears and outbursts of poetry—oh honourable and gallant! disastrous unhappy!—clasped her hands as she stood looking out from her own equivocal isle, feeling everything (and doing nothing) as she watched poland consumed.
/
deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your billows have swept over me.
not
gone.
/
water, she could find her level, breathe slow and easy, keep contentment in her heart.
it is not a contradiction to speak of hearth fires.
my heart is a forge—water will quench the steel and make it strong.
Notes: See 'Silk' for the background to the France/Poland, I guess... (Wow I was a bit harsh on them here! heh. I really like FraPol though, and especially the nyo!version, I wish there was more of it! I just don't know.. if their relationship was meant to be like that, maybe.)
English language histories have this thing about Poland being "gallant and unhappy", literally in as many words, repeatedly.
'deep calls to deep' - Psalm 42