A/N: In between beating my brains out over The Twin Blades, I occasionally have flashes that just won't fade away. It makes for a long list of pieces, and this is my latest. Now, let me say this straight out, I think Bastian is a bit of a nut. It's just the way he talks, and it's not the easiest thing to write either. But beyond that, I think he's a guy who likes to put on a show. I never thought I'd end up writing for him, but it seems that's just what I ended up doing.
The title of this little piece came from the Herman's Hermits song of the same name. After listening to the song, I thought it really fit how Bastian would feel about Lucia. The excellent cover for this story came from a friend, known as Joshua S. It turned out better than anything I could envision or even do. I'm really grateful for his work.
Anyway, enjoy.
Period: Sometime after Radiant Dawn.
She is my one; she is my only, and yet she knows it not. How many days does she so readily stomp upon my heart? I cannot say, though the count is great, and yet my heart does not shatter beneath her boots. It is the lady, Lucia, that I speak of in such a way, for though the flames of love for my motherland oft' are stoked within my breast, the flames of my love for her shall surely consume the former. It is likely that they will, in some day near or far, burn their way through my very flesh and bone were I not to engage them upon the battlefield within me.
It is on this day that such a struggle began anew, for I, Count Bastian, being summoned to the side of Her Majesty have found myself in the hall of combat. Though my duties do call me elsewhere, I cannot resist the urging in my legs to roam the house of Crimea, for the court has not yet need of my presence. It would doubtless come as great shock to many that even I cannot bind myself solely to the pursuits of my station. I am numbered by my peers as a master of the tongue, the pen, and the secretive doings of my post, and yet on many a day I find them to benumb my thoughts. Oh, what mind could devote the life of its bearer to such tedious toiling? The expectations of my people, lofty as they be concerning this palace game, could scarcely strike the mark even if the bolt was fired from a master's bow. But I daresay I should not linger on how little the common know of the life of one such as I.
On the occasion when I am too greatly overcome by the endless tedium of what writings I must learn for the court, I come to this hall if only to amuse some savage thing within me. It is a strange yet pleasing flavor to the knave lurking in the deep recesses of my heart to observe the lads of the country in their many attempts to achieve their manhood in the service of the crown. I wonder if they persist in entertaining such swollen notions of glory and renown when their hands cannot even grasp a blade or keep the saddle upon a wooden horse. Yet in time, I am certain they will excel in their stations. Oh, Geoffrey will ensure that; by the goddess he will despite his noble air. This day however my eyes can see no man. No man will take their blade of wood nor engage some carved figure upon the imitative horse, for on this day a woman shall engage the false men with a blade of cool steel.
It is she, the fair Lucia, whom I watch from where she cannot see. No man dares disturb her in the midst of such an intricate dance. I had known to find her in this hall of combat, and I need not the aid of my arts to obtain such knowledge. For if Lucia be not at the side of her queen, then surely she will be here, as certain as the rise and fall of the daily sun.
Can she not see what her dance shall do to me? Can she not see what pains she shall inflict as I gaze upon her and the shadow of her cast upon the wall? If but I knew if some spell could peer into her thoughts, would then I know, or would even my arts fail to intrude upon her? It is of no value to waste the time to think of that which no man has learned. Even the craft of magic cannot o'erthrow the mind of one such as her, nor would I desire it to do so.
Yet, surely 'tis worse to stand entranced by even a form so ghostly, so unearthly, and so fair as the shadow of my lady. I cannot tear my eyes from her form, swift and graceful in flesh, and it is worse to behold the shade that follows her every movement, for the act gives way to such base thoughts for even I. I cannot help but think that such a wraith should appear upon the wall of my chambers. Oft' have I thought of what it should be to be the husband of the fair lady. Oft' have I thought of the day when she shall wait in my quarters to partake of me alone and I of her alone as those bound in the golden cords of marriage are privileged to do. I ask what man has not shared such heated thoughts upon the sight of her, for she is peerless in beauty. What shades would be cast upon the wall if she be my wife? I cannot say, yet oh how I wish to know.
I dare not let my thoughts dwell on such lustful notions, and though they come with ease, it shames me, a man of such upbringing, to dare to entertain them for long. Foul guests that they are, they should not have a place in my court, for such are the thoughts of lesser men. I think of Ludveck who dwelt so long upon the urges of his own flesh; how dare he once have the thought of laying his hand upon her or that she would permit his touch. How dare he think that the wall of his house should be graced with the shade of one such as she. Though I too could partake of such ideas, I cannot allow myself to think solely of them. Could even a cur such as he not see beyond his eyes or feel beyond his desires? Could he not see the heart that beats within her? She is a creature of beauty, yes, but does beauty limit itself to the mere physical?
Oh, what man could refuse such a heart as that which beats within she who stands before me? As surely as I desire her shade upon my chamber walls, I am beguiled by the shades I do not see. She is kind and courageous; bold and unfaltering, even as she stares into the face of death. She has faced the sword and flinched not before it. She has gone hungry in times of war and want, yet she bore it. She has felt the grip of betrayal around her neck, by a friend no less, and she did not hold to the sting of bitter thoughts. How can men not stand in awe of such a soul as the fair Lucia?
Her shadow persists in its dance that leaves me utterly fixed to the ground where I stand. Oh, Bastian, how that dance does entrap you, entrance you, and yet the woman herself knows not of it. Nay, she does know. How often have I wished that this enchanting silhouette would become she who holds my heart, but the lady wishes it not. Oh, what poor fortune it is to love and receive not love in exchange. The days lengthen that I have told her of my desires and had them refused. Yet, each pained longing does not die; to woo, to court, to marry. They do not perish, though they bring me pain upon pain. Yet, I know it must be thus.
The hand and heart of the fair lady are already given in marriage to a greater man than I, and it is not to any man at all. 'Tis to her country, her queen, and the crown upon her head. Were she to consent to my hand, for sure it would defile the very union to her intended. What a strange and saddening thing it is to hold a kingdom with such burning envy. Were it a man, I could challenge, duel, or yes even die for my beloved, yet one's land is a formidable foe indeed. If the land were to die, so then would Lucia of grief. Could I dare ask her to forsake her vows and meet upon some wicked rendezvous? Nay, nay say I. And so I shall content myself with the shadow upon the wall.
Her dance, her most bewitching dance, ends now, and I slip away before she can see me. My time among the court of my queen draws nigh, and I must banish what thoughts remain that dwell upon the lady. I shall make myself content with her silhouette, lithe and graceful, as it is. But I truly know that I cannot do this. I am glad she had not seen me, for it would only prolong the bitter sting of a love that shall not diminish but must. This shall be the life I live; ever pursuing yet not finding, hunting and not capturing, seeking and obtaining not that which I desire. Yet, I know I shall not satisfy my heart with a shade alone.
You may watch a silhouette, yet you cannot love it, embrace it, nor place a kiss upon it, though with gladness I would place a kiss upon even the walls her shadow falls upon. As I enter the queen's court, I shall sheath my heart until this night. For even as the fleeting star that dashes across the nightly sky is a wondrous sight, so shall the moments when I can tell of my love also be wondrous. Yes, my love shall be such. I shall long to see the star soar above my head. Her shadow shall be my star, but oh how it pains me to endure the knowledge that a shadow is all I shall have of fair Lady Lucia. Yet, I shall endure it. When I sleep this night, in my dreaming hours, my shadows shall become as real as my own flesh. And when the morn comes and the kingdom wakes to the cock's crow, I shall again resume my chase of she whom I love.
You cannot capture a silhouette, but oh, Bastian, the pleasure you can take in the vain attempt.
A/N: Compared to what I normally push out, this was a breeze to write, aside from trying to nail Bastian's speech. I am not a poet by any means, but I tried my best to do it. Besides Herman's Hermits, I also have to give credit to HaveAHeart0301, my amazing beta reader. I couldn't do it without you.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are always appreciated.