paradisa | [009] the taller they stand, the harder they fall

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elizabeth tudor

[009] the taller they stand, the harder they fall

[ Elizabeth writes, and they are words of days worth of broken sleep, deep cups of wine and hours upon hours of thought. Of staring through windows into the depths of winter and seeing a withered, lonely, bitter woman in distorted reflection. All of this, in the end, is directed at her mother. Even the memory of her mother's words makes her hand shake. ]

I am bounded to endure, would that be but enough to redeem the blood I have spilled. One day, they will understand what I have done. Let the pages of history reflect the truth of actions we cannot comprehend in life.

[ Pray God, please make her people prosper. (there was so utterly little left to hope for). ]

[/]

[ merlin; dictation; ]

Tell me of the shining city. Tell me of the rivers. Tell me of the palace that shall be built, far from here. Tell me of the dawns that will fall on it's stone walls. Of the rain on fields. Tell me how the people rejoice and forgive their leader. That we can be forgiven.

[ / ]

[ lucrezia; dictation; ]

Do you have a poem, fair swan? I have no words and should so like to hear your sweeter, softer ones.

[ / ]

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Se voi poteste per turbati segni, per chinar gli occhi, o per piegar la testa, o per esser piú d’altra al fuggir presta.

[ There is the most amused giggle before she starts translating. It isn't that she hasn't noticed the distress in the words written. ]

If you with signs of your unease, lowering your eyes, bowing your head or being more ready than anyone to flee...

[The words stung a little, at least as far as she remembered the rest of the poem. But it was what she asked for, and Lucrezia never failed on that account.]

... Thank you, my swan, but I cannot imagine why your words should be so mournful?

[One of them at least, should try.]

Sad poems are more bearable in times of sorrow. The happy ones only sting and burn.

That they do, Lucrezia. Rather terribly, I am afraid. What do you do when you cannot find the strength to lift your own heart higher?

That may be the time when one must let go.

I cannot. It is bound. Given without question and can never be taken back.

[Her mother had defined her before she could even speak. How was she supposed to let go. Her carefully painted face captured in a ring, her mother, kept close over forty years.]

A birthright.

[ A gift and a curse. ]

Would you have happier poems instead?

Something to that end.

[As much as she really wanted to say, at least over the journals.]

I would have whatever you felt like giving, my lady. That is all. I do not much care for my own company at the moment.

What poems do the English write? Would you share one at least with me?

Have you not read some? We write many poems, I am told a poet that has been working in the theatres will go on to become quite revered... William I believe his name. Not that I know him overly well. Give me a moment...

[Poems in English were not so fine as the ones in french or italian, it was the bastard language after all. His Majesty had written his letters of love in French for just that reason.]

'And wilt thou leave me thus?
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!'

[ She would always prefer the old, Latin ones best. Then the Italian ones and certainly not the French. But this one is lovely enough. ]

Ah, and how greatly love hurts us.

Doesn't it always? Though it's been some time since I have felt such stings, thankfully.

[Well, almost, Raleigh was something else entirely that she didn't touch often. It hadn't been such a deep love, though it had stung.]

Do you not miss it?

When I was young? Very much. There is nothing like love. But I had... my heart broken so, that no other love ever felt like it would fill the gap, and not once, but many times over.

[She had a deep love, and a true one. But rue the love that became so twisted it left the deepest of scars.]

Life becomes so made of goodbyes, eventually, you come to wonder why greet them at all.

Perhaps you can tell me then, if you would have wished to never have loved at all or if the pain is worth the memory?

[She smiled again, pondering her answer, pondering her life.] Do you ask me as a woman, or as a queen? For the two could not be reconciled in very much, especially not where love is concerned.

I would ask you as a woman if that offends you not.

The pain has been worth the memory. When I had the love, and the love was true, what pain is to be compared to it?

[for it had been a true love, a great love. The love they still wrote about, even if it seemed more twisted.]

But as a King, it has never been worth it, not once. Nor shall it ever be.

[Oh that's a request that will take a few moments for him to answer.]

We can always be forgiven, even if the time it takes feels so long that it seems forever. That none look at you with kindness, but slowly, in time, one then another and another will forgive. Especially in a land where the stones sparkle so brightly that it's blinding at each dawn, so white are the walls.

Nothing is for forever in a land so pure. Not such ill will.

Will... will we be finally free of ill will? Will words no longer be so easily misunderstood? Will we no longer be consumed by guilty and loneliness for what we cannot change?

[It's more than she meant to say, she wanted to keep it so far away so it was not her. Not her problem, not this deep despairing feeling in her stomach. That was not to be seen. But she'd lost too much, and it was becoming hard to swallow.]

[And who is he to argue with her plea? Honestly he had figured she needed someone to try and take away some ill feeling, he's good at it at least with sweet fantasies.]

Why be lonely in such a place? Peace brings it's own petty issues of course, but nothing that can't be easily mended. And there is little to fear in such a place, when others will listen and attempt to mend bridges.

[What's wrong? He's asking in a flowery way of course, but it's easier for him to try, without Igraine here Elizabeth has become even more precious to him.]

[it takes her a moment to gather her mind back from the place he gave her, eyes close and listening softly. Gentler times, places, as soft as the morning breeze. It's Dudley's voice, even if she knows better, and it's leaving her own condemned state for some better time she'd half forgotten.

Then her eyes open and her voice scratches, rough with the little sleep she's had.]

Only when the bridges can be mended. If family does not forgive you for doing what you thought to be right, then who will ever?

[He tries not to think of who he sounds like for her, he doesn't need that on top of hat she does to him.

But he hears her voice and what she says and he sighs because he can't not answer her.]

If family does not forgive, then what good are they? Family is not all we are, nor should it be. They do not always understand us, and most times they never will, and often times what they hold against us are things we do out of love. If they can not see that, then perhaps you should look to others.

You say that as if...

[as if it were easily achievable. Easily moved away from, but she couldn't. Her mother had always been her everything. More than even Dudley, or Raleigh. ]

... as if we can forget what they did for us, what they did to us. And if they cannot love us then...

[Who would?

There's a question she won't ask, not of him. Of all men, but not of him. She had asked Raleigh it, if life had been different, and the answer had undone her once. Made her feel a little death so gentle she longed for it again and again. But to hear it from Merlin, she could not stand. Knew better, she was supposed to know better. She wanted to hear it though, more than she could imagine.

She wasn't supposed to want a man to love her. It had been hard enough with Arthur, and the feelings she could not decipher and had not wanted to. Even now she could barely imagine it to be true. She doubted he'd be so cruel as to take pity on her and tell her what she wanted to hear just because she was bereaved anyway. Couldn't work out of she had the heart to take such respect.

Besides, he knew as well as she did, there were never others, not for people like them. There was just a long series of regrets.]

Forgive me, you should not be burdened by my questions. I merely.. forget myself.

[The one thing he always forgets is not everyone has lived as long as he has. Has come to terms with that. Family means little to him except when it can be used against someone or be used for the purpose of doing his work.

What good is family to a man like him?

But she's different and he should know that and yet he doesn't and he should feel far worse than he does when it comes to it. Yet he doesn't and instead he's willing to talk to her about this. It's close to home and yet, out of anyone, she has to understand this, right?]

You will always find someone. Who they are will surprise you, and you'll feel their loss far more keenly than anyone else. [He's sounding far more sad about this then he'd like to admit.] And what's more true, love given freely or love expected of someone for being family?

[She could hear the words, in the end what he was saying was truth, but they still felt so numb.]

Merlin it has been years... since I have had either, how am I to know which is better any longer? [Arthur had come as close as she could possibly imagine to it, and now he was gone before she could ever work out what that might of been.] Do we ever grow so old that we can no longer remember what it is to feel such warmth truly? Or are we to only give our love to far off golden shores that are far beyond unattainable we consign ourselves to merely dreams?

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[009] the taller they stand, the harder they fall

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