dreams of elves
Mar. 2nd, 2009 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonny_kateLook! Another story fragment thing! This one is mostly based on a dream I had. It isn't really going anywhere, I don't think.
My mother warned me about the Elves.
"I'm uneasy that you're going to that house," she said.
"I'll be fine," I said. "It's just like any other great house. They're just like any other great lords and ladies."
"They're not," she said. "They're uncanny. Don't take anything they offer you, especially not food or drink. They may not be evil, but they certainly aren't good. I'd rather you were elsewhere."
"No one else would hire me," I said. "And their coin is as good as any other's."
She let me go, eventually, but not before making me swear to always wear a bit of cold iron, as proof against enchantment, and rosemary for remembrance.
I walked up to the steps of the great house, stopping for just a moment to gaze my fill at the house itself, before seeking the servant's entrance. Milord was there, standing on the steps, staring out into the bustle of the city, the carriages clattering past, the women selling apples or chestnuts or posies, the urchins begging for a coin or looking for a purse to lighten, and he did not see any of it. I knew he was milord because of the fine cut of his coat, his perfectly snowy white cravat, and the gold watch chain. He was tall and thin and pale, like all the elves, and yet he might almost have passed for a mortal. Almost. I knew when I saw him that there was something inexplicably different. He did not seem to belong to the world. He was too still, too perfectly sure of himself. Milord and milady were like that, always moving strangely, as though outside the rhythm of the world. They moved to quickly or too slowly, and I never understood them, and I think they never understood us.
I asked milord, later when I had grown bold, what he had been watching for when he stood on those steps. He told me that he had not been watching, but listening. Listening to the music of the spheres. He sounded sad when he said it, if Elves may be sad. I've heard the poets say that we no longer hear the music of the spheres because we've grown deaf through coarseness and evil. That may be. I wonder why the Elves may hear the music of the spheres when they come from another world. I wonder if they hear their own spheres. I wonder how milord could hear it over the sound of London in the morning.
They were kind, or at least, as kind as they knew how to be. I don't think they understood what we mean by kindness. We mean not just the act, the spoken word or the coin, but the intention. They never showed any passions, or at least, not as I understood them. They were never kind, or angry, or harsh. They were always calm and distant, impossible to rouse to any emotion, except, perhaps, curiosity. Milady was curious about dancing. I spoke to her of it, how we dance for pleasure, and showed her the steps. She could not understand it, though, and said she had never danced. I think, though, that we dance inside things, that we live inside our world and dance as a part of it, but the elves live outside and dance ever with it.
I asked once why they were here, and milord said that they had been cast out from their world. I did not dare to ask why.
My mother warned me about the Elves.
"I'm uneasy that you're going to that house," she said.
"I'll be fine," I said. "It's just like any other great house. They're just like any other great lords and ladies."
"They're not," she said. "They're uncanny. Don't take anything they offer you, especially not food or drink. They may not be evil, but they certainly aren't good. I'd rather you were elsewhere."
"No one else would hire me," I said. "And their coin is as good as any other's."
She let me go, eventually, but not before making me swear to always wear a bit of cold iron, as proof against enchantment, and rosemary for remembrance.
I walked up to the steps of the great house, stopping for just a moment to gaze my fill at the house itself, before seeking the servant's entrance. Milord was there, standing on the steps, staring out into the bustle of the city, the carriages clattering past, the women selling apples or chestnuts or posies, the urchins begging for a coin or looking for a purse to lighten, and he did not see any of it. I knew he was milord because of the fine cut of his coat, his perfectly snowy white cravat, and the gold watch chain. He was tall and thin and pale, like all the elves, and yet he might almost have passed for a mortal. Almost. I knew when I saw him that there was something inexplicably different. He did not seem to belong to the world. He was too still, too perfectly sure of himself. Milord and milady were like that, always moving strangely, as though outside the rhythm of the world. They moved to quickly or too slowly, and I never understood them, and I think they never understood us.
I asked milord, later when I had grown bold, what he had been watching for when he stood on those steps. He told me that he had not been watching, but listening. Listening to the music of the spheres. He sounded sad when he said it, if Elves may be sad. I've heard the poets say that we no longer hear the music of the spheres because we've grown deaf through coarseness and evil. That may be. I wonder why the Elves may hear the music of the spheres when they come from another world. I wonder if they hear their own spheres. I wonder how milord could hear it over the sound of London in the morning.
They were kind, or at least, as kind as they knew how to be. I don't think they understood what we mean by kindness. We mean not just the act, the spoken word or the coin, but the intention. They never showed any passions, or at least, not as I understood them. They were never kind, or angry, or harsh. They were always calm and distant, impossible to rouse to any emotion, except, perhaps, curiosity. Milady was curious about dancing. I spoke to her of it, how we dance for pleasure, and showed her the steps. She could not understand it, though, and said she had never danced. I think, though, that we dance inside things, that we live inside our world and dance as a part of it, but the elves live outside and dance ever with it.
I asked once why they were here, and milord said that they had been cast out from their world. I did not dare to ask why.