Early Tyrrish Romantic Poetry

It's pitch black when I wake up and that's a relief. Darkness means I'm awake. I can feel the shape of my room in the shadows and I know instantly where I am. My room at Samara, and the luck that I have a single room because nobody wants to share with me never ceases to amaze me. Navarrans and their superstitions about betrayal cooties.

If you'd told me a year ago I would be relieved not to see Liam, I would probably have punched you, but now when I see him in my sleep it's only his slack face and empty eyes. I already know I'm done sleeping for the night, so I call the shadows home and flick my fingers at the magelight beside the bed.

After a stretch and a drink of water, I sit down and look through the stacks of paper on my desk. I've already finished my next letter to Violet and I put it on the stack with letters for Bodhi and Imogen. A quick glance through them tells me none of my half-done poems feels right, so I stick them back in their camouflage pile where Garrick won't find them. Instead I open my desk drawer and pull out the book I grabbed from the library the last time I was at Aretia.

It's old enough that Violet would probably lecture me for keeping it in a desk drawer in a mountain outpost, though it's a copy of the original and it's been rebound at least once as well. The Tyrrish it's written in is old enough that it's not casually readable, and while Violet's ability to speak Tyrrish is just one of the many astonishing things about her, I think it would at least take her some time to unpack the older language and rebuild it into a more modern form.

So I'm doing it for her.

When I was twelve I was absolutely obsessed with the early Tyrrish romances, the ancient queens and kings of the country that became Tyrrendor. My father indulged me and found a scribe tutor who would get me to sit through my lessons in history, politics, Navarran courtly manners, all of it for the promise of working with me through the old stories about Queen Vanora, King Areior and their knights...

I hadn't thought about them much since my father had to dismiss my tutor in the early stages of the Apostasy and I had different kings to worry about, but the stories about Vanora came up in conversation with Violet last year, and I couldn't help but think about them.

Violet had read about them, of course she had, but there were things I'd read that she wouldn't have had access to.

There's a tug on the wards I recognize and I push back without thinking, letting Garrick know I'm awake. If it was anybody else—well, if it was anybody else at Samara, they wouldn't know how to get my attention with my wards anyway. Garrick stumbles in, looking as much like shit as I felt when I woke up.

"What is it?" If he just got in from night patrol, did he run into a messenger out there? Syrena's drift?

"Just wanted to use your shower," Garrick grins. "Since the good one's still out of commission for some reason."

I roll my eyes and wave him toward it. "Boring patrol?"

"The usual. Definitely didn't see any refugees coming through and point them away from the infantry patrols or anything."

"As long as you were safe."

"I was out with Naef and she always covers for me."

I hate that every individual we try to help is on a scale balanced against what could happen to other people if we're caught.

"What kind of paperwork are you doing before dawn?" he asks, angling toward my desk, and I'm distracted enough by my thoughts that I don't move fast enough to hide anything. "Are you writing poetry, Xay? Seriously?"

"Technically I'm translating it," I admit, figuring this will distract him from trying to figure out what I'm doing and actually finding my poetry. "It keeps me distracted at night, and I figured it's the kind of thing Violence would appreciate as a gift." My hope is she'll appreciate a gift in the scribes' love language, rather than think it condescending of me, but it will depend on her mood, no doubt.

He looks at me for a long minute. "Somehow every time I think I understand how bad you've got it for her, you surprise me."

I'm not going to bother answering that. "Don't you need a shower?"

"Yeah, I guess." He stays there over my shoulder. "What is this, anyway? Fairy tales?"

"I'm working through some of the old epic romance poems. She made a reference to one a couple of months ago, and I found the book when we were in Aretia."

"Romance...?" Garrick must have actually scanned the words. "Oh wow, this is Vanora and her knights, right? Badass."

A smile tugs at the edge of my mouth. "Glad you approve."

"Vanora's stories were always awesome. I remember when we were kids and we'd fight over who got to be which knight. It was the only time Imogen didn't complain about having to be ‘the girl’ in our games."

"Can't blame her, Vanora is pretty badass. I was thinking Violence reminded me of her, actually."

Garrick laughs. "If anybody reminds anybody of Vanora, it's Imogen. Come on."

"Of course you'd think so," Xaden rolls his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Go take your shower, dumbass."

---

I wake up from a nightmare about the Apostasy, Riorson House filling with smoke, and the walls of my room are too close. I'm dressing to get some air when Sgaeyl pulls my attention. She tells me what Tairn shared with her, and my room goes black with my anger and, yes, my fear.

Sgaeyl forces me to breathe, and a minute later Garrick is there forcing me to think. They're right, we need a plan.

"We're not coming back," I tell Garrick as I start to pack. "We fly in five." I throw on my swords, my daggers, and there's precious little I care about enough to throw it in my pack, but… the book and the manuscript both find their way in there.

Not just because I don't want to lose it, but because I know Violet will have to survive to read it. It's superstitious thinking, but… I'm not letting go of anything right now.

---

They really ought to be used to it by now. I always have something in my hands during Assembly meetings, because if I don't, my temper is even shorter and none of them actually want that.

Usually it's sewing cloth, mostly adding pockets to things that don't come with enough sheathes and pockets to begin with. It's satisfying and means I have something to show for my time at the end of an Assembly meeting, which wouldn't usually be the case otherwise.

Today I'm sewing paper, stitching together the pages of my manuscript now that it's finally done. I'm hoping to get the cover made in time to give it to her for Solstice, but it's up to Amari whether I'll have enough time to finish it before then.

"Are you even paying attention, Riorson?" Ulices asks as I finish the last knot.

I glare at him across the table. Forgoing a knife, I raise the thread to my mouth and tear it with my teeth.

Ulices swallows hard.

I'll need to trim it properly after the meeting, but the satisfaction was worth it.

"I'm paying as much attention as you deserve when you're voting to leave people to suffer at the hands of the venin. This meeting is over."

---

I don't get to give it to her at Solstice that year.

After that it was-- she didn't deserve--

It doesn't matter now.

I find it when I finally return to Riorson House. I'm not sure when it stopped being a manuscript and started being a promise, something physical when I had nothing else to hold onto and then something that I would live long enough to finish.

Maybe it had always been that.

I wrap it in brown paper and twine, and when it's just the two of us in front of the fireplace, warm cider nearby, I slip it into her hands.

She unwraps it carefully and opens it with a gasp. I want to memorize the smile that blooms on her face as she reads the inscription at the end.

To brighter days ahead, and the darkest night behind us.

Early Tyrrish Romantic Poetry
translated into modern Tyrrish by Xaden Riorson

#

I

The earliest extant example of verse about the first queen of Aretia is not a complete poem, but a fragment that was likely translated from proto-Krov-Tyrrish into Old High Navarran and later into modern Navarran in a collection of pre-Six references to the interactions of humans and dragons:

Long has the line of black dragons watched over Aretia
for the city was built to stay near them
The first kings and queens of Tyrrendor
threw in their lot with with the night-clad beasts
with clever hands and clever runes
they carved a castle from the cliffs
and named it home

#

II - The Queen's Dragon

Long, long ago, when Tyrs were still learning how to be Tyrs,
there came a young woman named Vanora,
daughter to a brave chieftain and his wife.
Fair of face and lithe of form,
she was the pride of her parents.
Clever in mind and wise of heart,
she learned the runesongs and histories
so that many came to her for advice.
Fleet of foot and steady of hand,
she was known to all in her tribe
as a steadfast protector and warrior.

Vanora had but seventeen years lived
when her parents were called to Malek's service.
Many surrounding lords looked upon her and,
seeing a comely young lass with a strong people,
sought to make her their own.
Each of them learned to swallow their pride
for she fed it back to them at swordpoint.
Refusing to be cowed, she turned
her anger on those who would subdue her.
She was fucking vicious in her anger.

Seeking wisdom and peace,
Vanora prayed to the gods for inspiration.
Amari appeared to her in a dream and spoke:
follow the river south to its source
build your nest near the high cliffs
your destiny awaits you there

Following Amari's instruction
Vanora and her people travelled south,
crossing the Tyrrish plateau alongside
the wandering path of the Aretian River.
At long last they came to the source
where the river emerged from the mountains.
Calling her strongest wielders beside her,
they sang the names of stone and home
until a fortress rose out of the foothills
with enough room to shield her people
and rich land below for farms and town.

When Vanora and her people first settled
there at the river's heart, they knew not
how Amari's guidance had brought them near
the nest of two cunning and powerful
black dragons and their curious young.
Though they had seen many dragons pass
as they travelled, living nearby soon
made both human and dragon
more comfortable with the others' presence.
The dragons became a common sight,
younger ones chasing each other
among the clouds and peaks,
and Vanora's people were not afraid.

It was well known that dragons showed
no interest in humans. If threatened,
they would defend themselves. If provoked,
they might attack. But elsewise,
the dragons would keep to themselves.

Or so Vanora expected. But as her legend grew
she faced more threats from those who saw
a woman of power and couldn't stand it.
As she faced her opponents on the fields of Aretia
she often saw a single dragon above
the battles, a Black who cast an elegant silhouette,
neither the largest nor the smallest
among those who lived in the nearby nest.
Vanora began to feel that the dragon
was watching her. She often looked up
in anticipation when she left her home
and smiled when she picked out the Black
in silhouette against a blue sky.

A day came when the sky was dark with storms
when Vanora stepped outside to visit
her people in the town below, the clouds
so thick she could not hope to spy
anyone watching her from above. Yet
even as she sensed danger and turned
to spy an assassin reaching for her
with dagger at the ready, a darker shadow
covered the wide road into Aretia.
The Black dove down from the storm,
snatching the fucker up into his jaws.

Vanora reeled. The Black had saved her life.
Around her, people whispered that she
had tamed a dragon. Each time she saw
the Black, she allowed herself to draw closer.
He allowed her to lay hands on him,
stroking the onyx scales of his snout.
She gave no thought to the stories sung
in far Zolya and Lugh's cities.
Her focus remained in Aretia, with her folk.

Her people worried that she had no
issue, no heir, and carried too much
on her own shoulders, and finally Vanora
accepted their concerns for their Queen.
Rather than fight those who would take
her lands and people, she made it known
that her hand could be won by contest.
Many were the lords and ladies of the lands
beyond Aretia who sought to best her in combat,
but all who came returned to their homes,
to the plains of Krovla or the shire of Deacon
or even the halls of far Calldyr in defeat.

Still, when she could, Vanora would steal away,
preferring to spend more time with the dragon.
He no longer waited for the excuse of battle
to visit her, and she would scratch the scales
behind his ears and whisper to him
of her thoughts and concerns. She was quite sure
he was listening intently, though she wondered
how much he could understand of her language.

"If only I could find a human worthy as you,
I would be married long since," she spake to him.
The Black chuffed, a pleasant noise
with the warmth of a hearthfire behind it.
She imagined that he agreed with her.

One day a figure approached the city,
his body clad in black armor
woven in the style of dragonscale,
his face and shoulders hidden from view
by a cloak black as shadows.
He stood at the gates of Aretia,
and his voice carried loud enough
to be heard across the city,
announcing that he was here
to treat for the Queen's hand.

Now the Queen was wise as well as fair
and skilled, but it didn't require wisdom
to look at this stranger and sense danger
clinging to him as the river pressed
against her shores in the spring rains.

"And what has brought you here
to Aretia's wide streets, that you seek my hand?"
she asked, stepping out to meet him.

"I have seen you fight with grace and fury
to rival the greatest dragons. I believe
I may match you, but I also seek the joy
of testing myself against your skill."
That surprised the Queen, for she knew
her allies and her enemies well, and while
she could not see the stranger's face,
the armor he wore would stand out
among the fighters on any field of battle.

"Have we met, gentle visitor?"
She wove her speech with runes, her fingers
moving against her dress as she spoke,
binding him with her speech. She called him
gentle and he gentled, his demeanor softening.

"We have not met face to face, but I have seen you
fight." "And what should I call you?"
"The name Areoir pleases me well enough."
"Very well, Areoir. Eat with me tonight.
Our contest may begin on the morrow."

At dinner she asked if he would remove
his black hood, but he shook his head.
"Not until after your contest, my queen."
That night she lay awake, her mind unable to forget
the riddle of what he'd said. She wished
to know who he was, that he called her his queen
and had watched her fight but she had never met him.

Upon the morn, the Queen rose and dressed
in her favorite fighting clothes. Her maid
braided her hair up tightly into a crown
for the long day ahead. When she she descended
into the courtyard where the tests were held,
she was surprised to find the stranger already there.

"I did not expect that someone would show you the way."
"I found my own way," he replied.
"Have you been to my palace before?"
"I have not had the honor of being inside before,
but I have seen it from the distance."

The Queen raised her head, looking at what
could be seen from the courtyard, for she
was more and more curious about this stranger.
The courtyard was enclosed on all four sides.
She could see some of the battlements of the castle,
the mountain that the castle was carved from,
and she could see the sky beyond. The silhouettes
of two dragons circled near the horizon. Songbirds flitted
through the bushes on the far side of the courtyard.

There was no place she that would be allow for
a stranger to watch her unless he had climbed
the cliffs or been carried above them by a dragon.

"As you say," she responded, and left it at that.
"Shall we?" The queen and the mysterious knight
spent the long hours beneath the sun sparring,
until finally the light slipped below the walls
and it grew dark. It was the best day of fighting
the queen could remember having in some time,
and she smiled as she spoke to the stranger.

"It seems we have reached a draw.
Do you wish to continue tomorrow?"

For a second day and a third,
the Queen and the stranger battled in the courtyard,
first with swords, then staves, then knives,
and finally barehanded. On the second night,
as the first, they sat together and spoke
of philosophy, of leadership, of magic.

At the end of the third day, she pinned him
on the floor of the courtyard,
her thighs holding him still.
"Who are you, truly, Areoir?"
"You must make your choice before I can tell you."

"Are you a servant, that you worry I'd reject you?"
That was the only conclusion she'd been able to reach
as she lay awake the night before thinking of him,
and it had bothered her to think that
someone she depended on might feel that way.

"I serve no one!" he roared at her and his limbs shook.
He seemed surprised by his own outburst.
"I must know your feelings before I can
give you my secret. It is part of the magic."
"Very well." She lowered her head and kissed him,
her lips pressed against his veil.
"I would have you, whoever you might be."

Only then did his veil and hood fall away from his his head,
his cloak fluttering to the ground beneath his body.
His face was dark, nearly black, and she brushed
her hand against his cheek.
There was not skin there but scales.

As she watched, his entire body rippled and stretched.
What she had assumed was his armor disappeared,
leaving his body human and naked before her.
His skin was the darkest brown she had ever seen,
his hair the black that had made up his scales.
Only his eyes were the same,
still the liquid gold that had first met hers.
Her voice did not hesitate. "Areoir?"

"My full name is Réaltaíóirsanoíche,
firstclutch son of Murtcuidaem and Fiaclanfui.i
I have watched you from the sky
and I have fallen in love with you.
I found the magic to change my form for you,
but I needed to know that you returned that feeling
for the change to be complete."

"My golden-eyed king," she spoke softly now,
kissing him again. "Mo rí óir."

III - The King, His Queen and Her Knight

In the time before Tyrs forgot where they came from,
there lived the great queen Vanora and her king Areoir.
Their kingdom was at peace, they were free from want
and they were well loved by their people, yet
dark tidings began to reach them of a strange threat
rising in the east, beyond where their allies dwelled.

The Lord of Krovla asked for their aid in preparing
for no soul who traveled east of Braevick returned.
Vanora sent a quest of warriors to fight beside him,
but no word came to her of their fates in battle.

Just as Vanora became anxious for answers, saying
she would investigate for herself, word came that some
had escaped from the eastern kingdoms after all.
A knight came from the east like the rising sun,
guided by Vanora's surviving warriors and
leading a caravan of refugees. When the king and queen
heard this sunrise had reached the Cliffs of Dralor,
they went together to meet with them and see what was to be learned.

Vanora's warriors were first, singing of battles
on plains of dead rock against enemies that seemed
unwilling to die.

"Our home is no more," the knight said. "Our king
has become a monster and broken faith with us.
The lord I served has joined with him for power.
The Krovlish let us pass, but said they will not
let us find peace there when they are still fighting
the monster our king became."

The king's heart was moved and the queen suspected
the battles the Krovlish were fighting would become theirs.
"There is land on the plateau you can farm,
there are temples you can pray in and cities
where you can ply your trades. All we ask in return
is that you be willing to fight if you are able,
when you are called to do so."
The knight bowed low on one knee before them.
"My trade is in service and I have hoped to find
a worthier crown to give my pledge."

"Rise, sir knight, and tell me what to call you,"
Areoir extended his hand to newcomer.
"How did you come to this?"

"I am Ulliam of the eastern shore. My sister Siobhan
and I were orphaned when we were young, then
taken in by our cousin, the lord of Cuiviénen.
We grew up there, calling him brother. We loved him.
He taught me to use the sword and bow to protect.
He taught Siobhan to draw the shapes of magic.
But when the king summoned him, he went,
And when he returned to us, he was changed.
He wanted to share what he'd learned with Siobhan
but she refused, and we were forced to flee."

Ulliam and his sister led their people up the cliffs,
And the king and queen showed them the way.
In Aretia they were met with curiosity and warmth.
When first they settled, Ulliam and his sister found
their places in the palace, she among the students
whilst Ulliam served among Vanora's finest warriors.
Areoir was not sure what to make of this foreign knight.
He and Vanora agreed that his people should be
sheltered, but something sat heavy in Areoir's chest
as he watched the way Vanora and Ulliam sparred,
their blades singing with harmony in the sunlight
of the grassy yard. His eyes followed Ulliam
through the court as Ulliam's own blue eyes followed
Queen Vanora day and night. Whatever this feeling was,
it was foreign to Areoir. Was he sensing something
amiss with the knight Ulliam?

As night came and the queen retired to her room,
so too did the king retire alongside her.
They dressed for bed, putting aside fine embroideries
for soft clothing and soft blankets and soft words.
Areoir turned to his queen then and sought to ask
that which he had struggled to put to words.

"My love, have you noticed the way good Ulliam
watches you, his eyes like the open sky in summer,
full of light and welcoming to one's scales?"

Vanora laughed lightly at her husband, her hand
finding his strong thigh. "Do you worry my heart
will wander when you are the keeper of my heart?"

"Should I worry? Areoir shook his head.
“Is not his beauty pleasing to your eye, my lady?”

“More fair a gentleman have I not known
since came you in my sight, my king.”

"Then why does your hand hesitate to find his?
I have watched him follow you among the halls
and his lips are dry with want to drink of you."

"And I have seen the way his heart follows
when you leave the room, and your own hands
betray your desire to touch him and draw him near."

Both were hesitant in their desire, unwilling to hurt
the other, but both could not let go of the need.
Their hands were forced at last by Ulliam's past.
Though Krovla still fought, an army from the east
made their way through that land, following
the route Ulliam and his people had taken.
They were a small band but did not hesitate
and soon they were at the gates of Aretia.

"You keep what is rightfully mine!" came
a voice broken with magic and death. "Return
my siblings and I will leave you in peace.
Refuse and your land and people will be destroyed!"

Vanora and Areoir looked down from the castle
battlements and saw the trail of death behind him
like Malek's long veil. They gave orders for their knights
to evacuate their people inside the mountain.

"I will not leave your sides," Ulliam announced
as both King and Queen prepared for the battlefield.
"He comes for me and my sister. I refuse
to stay back safely while you fight for us."
"As you wish," Vanora spoke. She heard the devotion
in Ulliam's words and know there would be
no true way to stop him without breaking his heart.

The king, his queen and her knight strode out
onto the field below their castle and their town.
They crossed the meadow to the shaded corner
where the Grey Lord waited. Around him,
color had leached out of the clover and the grass,
and even the soil had faded to colorless ash.

"Grey Lord," Areoir spoke for all of them,
"We have considered your demand and your offer,
and we are of one mind. The safety of
our people is of paramount importance to us."

The invader smiled, a thin and sinister line.
He thought he saw victory laid out before him.
"I appreciate that you understand your situation,"
the Grey Lord spoke. "I see you bring me
Ulliam, but why is my sister not beside you?"

"We have brought you no one." Vanora held her sword
in one hand and reached to take Ulliam's in the other.
"Ulliam is here because he wishes to be with us."

Areoir's voice echoed across the meadow,
through the sky and into the sheltering caves below.
"As I said, we have considered your offer.
We agreed easily what our response had to be.
I regret to tell you that diplomacy has failed.
Go fuck yourself, Lord of the Barren Lands."

The foreign lord howled in rage, a sound
unlike any they had heard before in nature.
A strange and twisting sound born of
his twisted anger. The army advanced.

Areoir gave a roar of his own and shed his
human shape, great black wings spreading
behind him as he took to the sky. The Grey Lord
watched him, hunger and greed on his face.
He did not spare a glance for his army as
the dragon began to tear them apart.
"Come home, brother!" he called.

"You are no longer my brother, whom I loved.
The man who took in my sister and I and raised us,
would not allow such harm to his people and his land."
With that, the knight turned to stand beside his queen.
They faced Ulliam's brother with heads high
and swords flashing whilst their king flew overhead
on his leather wings, flames raining on the attackers.

Slowly, the army fell.
Slowly, the Grey Lord found himself alone.

Enraged, he flung himself at Vanora, for he
believed she had taken his brother from him.
But Ulliam was faster, his body between
the Grey Lord's sword and his Queen's body.
He dropped to the ground and Vanora was
on her knees beside him in an instant.

"No!" yelled a voice high above.
Siobhan was on the battlement, watching.

The Grey Lord screamed in agony. His army
defeated, Areoir returned to Ulliam's side.

"Siobhan! Please!" the Grey Lord's broken
voice called. "I need you!"

"I remember who you were." She called out
his true name, the magic washing over
the field like a wave. Restored to himself
for just a moment, the Grey Lord saw
what he had done. He wept and fell
upon his sword, apologizing as he died.

None heard him speak his last words.
Vanora and Areior were bringing Ulliam
inside. Siobhan still ran to her brother.
None tended to the Grey Lord's corpse.

Siobhan threw herself upon her brother's
chest, murmuring his true name until
his muscles and skin remembered where
they belonged and returned there.
The light also remembered to return
to Ulliam's eyes and they grew bright.

Ulliam hugged his sister and tears ran
down her face. Vanora and Areior hugged
their knight and tears ran down their
faces also. No sooner had Ulliam
recovered than they took him aside,
speaking to him the truth of their feelings
for they would lose no more time.

"You are the dawn that makes the stars
of morning shine all the brighter,"
whispered Vanora, and Areoir spoke,
"We would have you with us in any way
and every way you would allow us.
Your smile and your swordhand,
your pain and your brilliance.
Our heartsblood is yours, if you ask."

From that day, the three would not
be parted: the king, his queen
and her knight wove their lives
into a single strand of fate,
so that all who saw them remarked
on how well they fit together.