And the Rest is History!
With the birth of a new season, rests the despair and visions a light at the end of the tunnel.
It’s the time of the year, where the tall splendid gothic manor was ornate by the honey scented snowdrops that bloomed across the floriated columns. The harmonious fusion of artistic antiquity of the towers was highlighted by the flag that stood strong among the strident winds. A herd of majestic trained horses lined in front, trotting and cantering, painted a fantasy advent to the most awaited magical day. The castle’s hushed garden was now brimmed with laughter and enthusiastic praises as people celebrated and rejoiced.
The manor great hall housed the guested appearance of the delegates and visionaries from across the country, clocked up with discussions. The story-laden stairs made memories to be treasured forever, with bright lit torches guiding the eyes to mesmerisation. Ministers, well-wishers and innkeepers were dressed up in silky rich bold robes and glided on the polished floors. The royal dinning, warm with candles and welcoming scent of the freshly picked peaches, was loaded with feast consisting of all cuisines one could and couldn’t name off. The walls echoed with praises, songs, laughter and music from the crowd; the floors filled with fast footsteps, dances and taps. The lanterns were ready to be wished upon in the sky, and the crackers for the viewers delight. The maidens immersed in the preparation of the magical day were seen inquisitive in the search of the princess.
In this magical ambience of the castle, there was one corner of desolate tower that stood pale and filled with cold shivers near the secret tunnel. The tunnel that was built for protection, now remained deserted year long. The lively blissful aura slowly faded away as they neared the tower and a heavy pause took over the turf.
There she stood still by the magnific lancet windows! Where the winds howled, and autumn leaves danced along with hustles and whispers of the by-passers. Her cherry red crowned curls and her doe brown eyes glimmered from the illumination of the multi-light traceried. The intricate colourful crafted window stains seemed to have forgotten its colour and lost it’s hope to shine!
Amidst this most awaited celebration, the princess continued her stand with a teary eye, not daring to slip a glance away from the window. Holding her father’s last scroll, she waited for the million in one chance for him to return safe from the war. She waited for the chariot to gallop its way to the castle and see the crowd rejoicing for the king’s return.
She reminisced the days where she would sit by the throne and observe as her father orated the stories of the war. The days where she would dedicate her mornings to those precious sword lessons and warrior skills. To those countless times they polished the swords together and giggled all the way along. To learning to hop on her horse and take a stroll along the seacoast to watch the sunset together. Learning to master the clarity of thoughts and observe the footsteps of the beloved king. To the painful days where he would comfort her and encourage her to stand up tall and unshaken, whatever be the obstacle she is thrown with. The days where they would go on a hunting spree into the mystical forest and enjoy a slow cooked feast under the starry sky.
Distracted by the footsteps of the maidens, she quickly wiped up the tears and turned back to see them holding the king’s sword. The bejewelled crafted sword with an imperial lion head, gleamed across the dusky tower, captivating everyone for a fleeting moment. The sword that had survived numerous battles and shinned its glory, a priceless possession of the king. The maiden bowed down before the princess with her hands up in the air rising the sword. She picked up the broken pieces of her courage and gripped the sword close to her heart. She led the way followed by the maidens to the room full of countrymen awaiting her presence.
With the French horns blowing and kids singing praises, she walked into the manor house in a brocade and quartz pink satin robe with gold lace embellishments sweeping the floor. It complimented the cherry blossoms hung around the pillars and dazzled in the candle light. Around her waist hung her father’s sword that guided her through this new venture. She managed to take a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror and see the reflection of her father via the sword. Greeted by the enthusiastic crowd, she bowed before the delegates and swiftly traced up, top the throne.
She ascended the thrown with her head held high, For she was ready to set apart her pain and renew her hope to the people as their Queen!
As they awaited for the advent of winter, she was driven to be the change that endured the cold shivers and still envision a rainbow. A vibrant and determined young queen, a courage contagious from her father: who would keep his name soaring high. An empowered daughter that would make him proud, entitled to devote to a glorious era. Thus, in this magical day grew the roots of possibilities and began a new history.
