Pirin - Book II - Hairam the Queen

Chapter 3

“Please, Hairam, try looking at things from my point of view”, I defended myself. “Indeed, I helped you retrieving the crown. And yet, how can you ignore the changes my life has gone through? My father suddenly died, and in the blink of an eye I was the King of this realm. And I... I do not know whether the Chosen One to bear the Crown of Sibereht might ever be found... One might even doubt the accuracy of the prophecy! Have you ever given a single thought to the notion that there might be no Chosen One, and that those shards might not be anything other than what they look like, that is, merely two cold pieces of iron, bitten by rust? One thing, instead, I know for sure: I already have a Kingdom, and that is here! Not the whole world, not at all, and yet my own Kingdom, Hairam! My own Kingdom. The Kingdom I was truly meant to rule. And I wish to be a good King, in my Kingdom. At least I would like to try and be one, and how could I do so, by leaving my people after barely a year since my investiture, in order to search for an anvil with you? Furthermore, leaving, without even knowing whereto, without even knowing where to start looking for it? For that is the truth, Hairam: we know nothing at all...”

I was holding her shoulders, as if attempting to wake her up, to open her eyes to the very fact of how difficult it was for me to make such a choice. Instead of opening to an understanding of me, though, her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were looking at me in bitterness, disappointment, contempt, while her tears dissolved the black lines of make-up the delicate hands of the handmaids had skillfully drawn upon her face.

Hairam's voice pierced my heart with its sternness: “The Kingdom you were truly meant to rule? How can you even talk of what you are meant to do? Did Fate not call you to a much more urgent enterprise? Are you perchance deaf? The fates of this realm, as much as any other realm, might rest in these cheap pieces of rusty metal!”, she yelled at me, waving the crown's shards before my eyes.

By looking at those iron half-moons, I felt a sense of cold and fear running through my veins. I felt the burden of such a responsibility as something way surpassing my powers. How could we, mortal, imperfect beings, be meant to carry out such an impossible task? How might the Gods, immortal and excellent, have devised such a twisted game? It was like putting the reins of a horse in the hands of mere fleas, or entrusting the steer of a vessel to tiny mosquitoes, or maybe commanding a little mouse to climb up and down a whole mountain chain... What did we represent, Hairam and I, in order to be able to keep the Crown of the King of the World? Perhaps I had already taken such a choice within me a while earlier, but had been waiting all along for the right time to confess it. Had it been it cowardice guiding me? Had it been craven-like to let Hairam continue her journey alone? There is never an unanimous consent concerning choices to make, even within one's mind. One cannot say whether a choice one has to make might be right or wrong.

Although a part of me was grievously suffering, another was unspeakably relieved, as soon as Hairam, staring at me in her icy scowl, and talking to me in a voice turned once more still and confident, concluded: “Then I shall go on my own. And what good might you ever do? I shall find the anvil, and, as soon as I achieve, I shall also find someone else to wield the Hammer beside me, so that we may reforge this crown once and for all! And, in case that should prove necessary, I shall myself leave in order to find the Chosen One to wield it, thereby defeating Belhagard's power! Farewell, Helewen, we have come to the parting of our ways”.

The reason for my relief, though, was simply the Crown letting my life go. That bewitched item, like the stinger of some bumblebee, had filled my guts with a feeling of constant inadequacy.

Nonetheless, the relief only lasted a short while, only but one second, and so, one moment later, the heaviness of an uncomparable regret completely took over my soul, since I was aware I had betrayed Hairam's expectations in acting like a craven of sorts.

I did my best to have her reconsider: “You said you would keep by my side in any circumstance! Are you always so good at keeping your promises?”

“You better believe it. I promised you I would keep by your side in order to help you, as long as we were fighting together toward the same goal! Instead, it is you forsaking me. Apparently it does not matter to you, whatever may happen to all the peoples of the world. You are only interested in your little seat, those meaningless sceptres you bear, and the jewel encircling your forehead! Be that as it may, suit yourself, hiding among your golden temples, the comfortable gardens of delight, and all those peaceful, snow-capped mountains. But keep well in mind: as long as Belhagard is not defeated, it is only a matter of time before war comes here too. Contention shall arise in our very charming Lothriel as well on that day, and our people shall return to honing their swords. Only then, perhaps, will you realize your mistake! And yet, on that day, it may well be too late...”

Hairam left Lothriel the day after our quarrel. It was the year 1793 in the Seventh Age. And I stood alone upon the wide balcony facing the huge garden, contemplating the changing skies of silk, bordered by clouds, waiting for the storm to come from the East.

I had seen her leaving, and did nothing to stop her. I had even offered her an escort and supplies for her journeuy, an offer which she had naturally turned down. She did not even accept Hèren, the Emerald of Immunity, which I meant to give her in order that she be protected from charms and spells. She would not take anything from me, since she had already asked me something, and I had refused the offer. I had seen her leave in a gallop on a smoke-grey steed, her proud Canafaldon, 'The Unremitting'. A good horse, never losing the way, and one which, I hoped, would one day bring her back to me...

A good King for my people

CHAPTER III

Not even the passing of days, weeks, months, and years could ever lead me to forget the suffering, the emptiness, striking my heart after Hairam's leavestaking. And yet, there is quality in the passage of time, that it conceals sorrow under a layer of bark, getting harder and stronger as years go by, and allowing us to tolerate our wounds, although they may not be healed for good. During the days following Hairam's departure, I paid a visit to my mother Ahdehtal, all the way up to her house in the fells, and listened to her as she plucked the strings of her harp, playing a sorrowful tune. I had not told her about Hairam, but she knew, or could feel it, perhaps simply deducing it from the way my eyes looked. I recognized the melody she was playing, and it was a sad song:

Aranteha kem xadeha,

deh ham dhal woesis arantehes

alan

mahii ural.

Tisal goi, wosat,

osondel ath esisaar mahii,

vençteseh sohl eh tadsisaar

tadsisi ath kem mobalohl.

Deh ta woesis evmaar ha sarèd,

shasmeteha sth,

ekèm esistehes nau, eh halbar,

canciàtiaar xadi ath rhosmyn.

Nau evisilaar wifen

fenes hèronareth hes,

ub hol,

uron intal xome.

Deh esistehes mono evisilaar

wifen dinva lusef,

ni hol uhar in urgowin,

ni xad uus sanoaar hes.

(I know I made a mistake,

but my heart cannot

always

tell what is best.

Sometimes fear, or uncertainty,

some belief to be so very right,

they all lead us to act in a way

we shall then very soon so regret.

Do not judge me so easily, please,

I humbly beg you, do not punish me,

for, in truth, it is the morning wrongs

which the sunset does always make worse.

Any fish any time can be told

once it takes unawarely your bait,

any bird any time can be sold

which was caught beforehand in your net.

Yet does anyone know who can tell

any fish as it swims underwater?

And does anyone know who can sell

any bird as it flies on its wings?

Thus indeed no mistake would be made

just as soon as one knew it for wrong).

Listening to that melody, and recalling the lyrics of the song, I realized my mother was aware of my mistake, and yet she did not judge me. Since things were so, before leaving, I took her face in my hands and kissed her between the eyes. She stared at me, a glance looking as a wish to protect me from any mischance Fate might bring about, and I replied with a look meant to express my self-confidence and will to reassure her and tell her not to worry, as long as she could. Therefore, concealing my sorrow behind a jovial mask, I returned the day after to my Kingdom, putting on my good face, and ready to prove myself a good King for my people.

Those who do not bear a crown might think that ruling over Lothriel is easy, since our country never had to face sieges, invasions, epidemics, or famines, nor other calamities or great upheavals. The stores were always full, as much as markets, and everywhere you could only see wealth and gladness. Yet, my dear Domenir, you should believe me when I tell you that ruling is not easy at all, never, anywhere, over any kingdom. In order for wealth to last, there are subtle harmonies which must be preserved, so that the ruler must always be able to pull the strings as a skilled puppet master. People walking in the streets, when everything is right, do not even realize there is somebody ruling them. They only look for the responsible people when things are wrong. Subjects ask for a hearing before the King only when they have to present their issues and their complaints. Only rarely a sovereign is sought for in order to be praised, and only a few are those queuing outside the audience hall in order to relate how glad they are.

Therefore, Domenir, you may well guess how many problems of every kind, both great and small, I had to wrestle with during my long years as a King, although such things are never sung in gest-songs, when feasts are held. Bards praise heroes, great knightly feats, leaders of armies, and Kings who built marvels. Nobody sings the one who rules after the only purpose to have things work. Nobody dedicates verses to Kings who everyday welcomed into their palaces and listened to people coming to have their say, also trying their best to offer them some help. One can do without astounding deeds, but, for a Kingdom to prosper, it is necessary to come to terms, one after the other, with each person's issues.

I would like to tell you about some of the many issues I was presented with during my earlier years as a King. I shall therefore tell you about ten problems I solved...

The court cook

CHAPTER IV

One day a young assistant cook from the royal kitchen came before me in the audience hall.

“Please, speak, and present your issue to me”, I invited him.

And he replied: “You should know, my noble Lord, that the chief cook in the royal kitchen, the skilled Osondeljui, master chef in the making of all sorts of prelibacies palatable to the pickiest foodies, gave up cooking for you as much as for any court member. It has actually been a few days already since we are lacking his expertise, therefore any dish coming to your table lately, my King, are prepared by us, doing our best to recall and ape Osondeljui's teachings, although we certainly cannot compare, and we shall not be able to do it for long. We would all like to get the reason for his forsaking the kitchen, but the master's mouth is shut as an eggshell before us. Therefore I come to you, noble sovereign, in the hope your influence and authority may succeed in restoring master Osondeljui to his proper position”.