Lord Lucavi and the Beautiful Rose of Oller

EDIT: For some reason it's not keeping the paragraphs as written. I apologize about the difficult read due to this issue. Here now before you comes a story, a story of Love, Life, and Hope. This story is told in parable, that is a mirror of life. Learn now the story of Faran Lucavi and his Beautiful Rose of Oller. The lord of this land was fond of flowers, which he grew in his garden. This lord loved many things, flowers most of all. How he did love them, working his royal hands to bones in the earth, devoting much of his time to his Garden. One day, a messanger came, with him bearing a single seed. "My lord, here have I a seed, a single seed, from the gardens of fabled Eden. They say that once planted, it grows and blooms into a vision of Goddess herself!" said the messanger, to which the lord did reply, "Where have you gotten this seed, this most wonderous of seeds, if what you say is true?" The messanger made brief mention of the House Oller, some ways away, and was gone. Our lord went to his garden, and in a clearing, where the earth was dark, and the shade from the Elder trees turned the air the color of emeralds in the sun, near a spring of purest water, he planted this seed. The lord cared for it, watered it, waited. Soon dark times came to House Lucavi, and the lord was called off to war to defend his House and his honor. The garden grew dark and tangled, thorns taking the place of flowers. Almost a year the lord was away. Upon the lord's return, he fell into dark despair upon gazing unto the garden, now filled with vile weeds, nettles, and thorns. Gloomy and dark now the lord's once great House had become. The once great walls and battlements were now pitted and fallen, the great moat empty. The lands were untilled and full of grass and uncut hay, the villages on his land long abandoned. The tapestries of the history of the Great House Lucavi now moth eaten rags, and animals had begun nesting in the once glorious halls. One night, under the light of the Mother Moon, here came the lord to his garden, through the thorns and bracken, having forgotten this seed. He wished to sit in silence and mourn the loss of his garden, which at one time had been vast and beautiful, envied by many Houses and coveted throughout many lands. In time he came upon a spot where the earth was still good, not a weed nor thistle had intruded. Here, by a spring long forgotten in the hell of war, the lord sat and rested. As the moon rose, the lord noticed something. In that spot, right next to him, there was a Rose. It captivated the Lord Lucavi, it's grace, beauty, its life. The lord lay next to this Rose, and slept, even dreaming of the Rose, here in the decrepit overrun garden. Even in sleep, the lord saw the Rose, not only as the most beautiful flower he had ever laid his weary eyes upon, but as a woman in his dream. She came to him, even though his House had become dark, never again to see its former glory, but still to him she came. In his dream, sleeping there in the garden, next to the Rose, she said, "Thank you, for caring. Thank you, for being there. Thank you, even though you left, and the walls of your garden cumbled around me, and foul thorns and weeds encroached upon me, overtaking the others. Though you could have started your garden again, rebuilt these falled parapets, cleared the weeds, you came back to me. Tell me, lord, why are you so nice to me?" And with that, the lord replied only with a kiss. The lord awoke, and saw the Rose in the emerald light, and named the Rose, "Nata Schia" he said, which in his tongue meant "most beautiful". The lord remained secluded in the crumbling remains of his House's estate, the walls giving way to the steady march of time, the roofs falling in due to neglect, for all of his vassals and servants left the great House when the lord went off the the fields with armor and sword. And he was content, for in the ruins of his once lovely garden, he had the Rose, his Nata Schia. Many days and nights would he spend there, amidst the Thorns and ruins of his world, content in the company of the Rose. Many moons had passed, and both the lord and the Rose flourished. Many nights he would speak to the Rose, and in his dreams the Rose, in the guise of Woman, walked with him in the woods and wild places of the earth, content and alone, making love in the light of the stars. But as with all things, and this tale is no exception, time has a way of reaping all things. Lord and Lady, lad and lass, all bow before the hourglass. Such is the fate of all living things, and our lord and his Rose are no exception. Eventually, the Thorns of the world began creeping towards the Rose. The lord did not notice them, for he had found in the black recesses of his heart that he did indeed love this Rose, like nothing he had loved before. Deep it went, through the fiber of his being, tapping the wellspring of his own soul. So much that he did love his Rose, he rarely left its side. On one of those ever rarer nights that the lord slept within the castle confines, a message came. The messanger, bloody and barely alive, spoke only thus, "Lord Faran of House Lucavi, you are needed." In his hand, this harbinger carried only a black arrow, made of some rare wood and a tip of iron tempered in blood, fletchings of the wingtips of black swans. The lord despaired, and went swiftly into his garden, to his Rose. There he lay, in darkest gloom, and whispered to the Rose, "My dearest, war calls, and I must go. Soon I shall return, pray do not wither and die, nor let these thorns conquer you. My Most Beautiful Rose of Oller, know this, I will return for you..." And with that, he prepared for battle. The day his armor and sword were made ready, and his horse saddled, he made his way through the garden once more, picking his way through the bracken and broken bricks that were what remained of the walls. He gazed long and hard at the Rose, wishing the Woman to come to him and ask him not to go, to tell him she loved him. The Rose seemed to droop under what seemed to be the weight of the world, seemed to be crying, if flowers could shed tears. But those words did not come, the Rose did not ask him not to go. And so the lord said goodbye and left that place in time to catch the march to war. The lord thought of the Rose, often and deeply, wishing he had ignored the messenger, and remained content in his garden, with the Rose. He often thought of home, of the failing battlements, the crumbled walls overrun by ivy and thorns, mostly of the Rose. Oh how he did love Nata Schia Rose, that he sent word back as often as he could. During his battles, his army's supply lines had been cut, and the lord, forsaking the war, made ready to return home. And home he did ride. The night of his return, he ran straight to the Rose, and finding not the Rose but the Woman, he embraced her, and told her he loved her. Nataschia, as the Rose had become, echoed this, and so they made love in the garden. In the morning, the lord gathered up his armor and sword, and guided Nataschia into his castle, and made her comfortable. But things were not to last, and here our tale turns to darkness. For while Lord Faran Lucavi was off in the fields, there came an encroacher to the garden, drawn by tales of the Rose, this most Beautiful Rose of Oller, and he saught to make the Rose his own. Nataschia, fearing her Lord Lucavi had fallen in battle when no word had been sent, began to care for this encroacher, this rival. And so she left the House Lucavi with him, and the lord despaired once again. His love had been stolen from him, the Light removed from his life. He gave chase, and came upon Nataschia, and tried to bring her back with him on several occasions. Unfortunately, all of his efforts were in vain. The lord eventually gave into his despair, promising his Rose that he would be watching, waiting, to the end of his life, protecting her. The years went by, and House Lucavi regained its glory through the lord's deeds of valor and kindness, and people once again resettled the land, and the lord's House once again number among the Great Houses of that land, but that is a tale for another time. Even though Lord Lucavi rebuilt his House and name, he never restored his garden. He kept it the way it was, and he did notice that where the Rose once grew, nothing else ever grew there other than soft moss. The thorns never overtook that spot, under the Elder tree, next to the spring, where the sun would turn the air emeral green, the the moon would shine her light on that spot where once the Rose had been. The lord eventually embraced the darkness, became stronger because of it. Often he would walk the garden walls, careful not to misstep, or to kick more bricks down, and gaze upon the resting place of his Rose. To this day, Lord Faran Lucavi can be seen, if you have the chance to look, standing on his crumbling walls, in the dead of night, gazing down at a garden overrun with ivy and thorns and wild grasses, at a spot on the ground covered only in moss, at the foot of a great tree, next to a spring. He dreams of Her, and calls her name into the nighty, vainly seeking an answer. He whispers into the darkness, calling for her. And though no answer comes, he still seeks Nataschia, and shall do so to the end of his days. He knows the Rose lives, and watches from a distance, waiting for her to seek him out. In the cool night, he waits through the years, waiting and watching, protecting through various ways. And still, even though many years have passed without word, he still loves her, with everything he is. The lord still hopes, foolish as it is, that one day, his Nataschia Rose will come back to him. Whether his hope is wasted or not, remember here this lesson: Hope is bittersweet, and Love is eternal, even unto the end of your days. We all walk the lord's land, the land of Nod, and though you may be lost, find your ray of hope, bitter though it may be, to guide you through the treacherous mountains and paths, and may you, and our Lord Lucavi, one day reach his hope and be free of despair. Once you find that hope, seek it to the fullest of your abilty, never let it go, thin ray of light though it may be, keep it dear to you, and learn from our lord and his Rose....
Lucavi Lucavi
26-30, M
3 Responses Jul 15, 2007

This is really good.. reminded me a bit of the Highway Man by Alfred Noyes :]

That reminds Me a lot of the works of Oscar Wilde.. very moving.

oh my... i dont know wat to say. that is.... incredible