The king of Lhoieegha was sailing away. He had been a good king, the best of kings, but he had long since ceased to be.
When he met his future queen, they were both very young. He was a prince with smiles and a talent for music, she a shy princess with a love of animals. On that first day, he didn't think she was expecially beautiful, and she didn't think he was especially kind. By the time they were married, things had changed.
Twenty-two brief years after the wedding, the queen died. The people mourned; the king was consumed with grief. Ten years after that, the people had moved on. The king had not.
They gathered outside the palace walls. They spoke of revolution. The king refused to be king, they said. They called him an foolish old man. He could hear them from the tower, but he did nothing.
His advisors sent him away, telling him to come back when the people came to their senses. Instead, he roamed. He walked and begged until he found the sea, and then he sat at its edge and played his flute and thought nothing.
A kind fisherman soon found him and fed him and offered him work. The king said nothing. On the third day in the fisherman's house, he asked to be taken out to sea.
They sailed all day and all night in his little boat. The sea was calm. At dawn, they spied an island, sheer with cliffs all the way round, made of white stone, covered with pale grass and pure white petrels.
The king stayed on the island.He climbed up the cliffs and sat on its crest, looking out onto the sea. There he wove a song with his flute, that he would be forgotten by all who had known him. And the birds flew around him and added their cries to the song.
The people forgot the king. His advisors forgot him, and the fisherman who had been so kind woke up wondering when he dreamed again of a high, white isle.
So goes the legend of the Forgotten King. It's said that, if one should make it to his island, they would find him there still, weaving a song to take away his sorrow. And that, if they should leave again, their sorrow would be left behind.
When he met his future queen, they were both very young. He was a prince with smiles and a talent for music, she a shy princess with a love of animals. On that first day, he didn't think she was expecially beautiful, and she didn't think he was especially kind. By the time they were married, things had changed.
Twenty-two brief years after the wedding, the queen died. The people mourned; the king was consumed with grief. Ten years after that, the people had moved on. The king had not.
They gathered outside the palace walls. They spoke of revolution. The king refused to be king, they said. They called him an foolish old man. He could hear them from the tower, but he did nothing.
His advisors sent him away, telling him to come back when the people came to their senses. Instead, he roamed. He walked and begged until he found the sea, and then he sat at its edge and played his flute and thought nothing.
A kind fisherman soon found him and fed him and offered him work. The king said nothing. On the third day in the fisherman's house, he asked to be taken out to sea.
They sailed all day and all night in his little boat. The sea was calm. At dawn, they spied an island, sheer with cliffs all the way round, made of white stone, covered with pale grass and pure white petrels.
The king stayed on the island.He climbed up the cliffs and sat on its crest, looking out onto the sea. There he wove a song with his flute, that he would be forgotten by all who had known him. And the birds flew around him and added their cries to the song.
The people forgot the king. His advisors forgot him, and the fisherman who had been so kind woke up wondering when he dreamed again of a high, white isle.
So goes the legend of the Forgotten King. It's said that, if one should make it to his island, they would find him there still, weaving a song to take away his sorrow. And that, if they should leave again, their sorrow would be left behind.
