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Now, enter into the Haven and discover a charming tale of what happens when..
Imraldera
Cleans House
by
Missy
The
Haven was the sanctuary for all who needed one.
It was simultaneously forest and dwelling. It was kept by a Knight of the Farthest
Shore, and she took this responsibility very seriously.
Imraldera, or
the Lady of the Haven, kept it neat and tidy.
She minded the Faerie building well, and it was always peaceful and
comforting for those who by some fate found themselves there or who were led
there by followers of the Prince to this place of safety where they might bring
their Master’s beloved when weary and in much need of rest.
This
was the case with Bard Eanrin, a fellow Knight of Imraldera, and in her opinion
somewhat of a nuisance at times. Only,
he had not brought a weary traveler on some quest or other, rather he had come
there for a visit. He came often to the
Haven for no apparent reason. When he
was there, he would try out a stanza or two about his lovely Lady Gleamdrene,
and always ask how Imraldera liked it.
Usually, she said nothing, but this only encouraged the Cat more!
“With eyes gazing toward the sun,
Don’t you know my love is more than fun?
My love is true, can’t you see,
How, Lady Gleamdrene, I love thee?
With golden hair, so silky fine,
How I wish I could come up with the next
line!”
“Well,
that’s what I’ve got so far,” Eanrin said.
He was standing with his hand over his heart, serenading Imraldera yet
again. “I’m still having trouble coming
up with the next line, though.” He left
his stance and joined Imraldera where she was sorting beautifully bonded
tomes. “I’ve had a few ideas,” he
continued, “like: there is no other like
your kind, or your eyes are like a
very green pine, but they don’t seem to really fit, do they? What do you
think about it?”
“I
think,” Imraldera said, as she put the last book where it belonged, “that you
spend way too much time thinking about your Gleamdrene Fair, and not enough
time about what’s more important.”
“What
could be more important than my beloved?”
“For
starters, your chamber here in the Haven.”
“What’s
wrong with my temporary dwelling?” asked the Cat-man.
“It’s
a mess, that’s what!” Imraldera exclaimed.
“And it’s not your ‘temporary’
dwelling any more, considering how much time you spend here lately.”
“There’re
a lot of important things in there that can’t be disturbed!” Eanrin explained.
“More
important than Gleamdrene?”
Eanrin
paused and then said with conviction, “Yes, much more important than her.”
“Well,
whatever’s in there, it needs cleaned up because it’s beginning to smell. And if you
don’t do it soon, I will,” Imraldera
warned.
“Alright,
alright, I’ll get to it sometime, but right now I must continue on my newest
tribute to you-know-who!” And with that
he strode off, singing as he went: “With golden hair so silky fine, you, my love,
are truly divine!”
Imraldera
watched him go, making a mental note to stop by his chamber later to clean
it. There was no doubt in her mind that
the Cat wouldn’t so much as touch one thing in an effort to make his room neater.
Imraldera
was wrong. In fact, the Cat did make his
bed a little neater by removing some articles of clothing and some nutshells
from an earlier snack. He dropped the
clothes on the floor, and threw the nutshells into a pile with others from
previous snacks that was now becoming a mountain. All this was done so he might sit on the bed
and write his newest ballad for Lady Gleamdrene. As he wrote, he wondered how long he would have
to keep this up? Would he ever be able
to tell Imraldera how he really felt? As
he thought about his fellow Knight, he remembered about their
conversation. He looked about the
room. There was crumpled paper and old,
half-eaten pieces of fruit as well as his mountain of nutshells and other odds
and ends. Maybe Imraldera was
right. It was pretty messy and did smell
a little. “Most of the stuff in here is rubbish!” thought Eanrin. But not the letters! Oh, no, not the letters! Eanrin looked at the desk where he kept them. They sat, at least a dozen of them, waiting
to be read by a certain woman. But no,
she would never read them! It would be
the death of the poet! So thinking, the
bard got up and left the chamber, half-heartedly promising to clean it more
thoroughly sometime.
As
soon as Imraldera saw Eanrin leave the Haven and enter the Wood, she knew her
chance had come. Swiftly, she made her
way to his room. When she opened the
door she gasped. She almost shut it
again to give it up as a lost cause, but she realized that if she didn’t clean
it no one would, so she got to work. She
started with the half-eaten fruit and nutshells. Putting these in a large sack, she began to
see the floor once more.
That’s when
Eanrin walked in to fetch his cap that he’d forgotten. He let out a yowl that seemed more cat than
man and asked, flabbergasted, “What are
you doing?!”
“I’m
doing what you should be doing. I’m
cleaning up this mess!”
“No,
what are you doing with my fruit and nutshells?!”
“I’m
throwing them away of course,” came her reply.
“But
those are my collections!”
“Oh,
grow up, Eanrin!”
“Fine,
but don’t touch my crumpled paper collection!”
Imraldera
didn’t say anything, but grabbed some folded parchment off the desk, which she
assumed was part of Eanrin’s ridiculous collection. However, she discovered that they were folded
letters and they were addressed: “To my
Dearest Imraldera.” Not just one, but
all were addressed to her. She was
speechless for a moment and then said, “What is this?” She held up the letter.
“Aughhh! Look away!”
Eanrin screamed and snatched the letter from her hand and gently, but
swiftly pushed her from the room. She
let him, and once they were out, Eanrin shut the door behind them and said,
“You don’t have to worry any more, old girl; I’ll clean my chamber right now
and shall henceforth keep it that way!” And that’s what he did. He threw away the unnecessary things he had,
and even got rid of his crumpled paper collection.
Something
he did keep though was the letters.
However, he now hid them in a place where he was sure his dearest
Imraldera could never find and read them… at least not yet.
