Tristran Thorn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tristranthorn) wrote2007-07-16 02:33 am
tristranthorn) wrote2007-07-16 02:33 am
Entry tags:
[018] OOM - Fulkeston - Story-telling
[Accompanying Yvaine's OOM...]
"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest..."
It would be a lie to say that he doesn't enjoy the attention -- even if he is only enjoying it a little bit (really). Telling stories and being admired and applauded for them really makes him feel worthy; and in a village that looks and feels so much like Wall, it almost makes up for all the times he'd been teased, mocked and scorned for telling them (not to mention being different). Tristran can't help but grin, encouraged to drum up another eloquent tale from his memory, something that will really impress the crowd.
"Oh, do go on, Master Tristran," one of the girls encourages, her words quick and full of excitement.
"Oh, yes," another one adds. "You have a magnificent speaking voice, do you know?"
"You do!"
There is a series of giggles and flushed faces beaming up at him. Tristran laughs sheepishly in response, face unintentionally growing warm as he tries to think of where he last left off.
"It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown..."
And he tells his stories (the ones he remembers) as best as he can, until his voice grows hoarse and his eyes begin to drop and he loses strength in his entire body from the exhaustion. The villagers take good care of him (and his "lady-friend" as they called the star) as far as he's concerned, providing them with food and shelter and all the other necessities in between.
"...Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there."
There is a loud range of applause from the townspeople when he finishes. It's like that every time he finishes. And each time, he looks up, searching for the star, but oftentimes being preoccupied a split second later by someone urging him to start a new tale, or a new rhyme, and he's so caught up in the moment of it all, that he finds it hard to refuse.
It goes on like this for several days.
"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest..."
It would be a lie to say that he doesn't enjoy the attention -- even if he is only enjoying it a little bit (really). Telling stories and being admired and applauded for them really makes him feel worthy; and in a village that looks and feels so much like Wall, it almost makes up for all the times he'd been teased, mocked and scorned for telling them (not to mention being different). Tristran can't help but grin, encouraged to drum up another eloquent tale from his memory, something that will really impress the crowd.
"Oh, do go on, Master Tristran," one of the girls encourages, her words quick and full of excitement.
"Oh, yes," another one adds. "You have a magnificent speaking voice, do you know?"
"You do!"
There is a series of giggles and flushed faces beaming up at him. Tristran laughs sheepishly in response, face unintentionally growing warm as he tries to think of where he last left off.
"It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown..."
And he tells his stories (the ones he remembers) as best as he can, until his voice grows hoarse and his eyes begin to drop and he loses strength in his entire body from the exhaustion. The villagers take good care of him (and his "lady-friend" as they called the star) as far as he's concerned, providing them with food and shelter and all the other necessities in between.
"...Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there."
There is a loud range of applause from the townspeople when he finishes. It's like that every time he finishes. And each time, he looks up, searching for the star, but oftentimes being preoccupied a split second later by someone urging him to start a new tale, or a new rhyme, and he's so caught up in the moment of it all, that he finds it hard to refuse.
It goes on like this for several days.