The Unicorn - Tumblr Posts
[fic] [the last unicorn | lír -> unicorn(amalthea)] by the way i behave
Summary:
Petrichor, semafore, non sequitur, primogeniture… Lír is still searching.
ao3
Petrichor, semafore, non sequitur, primogeniture…
Lír stretched his travel-weary limbs before the small fire. Time had chased away the gleaming gold hue of his hair and left in its place the dull brown of undyed wool, though it still hung around his face in careless ringlets.
The ogre had tormented the small fishing village for months, though it had been little trouble for Lír to dispatch it. He rewarded himself, as always, by singing down a meandering forested path back to his peopled inland castle. Just a few more days and he would haunt its sunlit halls again. He would dutifully play his part: ruling justly and wisely, and when the time came, ride out again to meet danger or enchantment or a maiden’s tears.
Molly had questioned the wisdom of his continued roving during her most recent visit with Schmendrick. The wizard, for his part, insisted that the unicorns roamed hidden and free, as intended; that their magic simply remained unnoticed by ordinary men. Clearly frustrated by some thwarted argument, Molly seemed to circle something she wouldn’t say. The sigh she heaved accentuated the gentle creases deepening on her face, and she hurriedly pushed Lír out the door after the next damsel who showed up to command his services.
In the deepest shadows of Lír’s heart, he fancied that the red thread that bound him to the Lady Amalthea had tangled and ensnared them both so hopelessly that they would be aware of danger or harm coming to one another. That some pointed, excruciating spear of certainty would stab at the core of him at the moment of her death. However, no such anxiety had ever leapt to mind, and so he was content to range the forests in endless pursuit.
This lush wood stood tranquil tonight and strangely empty of game, as though all its creatures had anticipated his leisurely approach and made themselves scarce. But Lír’s gently nickering horse wasn’t troubled, so neither was he. He would have no meat for dinner, though, so he satisfied himself with a deep drink from the cool stream bubbling nearby.
Not for the first time, Lír wondered: if he found her, would she know him?
Would she still love him?
The scent of lilac hung damp and heavy in the clearing. The fire crackled low at Lír’s feet, warming them through the leather of his boots. The air was quiet and still, and a blanket of drowsiness fell slowly over him. He closed his eyes to the lonely stars and composed another couplet as he fell asleep. Adore, metaphor, furthermore, troubadour…
That night, Lír dreamed of fine white hair, shining like a flower in the starlight, and amaranthine eyes. At once woman and unicorn, mortal and immortal, so close he could feel her bright cool skin and as remote as the moon. She turned her ageless and innocent gaze upon him once more and said nothing. The sight filled him with such a terrible, breast-beating sorrow that when he awoke he was surprised to touch his cheeks and find them dry.
"This then was love, to look and look until one exists no more, this was the love which was the same as death."
Iris Murdoch, The Unicorn
„Inked Memories” #8
Calendar illustration.
Find my calendars HERE, contact me via WEBSITE if you’re interested.