Seven years and seven more

Once upon a time, there was a king who had a daughter. He did not have two, he had one, and since he had only one, he loved her more than any other.

The princess also loved her father very much, more than any other, until the day the prince arrived. Then she loved the prince more than any other.

The prince had come from a distant valley beyond the mountains. His kingdom was small, and the fields there were stony. But the rivers were clear, the winds were gentle, and the people who lived there were known for their laughter. The prince himself carried no gold and wore no heavy crown. Instead, he brought a lute, a falcon perched on his arm, and stories gathered from the roads he had traveled.

The princess listened to those stories beneath the castle windows. She listened to the sound of the lute drifting across the gardens. And slowly, without quite noticing when it began, she found that her thoughts followed the prince wherever he walked.

The father, who had no other daughter to love, soon decided that the prince would not do. He ordered an investigation and discovered that the young man had not finished his studies, had no grand position, and that his kingdom was poor. He was kind, they said. Generous, they added. Brave enough, perhaps. But in short, he was not an ideal husband for a daughter whom her father loved more than any other.

So the king called the fairy, the princess’s godmother. She arrived quietly, like a breeze through a half-open window. She wore no crown, only a cloak the color of twilight.

They sat together in the great hall and thought. They thought and thought again. They spoke in whispers and long silences. At last they came to a conclusion.

The best thing would be to put the girl to sleep. Perhaps in her sleep she would dream of a richer, wiser, more suitable prince. Perhaps, while sleeping, she would forget the young man with the lute.

No sooner said than done. They gave the princess a magic potion in a silver cup. She drank it without suspicion, and before she could even say goodnight, her eyes closed.

They laid the girl on a huge bed, in a huge room, inside another huge room, which was reached by a huge corridor. Seven huge doors hid the small entrance to that enormous passage. Around the castle they dug seven deep moats filled with dark water. And planted seven vines in the castle’s seven corners. And seven guards to keep watch of the huge doors.

The castle grew quiet. Only the wind moved through the towers. Only the vines stirred slowly in the sun.

When the prince learned that his beloved slept by magic, and that they believed this would keep her away from him, he did not hesitate. He ordered a seven corner castle to be built. Not far away, on a hill that overlooked the valley, workers raised stone walls and carved wide gates. The prince gave the same instructions: seven moats, seven vines, seven doors hiding a long corridor.

When the castle was finished, he lay down on a huge bed, in a huge room, reached by a huge corridor hidden behind seven huge doors.

And there he too began to sleep.

Seven years passed.

And seven more.

The vines grew thicker and climbed higher along the castle walls. They wrapped themselves around towers and windows and curled through the iron gates. The guards, who had once stood proud and upright, slowly disappeared beneath the green leaves and twisting stems.

Spiders arrived quietly and began their patient work. They wove curtains of silver around the beds, in the huge rooms and along the huge corridors. Their webs trembled gently whenever the wind moved through the silent halls.

Seasons came and went. Spring brought pale blossoms that opened along the vines. Summer filled the air with warm light and the hum of insects. Autumn scattered golden leaves across the courtyards. Winter laid a thin white blanket on the sleeping towers.

And still the princess slept.

And still the prince slept.

Yet in sleep, they dreamed.

The princess dreamed of no one but her prince.

In the morning she dreamed she saw him beneath her window, sitting in the grass and playing the lute. The music rose softly through the air like birds learning to fly.

In the afternoon she dreamed they sat together in the garden. The prince played with his falcon and the dogs that ran happily across the grass, while she embroidered delicate flowers on a linen frame.

And at night she dreamed the moon climbed high above the towers and the spiders wove their silver threads across the silence of her sleep.

The prince dreamed of no one but his princess.

In the morning he dreamed he saw her raven hair shining at the window. So he played the lute for her, letting each note rise gently into the morning light.

In the afternoon he dreamed they sat together in the garden while she embroidered bright patterns on cloth and he ran with the dogs and the falcon through the grass.

And at night he dreamed that the moon rose slowly over the hills and that the spiders wove their quiet lace across the stillness.

Sometimes in those dreams the wind carried the scent of spring blossoms. Sometimes the fountains sang quietly nearby. Thus their dreams crossed the distance between the two castles. Thus their dreams kept them company.

And time, which is more stubborn than kings and wiser than fairies, continued to pass. It slipped through the moats like water. It climbed the vines like sunlight. It crossed the seven doors and wandered through the silent corridors. At last, it reached the sleep of the two lovers.

Gently, very gently, time touched their closed eyes.

And the magic sleep dissolved like mist beneath the morning sun. The princess opened her eyes. At that very moment, far away in his own castle, the prince opened his eyes too.

Dust floated in the sunlight of the great rooms. The vines rustled softly outside the windows. The spiders paused in their weaving. The world had changed while they slept.

The princess rose from her bed. She walked slowly through the huge rooms, through the huge corridors, and past the seven huge doors. Outside, the garden had become a forest of flowers and leaves.

At the same time, the prince walked through his own silent castle, past the long corridors and hidden doors. The two castles stood not far apart. And between them the vines had grown together, forming a winding path of green.

Neither the king nor the fairy nor the guards had noticed their love, patient as roots, growing quietly beneath everything.

Step by step, the prince and the princess followed that path. They crossed the moats as though crossing small streams. They passed through the vines as though walking through a garden. At last they saw each other.

For a moment they stood still, as though waking from a long and gentle dream.

Then they walked forward. And hand in hand they continued on their way, as though ending one dream and stepping into another.