text: The king was only a young prince when war came to his lands. The castle, which was usually bustling with merchants, maids, craftsmen and soldiers, quickly became quiet when the smoky sky of battle appeared on the eastern horizon. The children, the old and the weak were the first to leave. Hurriedly pushed onto carts together with their belongings, they ventured off to find sanctuary elsewhere. The young prince watched his older brothers polish their armour in the empty courtyard. He watched the soldiers bid their spouses farewell, and watched his father pace back and forth in his warroom, beard greying with worry. When the smell of the slain reached the castle the prince understood that soon the time would come for him to leave behind the secure walls of his youth. Even at that age the prince knew what loss meant; he had lost his mother to illness only a winter before. She had left this world too soon, and the prince had not been able to say goodbye. He thought about her and her pale, breathless face as he climbed the winding stairs to his chamber. He had to say goodbye this time. From his tower the prince could overlook the endless fields and pastures, villages and lone farmsteads that were his fathers kingdom. It was nearly summer. In happier days the first sunflowers would be blossoming and turning their bright faces towards the castle. Now the bloody glow of fire turned the clouds red, and the abandoned fields basked in their gloom. With a heavy heart, the prince opened the window and let in the foul air. Then he carefully lifted the fishbowl from his windowsill, and held it close to his chest. With a feeling of relief he beheld the delicate, almost translucent scales his little petfish. They twinkled like silver stars, and seemed to be the only thing around him not yet touched by dread. The little fish lifted his tiny head above the water and looked up at the prince, his lord and friend, wondering about the grieve in his eyes. The prince wondered what words of comfort would ease the pain of their parting. He could think of none. He did not want to poison the mind of his beloved pet with words of war and sorrow. He did not want to think of what he would become when he left. So at last he turned to the little fish and said: ‘It is time you lived among your own kind, my friend. I cannot take care of you anymore. I will not be a child for much longer and I will have other responsibilities soon. I have to leave for a while.’ *When will you be back?* ‘I don’t know,’ the prince said. ‘But I promise I’ll come see you first.’ Then he hesitantly lifted the bowl from his chest, and let its contents spill out of the window, into the channel that surrounded the castle. ‘Be good now and wait for me,’ he whispered as the last glimmer of silver disappeared into the deep dark blue. The prince was gone. So was everyone else. The castle was empty. War ravaged the country. Dark and lonely nights turned into years. Where once sunflowers blossomed, the earth now trembled beneath heavy iron boots. Forests were torn down to light mighty forges, and metal, black with blood, screeched together with the crows that filled the sky. Blood and sorrow watered the wartorn lands, and nothing would grow, leaving the surviving people to turn on each other in their hunger and despair. Even the animals fled. Yet one fish remained, forever waiting in the inky waters surrounding the fallen castle. The scavenging crows called him the guardian, and that he became. More years went by. When there was nothing left to destroy, even war itself left the kingdom. And slowly, very slowly, life started coming back. Small saplings of oaks and ashes broke through the scorched earth, small animals dug holes in the riverbanks, birds and deer followed. The desolate fields where sunflowers had been trembled, became a wild forest. The guardian in the water felt the spirit of the world return and eager he awaited the sound of feet on the castle bridge. Yet none came. Round and round the guardian swam, feeling the channel shrink around his body. There were none like him, creatures of the water fled from him, birds dared not sing anymore when he surfaced. How lonely he was, waiting desperately for a friendly word, a gentle touch. Only at night the world seemed to be friendly again, when the forest went silent and the sky lit up like a tapestry of diamonds. The moon did not fear him, and so the guardian would lift his mighty head above the water to feel her gentle light. His beloved castle had fallen into decay. The roof had collapsed, trees grew through stone and spiders weaved their webs across broken windows. Even the beautiful flowers on the bridge had ruthless roots that ate away at its stone until it too, eventually collapsed. Never more would there be the sound of familiar feet on the castle bridge. And deep in the dark blue waters, the guardian grieved, and waited. *When will you be back?* One day, a great raven came from the north. She had had a long and lonely journey across many a snowy peak and frozen desert. The warm breeze of the southern wind was unfamiliar to her, the green woods strange and unsettling. She loved the cold white silence of its birth, the bitter lands where no cruelty could ever be hidden and no life was sacred, yet she had longed to see the world. And so she arrived and rested on the broken battlement of what was once a mighty castle. How strange it seemed to her, this great stack of stones. What purpose could it serve, what creature might it house? The raven flew and hopped around the castle, but could find nothing but strange southern birds, mice and spiders. Yet in the great hall she came upon a familiar image, the first familiar thing she had encountered in this strange country. On the wall, in dusty disarray, hung a painting with the likeness of a creature the raven knew well. These were the creatures that shrouded themselves in iron and gold, shouted like crows and used pointed sticks to kill one another. The raven knew this creature, it had waged its wars in her homeland too. One of the creatures depicted on the wall particularly struck her memory. It was the tall one, with a greying beard. Had she not seen this creature just days ago, on the northern road? At nightfall the ravens suspicion became truth. From the tallest tower she watched a man arrive at the broken bridge. He was ancient, his hair white as snow, his limbs were thin and his face bore the marks of a hard life. Around his shoulders a purple cloak was draped, the sign of kingship, now faded and threadbare. Yet the man still stood tall, taller even than his father before him, and in his eyes the light had not yet died. The young prince became a soldier at the age of twelve, the very night he left the castle. He saw his father fall in battle that same year, and then he watched his brothers fight and kill each other over the spoils of war. At eighteen he was all alone. He became a king in exile, but misfortune took his crown again and the road became his home. He was a warrior, he was a rogue, a hireling and a thief. He was a refugee, and no one at all. He knew many names, and left them all behind. It seemed as though the Gods had given up on him, but through glory and misery he battled on, losing hope but never heart, even though the faces of those he’d lost and killed haunted him at night. In foreign lands he slaved and fought, full of burning passion under the blistering sun of the south, cold and uncaring through the hard winters of the north. He choose loneliness over love and carved many regrets into his heart, but he became king again. Now he was ancient, for the gods where cruel and would not let him sleep. Had he been a good king, a good father to his children and subjects? He did not know. He had more scars left than memories. His skin withered around his bones and his mind became clouded. Things that were important he forgot, and things that were buried in the fog, suddenly came back to him. One morning he had woken up with a glimmer of silver on his mind. Though he could not remember what it belonged to, he knew it to be important. It had not left his minds eye ever since. He had felt himself drawn to the river, as if something was calling him from afar. And he had listened to the call, left behind the comfort of his riches to follow a raven south. One last journey. Now he collapsed at the foot of the broken bridge, his weary mind overflowing with memories. Childrens laughter on sunny days, hunting parties, his fathers eyes, his mothers touch, his brothers playing in the yard. The sound of wooden swords, click-clack, a dark rumour of what was to come. Now the wind rustled the trees that grew through the roof, and there was no way to travel those final steps to his old home. The water, dark and still, barred his way. He was forever shut out. A salt tear formed in his grey eye, rolled down his hollow cheek and fell into the water. A moment of complete silence. Then a tremor that shook the earth. The castle groaned, as though it had been woken up after a long rest. In the deep something moved, something monsterous made its way up, up up... Suddenly a great dorsal fin carved through the surface, splitting the blue in two, making its way to the broken end of the bridge. Yet the King did not flee. A torch had been lighted in his mind and cleared away the fog. He remembered. And so did the guardian, who’d never forgotten. It was a summer evening when they were reunited. The swallows flew low over the water, the sun still warmed the earth and the first stars appeared in the west. Even though life bustled on around them, time slowed when the guardian lifted his mighty dragonhead above the water and looked at his lord and friend once again. *I knew you would come back.* ‘You waited...’ *Of course.* ‘So many years...’ *Has it been that long? I have forgotten time. But not your eyes. Not your voice.* The Guardian softly lowered his head, let it rest on the lap of the old king and closed his eyes. Though his teeth were large as daggers, the king felt no fear and laid his hand upon the old head. *Have I done well?* The guardian asked. ‘You have been the very best. But I have failed you. I am so sorry.’ *You can never fail me.* ‘you have been alone for so long, and now that I’m old, I will be gone soon and you will be alone again.’ The great eye of the guardian opened, a black pool with golden speckles. *Fear not, for it is I who will say goodbye this time.* ‘No... you are not yet old. Your kind can live for a thousand more years.’ *I do not wish for such loneliness.* ‘I do not wish you dead.’ *There are no more wishes. I am ill with an old poison. War will kill even a hundred years after it has vanished.* The king was silent for a long time. He caressed the monster in his lap, and looked at the broken castle. The moon started to rise above the line of trees and towers, crickets and frogs sounded their choir and the world was calm. Large shadows crept out from under the old walls, creatures of the night climbed out of nests and watched with glittering eyes as the moon swept her light over the broken bridge. The scales of the guardian became silver once more. ‘Then let me go with you,’ the king said at last. ‘War has ruled en ruined my life, I will not endure more loss because of it.’ *If you wish, my lord.* ‘It will be my last wish, my friend. Take me home.’ Softly the guardian rose from the lap of the king. A primordial monster he looked, towering over the broken bridge, but when he curled his tail around the kings fragile body, there was nothing but gentleness in his touch. The guardian lifted the king from the bridge as if he weighted nothing, and softly, without so much as a sound, they both disappeared in the deep, and the water closed above their heads as if nothing had ever disturbed it. The raven on the tower waited the whole night, eager to see the wonderous creature of the water return once more. But it did not. It never would again. And even after a thousand years not a trace can be found of either guardian or king. The memories that once filled the castle have disappeared too, as there is no one left to remember them. Even the castle disappeared. Only if one searches underneath layers of bracken and earth, one can still find its hidden ruins. And maybe, if the ancient Gods will it, one can see a raven circling overhead, searching, waiting. Hoping for one more shimmer of silver.