Levorcam: Listen, O Dierdre, daughter of sorrow and beauty and omen; Hear me, for silence itself has sharpened to carry my words. Blood is the slash and kings are the keepers of the swords— Every heart that defies their claim is an ogham that is made with death. Dierdre: Say what you mean, old watcher of omens and whisper of kings— Shall I be chained to a crown for fear of a shadowed decree? Levorcam: Better the chain than the grave, for Connor is wrath made lawful; He broods like winter that keeps its teeth through the waxing of spring. He cannot bear that another should warm what once he desired, Nor that a song be sung where his name is not the refrain. Dierdre: Would you then barter the heart for safety and call it wisdom? What worth has life if it sleeps beneath a tyrant’s gaze? Levorcam: Life is the vessel of law, and law is the spine of kingdoms. Love may delight for a breath, but it ruins the order of men. Think on the feasts gone silent, the cups that shattered mid-laughter, Think on the hunts that ended with dirges and graves in the glen. Dierdre: Is every love a flame that burns to consume its master? Is there no hearth where joy may dwell unbroken by grief? Levorcam: Not when a crown stands near; for the king is the axis of envy. Those who stray from his favor walk with death at their heels. I have seen brides made widows ere dawn had woken the sparrow, And lovers buried in fields their laughter had named as home. Dierdre: Still my heart is my own, not a creature for a monarch’s keeping. Would you have me unfeel the pulse that chooses for me? Levorcam: Feel as you must, but know: the world is older than longing. Fate is the grammar of blood, and it bends no ear to desire. Every road that departs from the king’s long shadow ends blood-soaked; Every vow made in secret is written upon a shroud. Dierdre: If I loved Connor not at all, and another held me in mercy, Would the gods not grant us peace beyond the reach of the throne? Levorcam: The gods are silent, child; they have dined on the hearts of heroes. Connor will dine on yours, and call it justice fulfilled. He keeps his grudges as winter keeps its teeth through the thawing; He will not spare the man who calls your hand his own. Dierdre: Then you would have me wed the crown and not the spirit. You would have me live cold, that another may die unkissed. Levorcam: I would have you live, not kindle a pyre with your choosing. There is a wisdom in grief that joy may never reveal. Better to breathe in sorrow than lie as the cause of ruin; Better to bend like reed than be broken in prideful flame. Dierdre: You speak like stone, yet my heart is river and fire together. I will not unmake my nature for fear of a king’s decree. Levorcam: Then go, and know: the land remembers each wound and trespass. Love the king, and you live; love another, and death will follow. I cannot soften the law the Fates have carved into marrow— Only place before you the blade of truth, flat and cold. Dierdre: Then I shall take it and hold it beside the pulse of my choosing. If doom must come, let it find me awake, not bowed in dread. Levorcam: So be it. May your courage outlast the wrath that awaits you. May wisdom guard your step where the king’s long shadow lies.
