Please don't mind the story I wrote. If the plot feels a bit awkward or too cringe, feel free to scroll past it or not look at this stupid blog. Because this post was written purely out of a song's vibe, there is nothing logical in it at all.
The King and the Wanderer
Once upon a time, in a realm encircled by a dense pine forest, a thick white mist shrouded the land throughout the year, so that none ever beheld the blue of the sky or the warmth of the sun. The kingdom was ruled by a King who possessed all that a monarch could ever desire: a vast stone castle, a crown of gold, grand banquet halls, sumptuous feasts, and a host of courtiers ever ready with their praises. Yet, amidst all these treasures, the King felt a strange and aching emptiness. The daily flatteries sounded ever the same to him:
"Your Majesty is most wise."
"Your Majesty is the greatest in all the land."
"None can compare unto your greatness."
The King had listened to these hollow words for so long that he could no longer tell truth from falsehood, nor which words were spoken simply to please him. At last, he began to disguise himself as a common wanderer, donning old, ragged garments and stealing out of the castle in the dead of night. He wandered through the villages, spoke with the peasants, visited the blacksmiths, and sat listening to the children playing and laughing by the brook. Only when he walked among his people without his crown did he feel truly a man, and those were the only moments he felt truly alive.
One night, during the depths of winter, a fierce blizzard swept across the realm. The King, in his wanderings as a beggar, set out from the palace as was his custom, but the snow fell so thickly that the path was utterly lost to sight. Along the way, he spied a strange form huddled beneath the stone porch of a ruined chapel. A young maiden sat there with her knees drawn to her chest, trembling bitterly with cold. Her attire was old and tattered, her only pair of shoes worn through at the soles, and her face smeared with dust and snow. Yet, the one thing she clasped fiercely to her bosom was an old wooden music box, a box that possessed neither a winding key nor a mechanism.
The King paused for a moment before stepping forward. He led the maiden to a desolate hut behind the chapel which, though broken and ruinous, offered some shelter from the gale. He kindled a fire from dry twigs, shared the crusts of bread he carried in his pockets, and boiled a broth of wild roots he had gathered along the road. Together they sat by the hearth, while outside the wind and snow beat furiously against the walls.
After a long silence, the maiden began to tell her tale. Once, she had dwelt in a snug little cottage within a distant village, blessed with a father, a mother, and the sound of laughter. But war and pestilence had stripped everything away from her, one by one. When her home was burned to ashes, she set forth upon the roads, wandering from town to town. Some nights she slept in the open forest, some nights she begged for scraps from strangers, and on other nights she found no shelter from the rain at all. Yet, though she had lost all else, there was one token she refused to part with: this very music box.
"It belonged to my mother," she murmured, gently stroking the faded lid. "When I was yet a child, my mother told me that whenever this box should play its melody once more, upon that very day I would find one who could make me believe that hope still lingered in this world." The King gazed down at the music box in her hands. "Yet it hath no winding key," he said. "How, then, could it ever play a tune?" The maiden laughed softly. "I know not." "And wherefore," the King asked, "do you still keep it close?" She was silent for a space, then answered, "Because if I were to cast away my hope, I should have naught left within me to live for." Her words struck the King with wonder. He possessed mountains of gold, food enough for an entire kingdom, and thousands to do his bidding; yet this maiden, sitting before him with empty hands, possessed a treasure far greater than his own hope.
That night, the two conversed until the storm began to abate. Before the first light of dawn, the maiden took up the music box and held it out to the King. "I have nothing wherewith to reward one who hath shown such mercy unto me. Take this little box, I pray thee, and keep it as thine own." The King hesitated, staring down at the little box before him. "Thou hast said it is the very anchor of thy life, the only thing that keeps thy heart beating. Wherefore wouldst thou bestow thy most precious heart's treasure upon me?" The maiden smiled. "Because of the truth thou didst show me, and because my heart tells me thou art a man whom I may trust. I would have thee keep it." "And why upon me, fair maiden?" the King inquired in wonder. "Because yester-eve," she replied, "thou didst make me feel, if only for a little while, that I was once more seen as a human soul." With those words, she rose and stepped out from the hut into the grey dawn. Before the King could stop her, her figure faded away into the swirling banks of white mist. The King stood gazing until the last shadow of her vanished. Then, he tried the latch of the music box, but no sound arose; it remained as silent as before.
Many months passed. The King issued a royal decree, commanding his heralds to search the length and breadth of the realm for the wandering maiden. None could fathom his purpose; the nobles whispered among themselves, wondering if their sovereign had lost his wits, that he should set such store by a homeless beggar girl.
At last, a day came when the royal guards brought the maiden before the throne. She was the same maid as before, yet now clad in the blinding splendor of the royal court, she looked upon the King in his magnificent robes and did not recognize the stranger who had shared his bread in the snow. The King stepped down from his golden throne. He bade his guards withhold their commands for her to kneel. Drawing the old wooden music box from beneath his garments, he placed it gently back into her hands. "I have sought thee," the King said, "because thou didst teach me a truth I never knew. I possessed all that a mortal could grasp, yet never knew the taste of joy until I found thee." He paused, his voice trembling slightly. "Abide here with me. I will grant thee a home, and thou shalt wander no more." The maiden bowed her head. "I thank Your Majesty for your boundless grace." Then the King spoke the words that silenced the entire hall: "Be my Queen. I shall make thee the happiest soul beneath the sun." The maiden raised her eyes, but instead of joy, a gentle, sorrowful smile touched her lips. "I thank the King for his great honor, but such a gift I cannot take." The King stood frozen in astonishment. The maiden looked down at her worn and dusty shoes, and said softly, "These feet of mine were fashioned to tread the open earth and follow paths that have no end, not to pace the smooth marble floors of a stone palace. And thy crown, Your Majesty, is far too heavy for a spirit that longs to be free."
As the last words fell from her lips, she reached out and touched the music box.
And lo! From within the wood, a soft, sweet melody began to rise. No hand had turned a key, no spring had been wound; yet the music swelled clearer and sweeter by the moment, as though a song imprisoned for ages had waited only for this hour.
And at that self-same moment, the heavy white mist that had choked the kingdom for generations began to roll back across the land. The golden rays of the sun pierced the dark canopy of the pine forest for the very first time. The snow melted, tiny wildflowers burst forth across the meadows, and the ice-bound streams broke free, singing as they rushed along their courses. The people of the kingdom rushed from their doors, gazing up at the blue sky with awe and wonder. For the first time in human memory, the kingdom of fog beheld the dawn.
The King stood in silence, watching the miracle. At last, he understood the secret of the music box: it had never needed a winding key; for the force that awakened its song was not cold metal, but a heart that refused to despair.
The wandering maiden bowed low to the King for the very last time, then turned her back upon the throne room. She took neither crown nor castle, nor the title of Queen; she chose only her own wandering path, stepping forth into the first light of the morning.
From his high castle window, the King watched her until her figure disappeared beyond the dark edges of the pine woods. Though a heavy sorrow weighed upon his breast, for the first time in his life, that sorrow brought no emptiness. The King smiled. For now he knew that true love is not the grasping of possessions, nor the binding of another to one's side; but sometimes, the greatest act of love is to let a beloved spirit walk the path her own heart has chosen.
From that day forth, the King cast aside his beggar’s rags, not because he grew weary of his people, but because he had no further need to hide. He stepped forth from his palace openly, as a true king, walking the village paths, listening to the sorrows of his subjects with his own ears, and sharing his bounty with the needy.
And as for the wandering maiden, she walked on through the wide world. None ever knew where her journeys led her; yet whenever a soft, sweet melody drifted through the quiet evening woods, the country folk would whisper to one another that the maiden was still walking beneath the stars, her silent music box now singing forever in a heart that would never surrender to the dark.
Here is the songs I was listening to while writing this story:
Roku chounen to ichiya monogatari :
I really want everyone to give it a chance and listen to. It’s so damn good.
