Thomas the Rhymer

Thomas the Rhymer

Long ago, among the green hills of Scotland, stood the tower of Ersildun. Its owner was young Thomas Lermont.

Unlike many noble young men of his time, Thomas was not particularly fond of noisy feasts and endless conversations about hunting. He was happiest with a book in his hands, with an old harp on his knees, or on a lonely path among the hills.

He knew where the first primroses bloomed each spring, could recognize a thrush by its song, and spent hours beside Huntly Burn, listening to water tumble over the stones.

One warm May morning, Thomas went to the Eildon Hills.

The forest was just waking up after winter. The young leaves were soft and light, flowers glowed on the moss, and insects circled over the water. Thomas lay down under a tree and looked up at the sky through the branches.

Suddenly he heard a bell.

It was no church bell, nor the bell at his tower gate. This was a light, silvery chiming, like dozens of tiny bells keeping time with a horse’s steps.

A woman rode out from the trees on a gray horse.

She was wearing green clothes the color of young grass, and her golden hair fell to her shoulders. The saddle seemed carved from ivory, the stirrups shone, and silver bells swung on the bridle.

Greyhounds ran after the horse.

Thomas stood up.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The stranger smiled.

“They call me the Queen of the Fairies. My kingdom lies neither across the sea nor beyond the mountains. A road leads there, but not everyone can see it.”

Thomas thought that he was facing either a miracle or a very strange dream.

“Could I see that road?”

“You could,” said the Queen. “But every journey has its price. Time passes differently in my country. A few days there may be years in your world. And there are rules you must follow.”

“What rules?”

“Eat only what I allow. Keep other people’s secrets. And think before you make a promise.”

Thomas laughed.

“The last rule is probably the hardest.”

The Queen held out her hand.

“Then decide. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

Thomas looked at the familiar hills. He was a little scared. But curiosity won out.

“I’ll go.”

He sat behind the Queen, and the gray horse set off.

At first they rode along a familiar path. Then the trees seemed to part, the air became cooler, and the sounds of the forest died down. The horse galloped so fast that the wind whistled in his ears.

Soon a broad, empty plain stretched before Thomas.

“There is no road here,” he said.

“Look closer.”

The Queen stopped the horse and asked Thomas to lean his head on her lap. When he looked up again, three paths appeared before him.

The first was wide, level, and easy. You could follow it scarcely looking at your feet.

The second was narrow and overgrown with thorns. It twisted among the rocks, almost disappearing, but a warm beam shone over it in the distance.

The third path was the most beautiful. It climbed up the slope among ferns, heather, and golden flowers.

“Where do they lead?” asked Thomas.

The Queen answered:

“People like to think that the easiest way is always the best. But it is not so. Sometimes the easy way leads where you do not want to be. Sometimes the difficult one teaches patience and honesty. And this one, among the heather, leads to Elfland.”

She turned her horse onto the third path.

The further they rode, the more wonderful the world became. The sky seemed to glow from within, the streams reflected the stars, although it was daytime, and in the grass Thomas noticed flowers that he had never seen at home.

He really wanted to taste a red berry by the road.

“Don’t touch it,” said the Queen immediately. “The food here can tie a traveler to our land for a long time.”

Thomas pulled his hand away.

“So even a berry can be a promise?”

“In a way.”

Before long they reached a little tree laden with red apples.

The Queen plucked one.

“You may eat this. It’s called the Apple of Truth.”

Thomas bit into it. The apple was tart, sweet, and a little cold, like water from a mountain spring.

“And now what?” he asked.

“Now it will be very difficult for you to tell a lie.”

Thomas almost choked.

“That’s inconvenient!”

The Queen laughed.

“The truth is rarely the most convenient gift.”

Soon a castle appeared ahead.

Its towers glowed, hundreds of lights shimmered in its windows, and music drifted through its open doors.

“We have arrived,” said the Queen. “There are many in the castle who do not know where you come from. Do not argue, do not boast, and listen more than you speak.”

Ladies and knights danced in the great hall, musicians played unfamiliar tunes, and pages carried silver trays of strange fruit. Beyond the tall windows, night would suddenly give way to a rosy dawn, and nobody but Thomas seemed surprised.

He listened to songs, learned their rhymes, and watched the dancing, scarcely noticing time pass.

On the third day, the Queen came to him.

“Time to return.”

“Already?” asked Thomas in surprise. “We’ve only just arrived.”

“Three days have passed for you. Seven years have passed in your world.”

Thomas was silent for so long that the Queen became serious.

“That is why I warned you before you set out.”

“I remember. Now I see that hearing a warning and understanding what it truly means are different things.”

They mounted the gray horse again.

The journey back passed like a dream. And now Thomas was standing under the same tree near Huntly Burn.

The stream still murmured and the hills were still there. But some trees had grown taller, and the path curved differently.

“Has it really been seven years?” he asked softly.

“Indeed.”

The Queen handed him a small harp.

“The apple gave you truth. Let this harp remind you of two more gifts: poetry and foresight. You’ll hear what others miss in words, and sometimes sense events before they happen.”

“Why do you give me this?”

“Because you watched, listened, and learned. And because a gift becomes a true gift only when you use it for more than your own pride.”

She touched the bridle.

“We will meet again, Thomas.”

Silver bells jingled, the horse stepped between the trees, and in a moment the rider was gone.

Thomas returned to Ersildun.

At first, people could not believe it was really Thomas. After seven years, some had decided their young lord must have died in a distant land.

But when Thomas took the elven harp and played it, everyone fell silent.

The music held the rustle of heather, the hush of roads at night, the bells on a golden bridle, and a stream that remembered more than people did.

Later, Thomas began writing poems. Flattery did not come easily to him. If the king asked:

“Is my new song good?”

and the song was mediocre, Thomas would answer:

“Your Majesty, the second verse is better than the first. But it will take more work to make it a good song.”

Some were angry. Most later learned to appreciate his straightforwardness.

People called him True Thomas, and then Thomas the Rhymer.

Sometimes he dreamed of events yet to happen: old quarrels ending peacefully, two sides finding common ground, spring following a harsh winter. He never used his visions to frighten people. He said:

“The future is not a stone wall. Seeing danger ahead is a chance to change your path, rather than a reason to fear it.”

Many years passed.

One evening, guests gathered in the tower of Ersildun. After dinner, Thomas took out his unusual harp and sang old songs.

When the last note died down, one of the guests said:

“It feels like you are singing about a place that none of us have ever seen.”

Thomas smiled.

“Perhaps because I am.”

That night, two white deer—a stag and a doe—appeared beside the road. Unafraid of people, they walked slowly, as though waiting for someone.

The guard called Thomas.

As soon as he saw the animals, his face changed.

“She remembers,” he said.

“Who?” the people asked.

“The Queen of the Fairies.”

The white deer set off towards the Eildon Hills. Thomas took up his harp and followed them.

“Will you return?” the young page called.

Thomas stopped.

The Apple of Truth still prevented him from saying what he did not know.

“I cannot promise,” he said. “But if you hear music from the hills at night, know that I am well.”

He walked on.

A silver mist spread over the heath. The deer stepped into it first, Thomas following them.

For a moment, small bells tinkled in the mist.

And then it was quiet.

Since then, it has been said in Scottish lands that Thomas the Rhymer occasionally returns to Elfland, where seven years can pass like three days, and one honest answer is worth more than gold.

They also said that anyone walking in the Eildon Hills early, when the sun first touched the heather, might hear a distant harp.

Perhaps it is just the wind stirring the grass.

Or perhaps True Thomas is still composing a new song.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨