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teddyniffler · 1 month

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Mercy in Defeat

Chapter 9

“With the issue solved on East Anglia’s naval defenses against the Northmen, I hereby call this Witan closed. I do believe this year, Wessex and England as a whole will be much safer with added protection and defenses should any Northman dare visit these shores in spring. The Northmen will find themselves defeated in the water before they even catch glimpse of this fair land. Lastly, I wish to announce some joyous news before you all, my Lords and churchmen, it brings me great joy to announce Hvitserk, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, has agreed to join our faith and leave behind his Pagan ways”

Hvitserk listened to Alfred’s words, as normal he was trying not to look at anybody, he was never comfortable standing by Alfred’s throne, in front of many pairs of eyes all watching him, judging him. When Alfred mentioned him, the crowd all started talking but this time they sounded happy, a few of them broke into applause.

“I will be welcoming Hvitserk into my family, as a member of the royal household” Alfred announced, which resulted in many mutterings from the nobles. Alfred spoke over them. “He will hold the title of a Saxon Prince, along with a new Saxon name. I bring him into my family warmly and as such I expect everybody to do the same too, and to show the new Prince the respect you would have shown me when I was still a prince, and my father before me. The baptism shall happen at Easter in the royal chapel, until that time, please still address him as Hvitserk.”

Alfred stood up from this throne, Hvitserk watched him from the corner of his eye, he seen Alfred was walking away from his throne so turned and followed the king out, it always threw him how the king would just leave after a Witan, back home any meeting with his parents ended with his parents still in the room, just not paying any attention anymore. They could still hear muttering coming from the court, Alfred had certainly given his people something to talk about.

“That went well” Hvitserk said uneasy, the voices behind them faded.

“They are never happy, no matter what is said, if it wasn’t you they were gossiping about, it would have been taxes or mandates for soldiers” Alfred reassured Hvitserk.

It had only been a week since Hvitserk told Alfred his choice, but much had happened since then, for Hvitserk anyway.

He had started to feel the emptiness where once was his connection to the gods, it was as if they had left him and wished to make their absence known to him, but also the nightmares had ended, as if the Christ god had stopped trying to punish Hvitserk now he knew he had won. Part of Hvitserk’s mind, the part he didn’t want to explore wondered if the nightmares had been from his own gods, it felt too similar to the madness, lifted too sudden. Either way, he was happy they were gone, he didn’t like seeing his dead loved ones walking away from him, tired of waking up in a state of terror or grief.

They came to a new room, one Hvitserk knew well as he had raided the place once with his brothers, the first time he had came back here just a few days ago, Alfred had shown him around. There was a look of intense enthusiasm as Alfred walked Hvitserk around the room, showing him the ancient Roman scrolls that were in Latin. There were two identical marble busts of the same man, Alfred had explained it was Caesar to him, before telling Hvitserk all about him. Hvitserk stood listening, he knew a little who Caesar was from Bishop Heahmund, but he didn’t want to tell Alfred that when Alfred looked so happy to tell him personally.

“- Then at the Theater of Pompey, he was–“

“ –stabbed to death – “ Hvitserk finished.

Alfred’s mouth opened a little “Yes, you knew already?”

“I heard something about him once” Hvitserk half lied.

“Yes, he was ambushed and stabbed twenty-three times. I respected Caesar all my life, he was a fine Roman, a good leader, I respected both his good and poor choices and tried to learn from them, but since my own brother tried to have me assassinated, I look upon his story with true horror that I had not previously apricated”

Something then happened to make things awkward for Hvitserk, Alfred mentioned the missing scrolls that should have been here but were destroyed in the raid from the Great Heathen Army. He looked at the empty spaces with so much sadness and loss, Hvitserk vowed never to confess to being the one who burned those scrolls, remembering the way he had leaped around in joy at burning them.

Now, they sat at the long table and Alfred got to work introducing Hvitserk to his religion, all the important people and places, all the stories. He explained the older books and the newer books, how another religion followed the earlier books, but how Christians follow the second mostly. He learned about Jewish people, Romans and their pagan gods which he already knew a bit about and about the Greeks who came before them, he learned about Alfred’s God. He learned about beings called Angels and their fallen brothers who were devils. Hvitserk guessed not even Floki could make up stories like these, it was almost too farfetched to be true, but he reminded himself, so was his religion. He tried to compare what Christians must think of Jormungandr to what his thoughts were of a magical baby who offered eternal life, he even found a talking donkey in one book, Alfred didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with that. There were pictures in the books from saints, holy people and certain events, and Alfred explained how the monks would illuminate them with precious paints. Hvitserk read them all, book after book, scroll after scroll. Still he couldn’t help but notice certain things were almost an exact copy of a pagan celebration and that puzzled him greatly. Alfred explained things as he seen them, often giving Hvitserk his own thoughts which he knew the king would never speak out loud if they were in company of others.

Reading in English was just as tiring as speaking it all of the time, he looked at words and forgot what they meant, often he had to ask Alfred to read a line or explain it clearer to him. Day after day, he studied over these books, he was given plenty of time to relax too, any free time he spent in his room or playing chess with Alfred.

The snow had gone and the weather was slowly turning warmer, he took books to sit under the tree in the royal courtyard to read. He was tired of reading, he had never read so much in his life, he could feel his eye lids closing, when Alfred appeared over him.

“Hvitserk?” He asked, hiding a smile. His eyes snapped open and Hvitserk pretended to have been reading. It surprised Hvitserk at how fast the weeks had passed, it was now closer to Easter than it had been Christmas and the days were growing longer, the sky was often bright and blue and buds and leaves had started growing on the trees, spring time was here and Wessex looked very different to how it had in winter. It alarmed him too at the fact he had almost been here at the villa for an entire year, in just a few months it would be a full year since he last spoke to Ivar.

“How’s the reading?” Alfred asked, breaking Hvitserk from his drowsiness.

“Why did your grandfather think so much of Charlemagne if he killed so many Saxons, you are Saxons?” Hvitserk asked, lowering the very large volume of scrips before him that detailed just a small amount of Saxon history held at the villa.

“They were Pagan though, not Christian. In my grandfather’s eyes they were not the same, he witnessed a lot of the killing while he was in Charlemagne’s court. My ancestors left those areas a very long time ago, so again to my grandfather, they were very different.”

Alfred sat down next to Hvitserk, on the furs Hvitserk was sitting on and leaned on his side, they both watched as soldiers moved around, before leaving through the gate. Hvitserk watched them, he was allowed out into the other courtyard now, but not near the outer gate, he was still watched out there by the guards on the outer wall, but he had mostly freedom to come and go in the villa and the grounds now. Hvitserk placed the book down on the furs and glanced over at the king, it seemed Alfred had come to join him for a little while.

“Are you nervous about Sunday?” Alfred asked.

“No” Hvitserk lied as he too laid back, but on his back, looking up at the blue sky. In the far distance he could see the trees that lined the skyline behind the villa, the branches blowing slightly, in truth he was anxious. Very anxious. What would it be like to no longer be himself once the Christ god entered him, Alfred said it was just water and oil touching his skin and Hvitserk trusted him, but his dark imagination showed him being crushed under an invisible force, as everything that made him Hvitserk was burned away with oil and fire.

Was the Christ god like Odin? Visible to only those he wished to show himself too and when they did whatever they were going to do to him, would he suddenly see Alfred’s god? Hvitserk had once seen Odin when nobody else had, what if the Christ god attacked him when nobody else could see him. Hvitserk’s stomach clenched up, his eyebrows scrunching up slightly.

“Your clothing will be delivered to your room on Sunday morning, I will have a servant help you dress, then you’ll be taken to the royal chapel. Me and Elsewith will be there, as will the bishop. You remember what to say?”

Hvitserk nodded

“That I renounce my gods and my former life and then ask the Bishop for baptism” he replied, Alfred and him had gone through this plenty of times. Hvitserk’s anxiety rose even more.

Alfred tapped Hvitserk’s arm. Hvitserk looked over at him.

“You’ll be fine, try not to worry about it. It’s a joyous occasion, not something to fear.”

Hvitserk wasn’t so sure, compared to the ceremonies he was familiar with back home, this one felt intimidating, almost dangerous. He nodded and reminded himself nobody was going to kill him, this wasn’t a sacrifice, yet the person he was would be no more, Hvitserk Ragnarsson would cease to be, so perhaps it was a sacrifice. Alfred was still looking at him, so Hvitserk faked a smile; one he knew Alfred would see through for sure. He glanced down by his side at the accounts of 4,500 Saxons who were all killed because they didn’t want to convert to Alfred’s religion and felt a suffocating feeling in his throat.

On Saturday night, Hvitserk was alone in his room. He sat on his bed at the far end and turned his back to the crucifix on the wall, ever since he had agreed to leave his Pagan ways behind he had stopped covering it up with a shirt. Right now he felt if he looked at it, he would be sick. He thought for a second, then reached out to somebody he had known all his life.

‘Odin, Allfather. I only have tonight, then I will have no choice but to become a Christian. I am your descendent, is this really what you want for me? I know I haven’t always seen you and the other gods with friendly eyes since I felt so unfulfilled as a Viking, but I ask you now, as your descendent, to just give me a sign that this is the right path for me? Do you want me to join the Christians? Do you want me to flee and find a way back home? What do you want me to do?’

There was nothing.

No sign.

Not even the wind blew against the window.

He waited in silence, listening and waiting. Half hoping a sign would show itself, anything.

He was still sitting there an hour later and nothing had happened.

The silene alone was his answer.

He had been abandoned by his own people and his gods.

He laid back on his bed, his eyes glancing up at the cross, before he rolled over and pulled the furs over his face.

He would be joining the Christians tomorrow, this was his last night being Hvitserk, even his name was being stripped from him, he would no longer have a place in Valhalla, the doors were close to him, if they had ever been open in the first place.

‘It’s a good thing, it’s a good thing’ he kept telling himself. ‘I will have a happier life. I can have a family, they won’t ever have to kill for glory or fame. I can be happy.’

Yet why did he dread the sun rising?

“I’m sorry I won’t be joining you in Valhalla” He whispered, he was speaking to all of them, everybody he had lost. “Mother, Father, please forgive me, I only ever wanted your love. My brothers, I only ever wanted your approval but I made a miserable mess of things and I can’t ever redeem myself in your eyes. Margrethe, Thora, you brought some light to my life and made me smile. Amma, I never did thank you for caring for me at my lowest, it meant a lot to me, even if I couldn’t find the words at the time. I hope you all understand my reasons, I don’t want to die, you may think of me as cowardly but I want to live, so I have no choice but to join Alfred and his god.”

Whatever happened to him tomorrow, whatever they did to him, it couldn’t be worse than being walked out to a pyre in chains, knowing it would be set on fire with him upon it.

He was led down to the royal chapel, it was outside of the main villa, through a walkway he had never been before, then he noticed the tree as he came around the corner, this was below his chamber window, he guessed he had finally found the little courtyard he seen everyday from his window. He followed the man who was sent to bring him to the chapel, they walked more, Hvitserk noticed how cold the air was feeling today, or maybe it was just his own body being extra sensitive, he felt numb as they kept walking before coming to a small building. A door was open and he followed the man into a dark and cold entrance, it smelt weird, he could smell the building was very old, but there was also an odd smell and he noticed what looked like thin smoke blowing out of another room ahead. It was cold in here, as if the sun from outside didn’t reach it, he shivered yet his hands were sweating. There was a strange feeling as if he was being watched and Hvitserk was all too aware that he had walked right into the space of the Christian god, he was here in this place, a place Odin couldn’t save him from, he was totally now at this other god’s mercy. Odin wouldn’t save him anyway, they had all made it clear to Hvitserk they had used him and abandoned him. Hvitserk’s instincts screamed at him that this was a place he should have avoided at all costs, the church of the god who had defeated his own, but now this would be his religion from today. He fought the urge to look behind him, back in the sun, where he wanted to be and not in this building.

The next day came all too soon, Hvitserk was awake before the servant came to his room, he noticed it was the same one who had helped him dress months ago when Alfred took him to that first Witan, it felt like years ago. In his arms was another beautiful item of clothing, Hvitserk had gotten used to the finery the Saxons had, although it still surprised him at how rich England was compared to Kattegat and other places in Scandinavia. This one was pure white except for golden buttons, he noticed too how the fabric had a pattern that only showed up when the light hit it. As the servant pulled it over his head and started fastening all the small buttons to his neck, Hvitserk couldn’t help but notice another similarity between the Pagans and the Christians, back home, they wore white when carrying out ceremonies too, no matter if it were a sacrifice or a marriage.

“You will need to take this off” The servant said. “It’s a Pagan item”

He indicated the pendent around Hvitserk’s neck, the one he had worn for a very long time. So far the Saxons had allowed him to keep that, even when everything else was replaced for Saxon clothing. Hvitserk reached up and touched the pendent, then feeling detached from himself, he touched the cord and pulled it up over his head. He felt so bare without it, the place where it normally sat on his chest felt too light. The servant took it from his hands and placed it onto the bedside table.

“It may be for the best if you throw it away, it will just serve to tempt you back to Pagan ways.”

Hvitserk didn’t speak as the last button was tied just under his neck, the last few around his throat were left untied but the collar was raised to cover the space. It was all becoming too real now, he had found his mouth had gone very dry and his heartbeat was very noticeable. The clothing felt rather cold against his skin and really constricting, not at all like the lose clothing he wore back home, this garment was meant to cover him as much as possible, it honestly felt like wearing a long dress or night garment. He felt uneasy in these clothes. He was then left alone to wait, he went over to the table and picked up his pendent. Him and Ivar both had pendants, a gift from each other. This had always been with him, but now he had no choice but to leave it behind, just like his name, just like his entire identity.

There was a knock on his door and he put the pendent into the drawer out of site, he didn’t want to just throw it away but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to keep this after today. The door opened, it was time for him to leave Hvitserk behind.

“Go ahead into the next room and kneel before the alter” The man said and Hvitserk took a breath and with shaky legs, he walked into the next room.

There was total silence as he walked in, the room was lit with many candles all burning around the room, with men on either side of the doors waving boxes on chains, the smoke was coming from them, Hvitserk could smell the smoke in his nose, it didn’t smell right to him. He also noticed the Christ god was on his cross in the room too, a very large version of him, watching on as he finally claimed Hvitserk for his own.

Alfred and Elsewith where there by one wall watching, Hvitserk felt comforted by their presence in the room, at least there was a friendly face. He reached the alter and got down onto his knees, trying to calm himself and his racing heart with another breath.

It was far too late to back out now.

The bishop stood before him and behind him was the alter, there was things on the alter. Hvitserk couldn’t help but notice them when he looked up, his eyes glanced over them quickly. There was silence for a second as the Bishop waited.

“I renounce the worship of Odin, Thor, Frey and Freya” Hvitserk said, his voice was quite but in such an open space it felt loud and echoey, and as he listed the names that had once felt familiar and warm to him, he now felt betrayal and hollowness. They had all played a role in killing his family, in bringing him here today. They had done this to him and in a way they had killed him too, Hvitserk wouldn’t be Hvitserk after this. To his surprise, as he listed the name of his gods, he felt himself feeling angry at them. “And all other false gods” he ended, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

He took another breath.

Memories of him in happier times sprung up in his mind, he was running through Kattegat after his brothers in his younger teenage years, they were dragging Ivar in his wagon which he had grown far too large for, the wheels fell off and they all, Ivar included, had laughed. Then he remembered during his sickness being so drunk he had vomited in his bed and chose to lie in his own stomach content anyway. He remembered crying when his father left and his mother offered him no comfort as she was busy with Ivar, so Bjorn held him until he had no more tears left in him. He could hear Sigurd’s music playing in the room as Hvitserk listened to him play. Thora’s smile as they sat together watching the sun go down. He remembered raiding, the things he did that made him so ashamed now, that once brought excitement to him. The pleas, the blood, the screams of fear. He remembered the feel of blood splattering on his face, the taste of it on his lips.

“I renounce my former life.”

He would never let himself be that person ever again. If letting go of himself meant that part of him would never hurt anybody ever again, then he welcomed it in his last moments.

“Father, I ask for baptism” He finished, sure he had remembered everything. He waited and the Bishop turned from him, he tried not to tremble as he felt every muscle in his body tensing up. He had seconds left until he wouldn’t be himself anymore, the Christian magic would take him.

He watched as the Bishop did something he couldn’t see from where he kneeled, he heard the soft noise of water and the Bishop turned around.

This was it, the end.

‘Goodbye’ he said in his head to his family.

The Bishop held up his hand to Hvitserk’s head. Hvitserk’s heart was beating so fast. Is this also what Ubbe faced? At least he had Torvi by his side. He wished Ubbe was with him now.

“I anoint you with the oil of sanctification” The Bishop said, his fingers touched Hvitserk’s forehead. Hvitserk’s eyes closed on instinct, he didn’t like this at all.

“In the name of the Father” He moved his fingers fast as he spoke, tracing a cross on Hvitserk’s forehead. Hvitserk opened his eyes again once it was done, so far nothing had happened, but he knew the ritual wasn’t over yet.

“And of the son” The Bishop then did the same movement on his chest, Hvitserk could feel him touching certain places of his chest. He tried to keep still, but he trembled slightly no matter how much he tried not too.

The Bishop moved around to his back, Hvitserk was already tensed up, but having somebody behind him, out of his line of vision, caused every part of his will power to remain as still as possible and not look behind to see what was going on.

“And of the Holy Spirit”

He felt light touches again on certain parts of his back this time, one touch went over one of his wounds and he was happy they didn’t itch him anymore when touched.

“From now on, you will be known as Athelstan, our brother in Christ.”

Something came into his mind then, he was breathing fast and shallow at the touches, his nerves on edge for something to start happening, and in his fear a vision sprung into his mind, one that he had never seen before, it was not from his own memories either.

He could see his father kneeling on the ground at the place he had buried Athelstan, his head was bowed as he placed Athelstan’s cross over his head, he ran his hands down the chain and looked up. His father had willingly chosen to wear that symbol of Athelstan’s god, of Alfred’s god. He remembered a far off rumour he had heard when he was still a boy, that his father had joined the Christian god during his first raid to Paris. His mother angerly had silenced those rumours, but they kept coming no matter what she did. Hvitserk even witnesses Lagatha and Bjorn muttered about it when they thought the room was empty, they hadn’t noticed Hvitserk hiding nearby. Why was he remembering this now? In that moment, it was like another presence was with Hvitserk, he could feel himself slowly calming down, some of his panic about this situation eased, he couldn’t explain it, but he just knew maybe someday he would see his father again at least, he also knew he wasn’t entirely alone, he knew his father was there with him, just out of sight.

“Amen” The Bishop said

“Amen” Hvitserk repeated a second later, that was the word the Christians used when they had finished their connections to their god. If anything was going to happen, it would be now. Hvitserk waited, however all he could feel was his fear slowly going away as the seconds went by, nothing was happening to him, the Bishop moved away from him and Hvitserk kept breathing slowly. Alfred moved forward and into the space where the Bishop had stood moments before. Hvitserk looked up at him, he tried to hide it but seeing him reassured Hvitserk more than anything else at the moment.

“Welcome to our Holy Church” Alfred beamed. The kind expression on his face was welcome to Hvitserk.

“You entered here as a Pagan, and you will leave here as a Christian Saxon Prince” The smile on Alfred’s face was enough to light the room. “As your Godfather, I've chosen a new name for you”

Hvitserk listened, he had been wondering what Alfred would pick for him, what new name would he get, he just hoped it wouldn’t be one of those really confusing Saxon names he would never remember.

Alfred paused, he had thought long and hard about the name he would give Hvitserk once he had joined them, but the idea for what name to choose had been really easy for him, and the reason behind that was currently standing by the doors to the Chapel, watching but unseen by everybody there but Alfred. This time he wasn’t alone, there was another man there with him, the other man’s light blue eyes fixed on the young man at Alfred’s feet. Athelstan looked at Alfred one last time before they both vanished, it would be many, many years until Alfred would see him again, because Alfred would no longer need his reassurance now, he had the son of Ragnar by his side. They would guide each other now.

Alfred looked down at Hvitserk, he was giving that big eyed look he did when unsure, Alfred knew that look so well by now. He smiled again to reassuring Hvitserk that it was all okay.

Athelstan…

What was left of Hvitserk’s fear left him as surprise took its place. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. It was perhaps the most fitting name Alfred could give him, he had loved Athelstan from when he was a boy, going to him for extra food or to play whenever Athelstan was sitting in their halls. Athelstan, who was always by his father’s side, his smile and the way he would pretend to sword fight with him and Ubbe. He often heard Athelstan speaking his regret to Ragnar for not having any children when Ubbe and Hvitserk grew tired, not ever knowing he had one all along in a faraway country.

Athelstan was taken by his father by force, years before Hvitserk was even born, but he had become part of their family, their community. It was no different as to how Hvitserk had been taken in by the Christians, but in the end had joined their family too. Their stories were so alike, it could have only been Athelstan that was the choice of name.

For Alfred, it was the greatest honour he could give Hvitserk, to show him how much he had come to mean to Alfred, to name him after the man who had given life to him, but Alfred had never met, save only in fleeting visions and dreams. Athelstan meant something deeply to both of them, to both of their people.

Alfred smiled again, he turned from Hvitserk and dipped his hand into the gold tray, he turned back and gently also traced his fingers on Hvitserk’s forehead, but this time it tickled when Alfred done it, goosebumps erupted over him but because of the feeling from Alfred’s fingers rather than the cold in the room, Hvitserk felt a little silly, why had he been so scared for, had he really been considering death over this and spent the last week racked with anxiety for something so small. He could still think, he still had thoughts, feelings, even his memories. Hvitserk thought of this as Alfred went back to stand with Elsewith, they were both smiling at him.

He got to his feet, he had stopped shaking, the Bishop had started talking to the king about Easter service that afternoon so Hvitserk glanced around the room, it didn’t look so dark anymore now his eyes had gotten used to the dim light. It still felt cold in here and now his forehead felt slightly damn, he wondered if he was allowed to rub it dry or if that was not something he should do. He noticed then the sun did shine in the room, beams of sunlight were shinny through the windows, one of them hit his face as he moved. It was bright, brighter than what it should be, it totally blinded him for a second as he stepped into its ray, until he blinked and then it was normal sunlight again.

How strange to him, it was as if he was feeling lighter than he had in such a long time, all the guilt and regret he had been carrying with him had faded into the background of his mind, it was still there, but now thinking of everything he had been through wasn’t so painful, it no longer weighted him down, he had done terrible things, but he wouldn’t now, he wasn’t that person anymore and he could move on. Even the traumatic things that had happened to him before, they felt like they happened to somebody else now, he knew he would never be hurt here. The sun was still shining on him, it was warm and for a moment he just watched as flecks of dust dance in the air, illuminated by the sunlight, as if nothing else mattered to him. He would have his entire life to live, no more fighting unless he had to protect England, Alfred had reassured him it would be unlikely with the new defenses. He would one day maybe have a family, they wouldn’t have to kill to get to the afterlife, he would live in peace in England.

“Athelstan” Alfred called out to him, Hvitserk knew Alfred meant him, it would take some getting used to being called that.

He turned and walked over to Alfred, he had finished talking to the Bishop and now the king placed his arms around Hvitserk, and then, to Hvitserk’s surprise, so did Elsewith. How weird to be hugged by the queen just inches from Alfred.

“Welcome to our family, Prince Athelstan” she said, also smiling at him.

“I have something to give you” Alfred said to him “It’s a gift to commemorate today”

From his pocket, he took something out.

It was a silver cross, one embedded in gems. It was reflecting the candle light and the sun, causing it to shine. Alfred reached over and put it over Hvitserk’s head.

Hvitserk looked at it, it came to rest on his chest, where once he wore a Pagan pendent, now it had been replaced with Saxon jewellery, just as his hair and clothing before, the final piece in his gradual transformation.

#MIDAHFABL

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rosered2018 · 1 year

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Happy Stab Julius Caesar Day, everybody!

#ides of march #julius caesar #dead for 2057 slutty slutty years

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kuro-o-o-o · 1 year

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Happy Caesar stabbing day everybody!!!

🎉🔪🎉🔪🎉🔪🎉🔪🎉🔪

#ides of march #caesar stabbing day #caesar

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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thewuzzy · 2 years

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happy julius caesar stabbity stab day everybody

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raccooninthedaytime · 3 years

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Happy ides of march everybody!!

Julius Caeser was in power for 10 slutty, slutty years (and 11 days), and during that time he:

Lead the battle of Alesia (aka wall-ception)

Totally got fucked by the king of Bithynia (“caesar may have conquered gaul, but nicomedes conquered caesar”)

Would wear a red cape into battle (bc a. He thought he looked badass, and b. Bc it would stand out and he wanted to be seen)

He was known as quite the womanizer (which like, duh. But it’s important to know that he slept with a LOT of people)

Like i cannot stress this enough: he fucked everyone.

He got stabbed 23 times in the middle of senate (that one Llamas in Hats sketch comes to mind)

#he makes me LAUGH #good ol JC #no not Jesus #julius caesar #my main man #history’s biggest dictator-diva #what a guy #lmfao #the ides of march #also feel free to like #teach me new stuff about ol julius #please i LOVE knowing things

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thgfanficinspo · 4 years

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Fear of the Water - Chapter 12

(FINNICK)

Millet and Cash have encountered each other on one of the endless cement boulevards. The pavement is uneven and cracked, and there are a handful of those muddy sinkholes strewn about. Great place for a showdown.

Millet runs from Cash at first. She’s slim and slightly muscular and fast as the wind; she could probably outrun him. She doesn’t have much in the way of weapons: a small knife with a blade as long as my thumb (which is all but useless) and a spear. She broke the head off of it and uses as a knife; she uses the shaft of the spear as a long-range weapon.

Cash chucks a spear in her direction; it misses by only an inch or two.

He starts to give chase. When he’s close enough, Millet suddenly whips around to face him and strikes him in the head with her staff. He stumbles; Millet whacks him again in the back of the knee, knocking him to the ground.

But Cash still has his wits about him. He uses the knife in his hand to stab her in the calf. She falls as he stands. He thrusts his knee forward and hits her in the face, breaking her nose. She coughs out a mouthful of blood and a tooth on the ground. All seems lost for her – until she punches Cash right in the groin. He stumbles backwards.

Millet forces herself to her feet and uses her staff to beat him back toward one of the sinkholes until he stumbles in. He fails to pull himself out the way Annie did and dies of suffocation a few minutes later. Millet gets double the sponsors she had already, and Teff, one of the victors from her district, showers her with gifts of food and clothing. People start chanting Millet’s name both on the rooftop where the party is and in the streets below.

Seven tributes left.

Millet was already a favorite when she entered the arena, but Seegred and that boy were long shots at best. And Cash and Euphemia were top contenders. With more than half their allies gone, the surviving Careers are becoming less and less likely to win. Seegred and Millet are nearly tied in the betting pool of who will win.

No one’s quite sure about Annie. She’s partially sheltered thanks to the mat she wove. She finds enough food to keep herself from starving. She defeated Gad, another favorite more than twice her size, without any weapons, but she’s “cracking a bit,” as Caesar puts it, which lowers her odds. She never stops singing that song.

Tributes crack every so often. The most recent to do so was Titus of District 6 in Johanna’s Games, who started eating his fellow tributes out of some mixture of hunger and insanity. Insanity. They threw that word around the moment Titus bit into a dead boy’s leg, but nobody’s said it about Annie yet. Tributes go into shock all the time and yes, she appears to have it worse than the others usually do, but there’s a good chance she’ll snap out of it.

The party goes ahead anyway, though it’s only for the seven tributes now. Millet’s sponsors and mentors are over the moon, as one might expect. Seegred’s sponsors are cheery, too, since she just killed someone a day ago. Things are looking good for these two young women. In fact, they’re vying for the top spot in the polls.

No one really seems to care that Cash is dead since Shine is still in the running. She’ll inherit all of her partner’s funds. And Cash was boring, anyway.

This is shaping up to be one of those years where a Career doesn’t win. It’s not unheard of – a non-Career usually wins every two or three years – but the change of pace is still exciting.

Of the non-career districts, 11 has the best odds on paper. A lifetime of labor and repression makes them physically and mentally strong, and angry and determined. They don’t win that often, though.

Most of the other districts are equally screwed: their industries have no application in the arena, and the tributes are usually poor and downtrodden children without much of a real chance. It’s generally agreed that no one under sixteen will ever win, so younger tributes’ odds are automatically lowered. I was the only victor under sixteen to win, and like everybody says, I’m the exception, not the rule.

(ANNIE)

I wake up to funny noise. I think it’s thunder at first, since it’s always raining here, but it’s growling. From an animal. Many animals. The sound gets closer.

Maybe I’ll run? No. I’ll stay here. I’m too tired to run. Too tired to do anything.

Let the animals come. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay here.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

The animal is a lot of animals. Dogs. Mutts that look like dogs. Black coats and bright orange eyes. Big sharp teeth that are so big and sharp that they can’t possibly fit in a dog’s mouth. Bodies built all square and muscular like the fighting dogs back home but bigger and scarier.

They are chasing a boy. A boy with black hair and baby fat still on his cheeks. He has a pack. Looks pretty full. Maybe from District 6? District 10? Doesn’t matter. Not sure who’s left anymore. No one is left anymore.

The boy is bleeding from just about everywhere. A big chunk of flesh dangles from his upper arm like one of the dogs tried to tear it off but couldn’t finish the job. I think I see his bone.

He stumbles and falls as he runs, only to get up and stumble again and again until the mutts are on top of him. I watch from my perch as they tear his flesh. It makes a funny noise as it rips.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

It’s not a nice thing to see but I can’ tear my eyes away. I’ve never seen somebody’s insides. He’s just a hunk of meat. So am I.

I heard in school that there’s a limit to how much pain the human body can feel. It’s not endless, which I think is nice. And sometimes if it really hurts too much, you just pass out because you can’t process it.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

A cannon goes off, and soon the mutts tire of their meal and move on. I climb down and run over as fast as I can to loot the body. I start taking everything I can reach, things I urgently need. Boots, socks, knife, pack.

I can feel the hovercraft somewhere behind me, waiting to take the body, and I return to my nest to go through the bag. I still take a long time to lay it out because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink and everything has to be in order. The sun goes down and the rain starts up.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

Bandages, a pack of raisins, a salve, a half-empty canteen of water, a knife.

I drink the water as fast as I can and set it out to collect rain. I’m happy because starvation is better than dehydration and now I won’t be dehydrated. I wasn’t really dehydrated before because of all but I really don’t want to die like that, and now I’ll have two water bottles to drink from during the day when the sun is out.

The boots don’t fit me right but the socks are dry and ill-fitting boots are better than no boots.

I make another mark on the wall by the other marks for the other people that are dead. Seventeen. Is that right? I guess it doesn’t matter.

I smile and wiggle my toes inside the dry socks inside the dry boots and I think how happy I am to have two boots again because I lost one in the sinkholes so I only had one so I was uneven and both sides have to match and I almost took off my second boot because both sides have to match but I made myself keep it on even though both sides have to match because one boot is better than no boots but now I have two so I don’t have to worry.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

There are sixteen raisins, which is good because sixteen is a square number like four. So I eat four raisins and I have twelve yet and I can eat three more times because I have to eat them in fours because it has to all be square and both sides have to match.

(FINNICK)

Annie keeps a tally on the wall beside her. Anytime a cannon goes off, she uses a pointy rock to scratch a tally mark into the stone wall.

She repeats her song over and over all day long until her throat is dry and she has to drink all of the water she’s gathered. She spends the rest of the day lying very still. Then she sets her bottles out again and lets the rain collect overnight.

She sometimes goes into these sort of frenzies and will spend an hour scrubbing her hands and arms raw. Luckily, these have only happened at night so far, so she can wash herself down as many times as she likes without worrying about dehydration or heat stroke, which have become major concerns for some of the tributes.

Things seemed to be speeding up when the boys from 1 and 6 died in two days, but they grind to a painful halt once Axle’s body is carried away. Nothing interesting happens for three days.

The surviving Careers are forced to leave the Cornucopia every day because the blistering sunlight heats the metal and essentially makes it an oven. Around sundown one day, there’s a torrential downpour that results in a flash flood that washes away the remaining food and supplies. But the flood isn’t enough because no one died or fought.

It’s no surprise when the Gamemakers decide that a feast is in order. Something to get things going again.

We’re at the endgame now. That’s almost comforting. I don’t want Annie to die, but I do want this to be over. I want to stop hearing that damn song playing over and over in my head. I keep all the windows open at night so I can hear the noise from below. It’s usually enough to drown out the song.

I open the windows in the bedroom when see my patron after the party. I don’t have to explain why I need background noise; he’s all for it because he thinks I’m an exhibitionist. I’m not an exhibitionist, but I am whatever the client wants me to be. So for a few minutes I’m an exhibitionist.

He passes out as soon as he’s finished like most men do, so I don’t expect to get my customary payment of a secret. He wakes up every hour to pee though – something to do with his prostate that I really don’t want to know about – and strikes up a flirtatious conversation.

“I hear you’re something of a collector,” he says as he fixes himself a drink.

“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow. “And what do you ‘hear’ that I collect?”

“Information. Secrets.” He hands me a glass tumbler identical to the one he holds, right down to the murky grey liquid inside. “A funny thing for a victor to collect.”

“You forget my first and favorite collection,” I say. “Conquests. Rich, handsome, important people like you.”

He chuckles. I think he’s actually convinced himself that I don’t mind being whored out, that maybe I even like it. Fine. At least he’s not weeping with guilt like some patrons do when we’re finished. I can’t stand that. Why buy me in the first place if it’s such a strain on the fabric of your morality? I’ll never make sense of these ultra-rich people.

“What sort of secrets do you like?”

“The juicer the better,” I say.

He takes a sip from his glass and frowns in thought. “Did you know I’m a perfumer?”

“I did. Don’t tell me your secret ingredient, though, that’s much too precious to share.”

He chuckles again. “I worked with the president’s gardener for a time.” I wonder if this is the same gardener that my other patron told me about, the one that fucks his identical twin. “And a few botanists. This was decades ago, long before you were born. We were engineering the roses in the president’s garden to have a stronger smell. Too strong, if you ask me. I prefer subtler stuff.”

“Sure.”

“But it’s what the president wanted. These are the same roses he pins on his lapels, mind you,” he says. “They reek. And I couldn’t understand why until I met him myself. He’s got something wrong with his mouth. Open sores that never heal.”

Gross.

“So he uses the flowers to cover the blood smell,” I say. “That’s not as exciting as I’d hoped.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s not the secret,” my patron says. “The secret is how Snow developed those sores in the first place.”

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bi-mallexx · 4 years

Text

Happy stab caesar day everybody

#ides of march #march 15 #julius caesar #caesar #roman empire #roman emperor #my post #bi-mallexx

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rksecretsanta2019 · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas to @rkmb | from @rkwendy

A Compilation of Moon Bin and Zhu Zhengting Incorrect Quotes

Merry Christmas, Tea! I’m not sure whether this is what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy this!

Bin: We need a plan. Ok, here’s the plan. Step 1: get a plan. Step 2: do the plan.

Zhengting, not sarcastically at all: [smirks] Yep, this is working!

Bin: Zhengting! Focus.

—

“I need to step outside… for some air… and I will not be back for many days.”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

Zhu Zhengting: B, I never doubted you for a moment!

Moon Bin: Thank you, A. You’re lying, though, right?

Zhu Zhengting: Oh, yes. I doubted you very strongly.

—

“You are nothing but a second-rate, trying hard copycat!”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

“Old. Musty. Falling apart. Not exactly my type.”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

“I know I’m perfect and you can’t help it.”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

Zhengting: I know you snuck out last night, Bin. Bin, internally: Play dumb! Bin: Who’s Person B?

Bin, internally: Not that dumb!

—

Zhengting: Get lost!

Bin: Get lost? Where? Because I’ve been lost in your eyes for some time now.

—

Bin: Fate is on our side, what a wonderful fate, I must say! God still loves me.

Zhengting: Who is your God? Satan?

—

“I didn’t even really mean to, but I kind of wound up taking over a city. It needed doing, so I did it.”

– Moon Bin

—

“It’s like I have ESPN or something.”

– Moon Bin

—

Moon Bin: If it’s 1 or 1,000 sins, you’re still getting sent to hell. So why not go for 1,000,000 sins and go down a legend?

FRIEND: Moon Bin, NO!

—

Zhengting: you just got $15 dollars worth of food, will you be able to eat it all?

Moon Bin: not sure, but I’ll try.

*20 minutes later*

Moon Bin: *finishes his fourth burrito*

Zhengting: wow, how do you feel now?

Moon Bin: …

Moon Bin: I feel GREAT.

—

Moon Bin: If vegetable oil is made of vegetables and coconut oil is made of coconuts, then baby oil…

Zhengting: (slams silverware) CANT WE JUST HAVE A NORMAL FAMILY DINNER FOR ONCE?!

—

“For Lent this year I’m just giving up.”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

Moon Bin: Not all who wander are lost…

Moon Bin: …

Moon Bin: But I sure am!

—

Moon Bin: This was a terrible idea! Why didn’t anyone stop me!

Zhengting: Because you didn’t tell us! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US!!!

Moon Bin: Because you would have stopped me!

Zhengting: Did you eat all of my milk duds?

Moon Bin: *silently chews for 7 minutes, finally swallows* First of all, I don’t appreciate the accusation…

—

Mom, can you pick me up? I’m at a party and there’s someone funnier than me.

– Moon Bin

—

Moon Bin: I feel like I have died and gone to Heaven.

Zhengting: I have that dream too, but you go in the other direction.

—

“I eat Cheerios because they’re heart healthy.”

– Moon Bin

—

“AHH! Stahhp. I coulda dropped mah croissant.”

– Moon Bin

—

So Ji Sub: Next,please.

Moon Bin: Hello.

So Ji Sub: This is a mugshot.

Moon Bin: A mug shot? I don’t even drink coffee.

—

“Girl, you’re thicker than a bowl of oatmeal!”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

“Made out with a hot dog? Oh my God that was one time!”

– Moon Bin

—

“Why should Caesar get to stomp around like a giant, while the rest of us try not to get smushed under his big feet? What’s so great about Caesar? Hmm? Brutus is just as cute as Caesar. Brutus is just as smart as Caesar. People totally like Brutus just as much as they like Caesar. And when did it become okay for one person to be the boss of everybody, huh? Because that’s not what Rome is about. We should totally just stab Caesar!”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

“Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.”

– Moon Bin

—

“Get in loser. We’re going shopping.”

– Zhu Zhengting

—

“You shall not pass!”

– Moon Bin, standing in front of the Royal Ent. building

#christmas 2019 #rkmb

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fictionkinfessions · 2 months

Note

only day I’m allowed to say this so HRE GOES:

*AHEM* WHY does Caesar get to stomp around like a giant while the rest of us try not to get smushed under his BIG feet?! What’s so great about Caesar, huh? Brutus is just as CUTE as Caesar. Brutus is just as SMARR as Caesar, people totally like BRUTUS just as much as they LIKE Caesar, and when did it become okay for ONE person to be the boss of everybody, huh?! BECAUSE THAT’S NOT WHAT ROME IS ABOUT! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE SHOULD TOTALLY JUST STAB CAESAR

-Gretchen Weiners (happy ides of March 🤞)

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #gretchenweinerskin #murder cw #jokeposts #caps cw #mod party cat

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tego-nie-ma · 4 years

Text

The Persecution of Daniel Lee

An Internet smear campaign nearly destroyed the South Korean star, but he fought back with the only weapon he had: the truth.

July/August 2011

Photo: Timothy Archibald; Hair and makeup: Veronica Sjoen/Artist Untied

By Joshua Davis

On August 19, 2010, Dan Lee stood on the steps of Meyer Library and pointed to a nearby patch of grass.

"The Rodin statue," he said nervously. "It was here."

The Korean television crew following him noted that there was nothing there, just a well-mowed lawn. Students on bikes zipped past, paying no attention to the cameras or the skinny, dark-haired 30-year-old they were filming. In Seoul, it was hard for Lee to walk down the street without being mobbed. To Koreans, he was known as Tablo, a chart-topping rapper who was also married to one of the country's most prominent movie stars. Until recently, he had been one of Korea's biggest celebrities. Now his career was in tatters, he'd parted ways with his record label, and his family was receiving death threats.

The reason? Hundreds of thousands of Koreans refused to believe that Lee, '02, MA '02, graduated from Stanford.

The cameraman for the television crew closed in on Lee as he looked at the empty lawn. They were here to document for Korean national TV whether or not Lee was a liar.

"It's not here anymore," Lee said, staring at the spot where he knew The Thinker had been. He rubbed his face and wondered if maybe he was going crazy.

When the program aired two months later in Korea, this was the opening moment.

In 2001, when Lee told his parents that he was going to be a hip-hop musician, they were horrified. They were thinking doctor or lawyer, not rapper. In Korea at the time, hip-hop was not a popular genre. The music scene was dominated by attractive young people assembled into groups by record labels. They belted out sugary sweet songs—dubbed K-Pop—and strived to sound upbeat and happy. Critics saw no room for a guy who produced his own lyrically complex music, particularly when it dealt with issues like discrimination and class warfare.

Lee formed a band with two other musicians. They called themselves Epik High and released their first album—Map of the Human Soul—in 2003. It begins with a swirl of harps and what sounds like a 1950s-era ballroom dance class: "We're now going to progress to some steps which are a bit more difficult," an instructor says in English. Then there's an explosion of lyrics, beats and a dense overlay of sounds.

It was infectious and Epik High went on to release seven albums during the next seven years—an astounding burst of productivity. Five of those albums reached No. 1 on the Korean charts and they scored six No. 1 singles. As if that weren't enough, Lee published a collection of short stories in both English and Korean in 2008. It sold 50,000 copies in its first week and became a bestseller in Korea.

Lee's music had such broad appeal that he began to attract fans outside of Korea. He launched a series of U.S. tours starting in 2006, playing Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. In March 2010, Epik High became the first Korean group to reach No. 1 on the iTunes U.S. hip-hop sales charts, topping Jay-Z, Kayne West and the Black Eyed Peas. Korean hip-hop had broken through.

It seemed like a modern fairy tale, complete with a match made in celebrity heaven. In 2009, Lee married Kang Hye Jung, a beautiful actress with a string of hit movies. Celebrity blogs in Korea breathlessly reported news of the wedding in October 2009 and hundreds posted comments of support.

"OMG!!!!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!" one fan wrote deliriously. "OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG."

"Way to break a girl's heart," wrote another more ominously.

In the summer of 2010, Korea was reeling from a streak of fake diploma scandals. It began in 2007, when the chief curator of a modern art museum in Seoul was found to have fabricated her Yale PhD. (It didn't help that Yale initially confirmed the degree.) She was jailed for 18 months on forgery charges, and a nationwide hunt for other offenders ensued. Prosecutors investigated at least 120 cases of diploma fraud, ensnaring celebrities, politicians and even a monk.

"There are definitely more people out there," one of the prosecutors told the Bloomberg news service in 2007. "We just can't spot them."

While this was happening, Lee regularly appeared on Korean television shows and was asked about his credentials. He said that he had not only graduated from Stanford in 3 ½ years, but that he also had received a master's degree in that time. He said he had written his book, Pieces of You, while he was an undergrad and that he had received a creative writing award for one of the stories from author and Stanford professor Tobias Wolff, MA '78.

In May 2010, a group of Internet users created an online forum titled "We Request the Truth from Tablo," better known by its Korean acronym TaJinYo. The group didn't buy Lee's story. They started referring to him as "God-blo" because only God could have accomplished as much as Lee. The members of the group participated anonymously and attacked Lee from behind user names such as Whatbecomes and Spongebobo.

To many in Korea, TaJinYo's questions were legitimate. For instance, it usually takes four years to complete a bachelor's degree. A master's normally takes another two. Students typically also write a thesis to attain a master's and yet Lee said that he never wrote one.

Lee hesitated to respond. The whole thing was absurd to him. He was a musician. What did his degree matter?

To his detractors, it mattered a lot. "What is it good for in rapping? Nothing," says Hyungjin Ahn, a vocal critic. "But Koreans still said, 'Wow, he is great. If we listen to his rap, we could get in touch with something genius and holy.' Mothers in Korea worshipped him. He was a role model for every child in Korea at that time."

Entertainment gossip sites reported the existence of the anti-Tablo site and membership swelled to nearly 200,000, many of whom launched their own investigations into Lee's past. Tobias Wolff and Stanford registrar Thomas Black were barraged by emails from Koreans who questioned Lee's educational background. Black alone received 133 emails on the subject. Everybody wanted to know one thing: Was Lee lying?

When online hecklers started to criticize his wife for marrying him, Lee realized something had to be done to protect his family's reputation. On June 11, he released his transcript to the JoonAng Daily, a newspaper in Seoul. That same week, Black issued an official letter.

"Daniel Seon Woong Lee entered Stanford University in the Autumn Quarter of 1998-99 and graduated with a BA in English and an MA in English in 2002. Any suggestions, speculations or innuendos to the contrary are patently false. Daniel Seon Woong Lee is an alumnus in good standing of Stanford University."

That should have been the end of it. Instead, it was just the beginning.

As the members of TaJinYo began to dissect Lee's public statements and dig further into his past, an elaborate conspiracy theory took hold. Forum members were willing to accept that a man named Dan Lee graduated from Stanford, but they weren't willing to accept that the rapper they knew as Tablo was the same person. They argued that Tablo had taken over Dan Lee's identity in order to parlay a Stanford credential into fame and fortune.

"He just paid a lot of money to do this, lied about it and still became famous," one forum member told a Korean TV crew, who blurred her face. "It represents a total loss of hope for people who work hard."

The conspiracy theorists did not just accuse Lee, they implicated his entire family. An anonymous researcher uncovered a newspaper clipping from 1995 that stated that Lee's mother had won a gold medal at an international hairstyling competition in 1968. The researcher posted it online and pointed out that Lee's mother did not actually win the medal, implying that Lee's family had been lying about their achievements for decades.

"Can anybody give me the phone number of Tablo's mom's hair salon?" wrote one Internet user. "I would like to ask her how it feels to be a criminal."

Lee's mother began to receive threatening phone calls. At a family dinner, she answered her cell phone and heard a man's voice. "You're a whore," he said. "You and your family should leave Korea."

The attacks spread. Posts appeared that questioned Lee's brother David, who had begun a master's at Columbia but never finished. A researcher found a web page that indicated that David had completed the master's and calls flooded into the public broadcasting channel in Seoul where he worked. He was fired.

David's home address and phone numbers were published and he also started to receive worrisome calls. One caller threatened to stab him to death for his alleged transgressions. The tenor of the anonymous mob was turning decidedly more violent.

"If #blobyblo doesn't leave Korea, something bad might happen to him," one heckler warned on Twitter, referring to Lee by his Twitter handle.

Lee felt that his recording label, Woolim Entertainment, was doing little to counter the accusations against him and his family. "We have nothing to say about allegations against Tablo that he had fake education qualifications," the agency stated on June 7. Two days later, it publicly pledged to help, but Lee felt that his representatives never followed through. He left the label later that month.

"It broke my heart," he says. "They abandoned me."

In the midst of the controversy, Lee's wife gave birth to their first child. It was a moment of joy, but as Lee walked the corridors of the hospital, he saw people looking at him coldly and he panicked.

"Since my attackers were all anonymous, there was no way for me to know who was after me," Lee says. "I didn't know if the doctor, who's putting needles in my baby, is one of those people. It was terrifying."

On the streets, strangers would shout at him, calling him a liar and a cheat. "It was like I had stepped into the middle of a modern-day witch hunt," he says.

Lee stopped going out—the environment had become too hostile. Still, he did his best to respond to the attacks. Fifteen years prior, Lee's mother had contacted the author of the newspaper article that incorrectly stated that she had won the medal. She had told him that it was an error and he apologized. Now the reporter issued a statement confirming the mistake and Lee forwarded it to the press.

He also tried to explain that his brother did not maintain the web page that indicated he had completed a master's. Whoever had typed the information made the error. Lee pointed to other online résumés that correctly stated David's credentials.

The conspiracy theorists online dismissed all this as simply part of the conspiracy. They argued that the reporter had been paid to defend Lee and didn't believe that the error in David's résumé was accidental. Lee's efforts to answer their questions were turned into evidence of how far he was willing to go to defend his false identity.

Part of their suspicion stemmed from the fact that Lee is not actually a Korean citizen. When he was 8, his family had moved to Canada; he became a Canadian citizen when he was 12. That meant he was exempt from compulsory military service, even while his two Epik High bandmates were drafted. Many forum commenters interpreted this as yet another example of how Lee had gamed the system.

The doubters scored what they believed was a major victory when they discovered a man on Facebook named Daniel Lee who got a degree from Stanford in 2002. This Daniel Lee lived in Wisconsin and worked as a mechanical engineer. Tablo, they claimed, had stolen his identity.

In the registrar's office, Black fielded a series of emails about this allegation. The truth: Two Daniel Lees received Stanford degrees in 2002. One got a BA and master's in English and became a rapper in Korea; the other got a master's in mechanical engineering and works at a product design firm in Wisconsin.

"One day I started getting random emails from people in Korea who were violently angry at me for allowing some rapper to steal my identity," says the other Daniel Lee, laughing at the recollection. "I had no idea what they were talking about."

Black repeatedly confirmed that Daniel Lee the English major was a graduate in good standing but that only seemed to create more agitation. Some emailed to question Black's integrity, suggesting that he was colluding with Lee. Black got angry. "These people don't want the truth," he says. "They dismiss everything that doesn't align with what they already believe."

Lee continued to fight back. On August 5, 2010, he released his Canadian citizenship certificate to the press. To his astonishment, he was promptly sued by four anonymous Koreans who charged him with forgery.

"I was doing everything they asked and it was never good enough," Lee says. "That's when I realized that they weren't looking for answers, they just wanted to destroy me."

Korean media widely reported the suit, which only served to further sow doubt about Lee's identity among the general population. Gossip-oriented celebrity sites pored over every detail of the charges; the mainstream press even covered the case. The fact that Stanford had officially confirmed Lee's diploma did not seem to check the flow of articles. By midsummer, Lee's travails had become one of the biggest news stories in the country.

Sean Lim, '01, MA '02, had a front-row seat to the drama. He was a morning news anchor for Arirang, an English-language network in Korea, and watched with horror as the story dominated the summer news. It was a surreal experience because he knew Lee wasn't lying: The two were friends from Stanford.

In fact, Lim could count himself as one of Lee's oldest fans. He lived with Lee in Okada, and was an enthusiastic member of the audience at the small dorm events Lee's first hip-hop group, 4n Objectz, played. So when people started to question Lee's background, Lim told everyone he could that Lee was a Stanford graduate.

"The problem was that it was just me and the people I ran into against the millions online," Lim says.

One man's word wasn't going to turn the tide so Lim contacted Kevin Woo, MS '92, the secretary of the Stanford Club of Korea. Lim asked the group to issue a statement in Korean vouching for Lee. He felt that part of the problem was that all of the evidence in support of Lee was in English and was coming from Stanford, an overseas source. Maybe if a trusted Korean organization such as the local alumni association took action, it would come in a form that ordinary Koreans could appreciate.

The president of the association, Joon Chung, MS '88, PhD '93, decided not to issue a statement. "It was an unusual situation," he says. "Some people believe it's not good to respond to irrationality."

According to Woo, Chung wanted to do something publicly to support Lee but alums in Korea warned him not to. These alums had never met Lee—he'd never attended an association meeting—so many felt that they couldn't be sure that he was who he said he was. They were afraid that their reputation as Stanford alumni in Korea would be tarnished if they erroneously vouched for the rapper.

Instead Chung sent an email to members urging them to take individual action on Lee's behalf. It would be up to each member to decide whether or not to do anything.

Lim was furious. "They left Dan hanging out to dry," he says. "They could have ended this but nobody wanted to get close to the fire."

It was an understandable fear. The online mob wanted blood, and anybody who stood up against them could incur their wrath. Lim himself admits he struggled with the decision to help. He had a job in broadcasting and relied on public goodwill. He could endanger his career if he spoke out. "I'm ashamed to say that I thought twice about helping Dan," he says. "I saw what they were doing to him and I was scared."

Lim met with his old friend at an out-of-the-way coffee shop in July. Lee looked exhausted and said he hadn't been sleeping. He was depressed and his emotions were getting the better of him. Only months earlier, he had played sold-out concerts and was besieged by requests for autographs on the street. Now, he had to sneak around just to meet a friend. "I was contemplating whether my life was actually worth living," Lee says.

Lim realized there was no choice: He had to do something. He started emailing friends from Lee's days at Stanford and, collectively, 22 of them formed a Facebook page in support of Lee.

"I don't want the memories Dan, I, and others shared to be erased by people seeking to prove that he never went to Stanford," wrote Eddy (Chi) Qi, '01. "Memories including him taking my drunk and occasionally vomiting self (once on his shoe) back to my dorm after a party."

"I remember suffering through some rough early performances at the AASA [Asian American Students' Association] talent shows and am glad to know his talent eventually caught up to his enthusiasm," wrote Tipatat Chennavasin, '00.

Although the Korean press reported that Lee's Stanford friends were rallying around him, TaJinYo members refused to believe it was real. Kang Han, '02, a friend from Lee's freshman year and the first to post on the Facebook site, received threats even though he lived in Los Angeles. "Watch your back," one person messaged him. Another peppered him with emailed insults and called him a liar.

In Korea, Lim received a call from the prosecutor investigating the charges against Lee. He was asked to come to the division headquarters in Seoul and bring his Stanford diploma. When he arrived, an investigator took the diploma and held it up to the light to determine if it was a forgery.

"You've got to be kidding me," Lim said. "You want to test the paper too?"

The investigator looked at him without smiling and told him he was going to send the document over to the forensics department to test the paper.

"I started to understand how Dan felt," Lim says.

When the attacks on Tablo began in the spring of 2010, Ki Yeon Sung received more than 200 emails requesting that she investigate Lee. She was a seasoned producer with a show called PD Note, something akin to 60 Minutes in Korea, and explored topics such as politics, organized crime and corruption. Celebrity gossip wasn't her beat so she ignored the requests.

"We have more important things to worry about in Korea," she thought at the time.

The situation changed when the attacks grew to include anybody who offered evidence that supported Lee. Reporters and their managers who published stories disputing TaiJinYo claims about Lee were flooded with outraged emails, calls and demands for the reporter's resignation. Nobody wanted to be threatened so, according to Sung, reporters stopped adequately questioning the validity of the claims. As the story became one of the top news items in the country that summer, she saw that the mob was have a chilling effect on the coverage. That's when it became something worth worrying about.

Not that Sung necessarily believed Lee. It did seem unusual to her that Lee had accomplished so much, so fast, and she could understand how people might have doubts. Many students studied extraordinarily hard to get into a top school and then worked even harder to do well once they were there. Lee appeared to have breezed through Stanford in a short amount of time and come away with a master's on top of it. His story had the power to make people feel stupid.

The dominant conspiracy theory suggested that Lee had appropriated someone's identity, so Sung decided to challenge him directly on this point. If Lee was who he said he was, then he should be able to travel to California and request a transcript in person. If he got it, the mystery would be solved.

Lee accepted the challenge.

It was the first time Lee had been back to campus since graduation and a lot had changed. For one, the damn Rodin sculpture had been moved, and that had the potential to make him look like a liar on Korean national TV. (When not on loan to other institutions, The Thinker now resides in the Cantor Arts Center.)

Luckily, when he walked into the English department, student services manager Judy Candell recognized him and gave him a hug. She'd heard about his troubles. "I hope all this goes away," she said. "Because we believe in you."

The camera crew followed him to the registrar's office where Thomas Black was waiting. Lee pulled his diploma and transcript out of his backpack and laid them down on a table for Black to inspect. He also handed Black his passport. Black printed Lee's transcript off his own server, compared the two and checked Lee's name against the name listed in the passport.

"It's exactly the same," Black concluded, holding up the two transcripts. "Line for line, word for word."

The footage would air as part of a two-part special on MBC, one of Korea's four national networks. Lee was vindicated, but all he could feel was numbness.

"The people who are doing this to me will never stop," he said. "They just won't believe me no matter what I do."

Lee filed suit against 20 of his most virulent attackers. By October, the prosecutor investigating both his claims and the allegations against him determined that Lee was who he said he was. The prosecutor demanded that a Korean Internet site divulge the true identities of the 20 attackers. Whatbecomes, the leading agitator, was revealed as Eung Kim, a 57-year-old Korean-American businessman living in Chicago. Korean police asked him to report for questioning.

"I posted in a fair manner, so I will not answer the summons," he told them.

The police then issued an international warrant for his arrest, which he has defied now for months. On the TaJinYo forum, Kim questioned whether defamation was an international crime and vented his frustration at being unjustly targeted. "I am so angry they are treating me like a suspect when they have not confirmed I am a criminal," he wrote.

To outside observers, the case was closed. At a cabinet meeting, Korean President Lee Myung-bak stated that what happened to Lee was a "witch hunt that should never happen again." Ashton Kutcher, who follows Lee on Twitter, chimed in. "Time to kill the evil eye on this guy," he tweeted.

Lee, however, hasn't recovered. He's still afraid to go out in public and doesn't know if he'll ever be able to perform for an audience again. This May, he returned to Stanford to give a speech to the Asian American Students' Association. It was his first public appearance since the controversy erupted and even though it was a friendly crowd, Lee was paralyzed by stage fright, something he'd never experienced before. He felt nauseated throughout the talk and periodically had to pause to catch his breath. It reinforced his fear that he'd never be able to dominate a stage as he once did.

"Honestly, I'm damaged," he says. "And I don't know if I'll ever be better."

The crowd didn't seem to mind. After the speech, Lee was surprised to see a long line of people waiting for his autograph. He posed for pictures and seemed to relax. He smiled and, for a moment, there was a glimmer of hope.

source: Stanford Magazine

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jo-shanerome18 · 5 years

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Coliseum and Forum Romanum

15/05/2018: Today we separated into two groups as Jo and Shane, as much as it is sensational, have seen the Coliseum so Cecilia, Tom and Beau, yet to do so, headed to their meeting place about ten thirty. We tried to book a couple of skip the line tickets with Get your Guide for the Forum. As it turned out we had to book for all three sites, Coliseum, Forum and Palatine Hill, which we did. The best we could do was eleven thirty five, two hours away, so we hung around a bit before heading to our meeting place at the western end where everybody seemed to be. After a few questions, we were queuing up at the entrance with all the other supposed skip the line people. We think it was a bit of a scam as no line could be found, particularly after the security scanner which seemed to be trying to find people keen on ruining ruins.

It was anything but a pleasant day today. Overcast skies greeted us as we approached the Coliseum forecourt and deteriorated to light rain as we queued. A bit of mucking around was the first thing with us trying to synchronise Rick Steve's audio with one set of earplugs as we wandered towards the Arch of Titus, the triumphal arch erected by Emperor Domitian in 81. The arch commemorates the victories of his father Vespasian and his brother Titus in the Jewish War in Judea some ten years earlier. The two laid siege to Jerusalem for a couple of years, starving and eventually slaughtering its occupants and raiding the vast riches of the temple. They finished off with burning the city down and destroying all but one of its walls, a statement that no walls could defend against the armies of Rome. The Wailing Wall is all that remains today. Thousands of Jewish slaves were brought back to Rome and were put to work building the arch and the Flavian Amphitheatre.

The last time we were there we could sit beneath the arch but it was now fenced off. It was continually full of school kids sitting down and being lectured to by their teachers, but not anymore.

SENATUS POPOLUS QUE ROMANUS DIVO TITO DIVI VESPASIANI F VISPASIANO AUGUSTO (The Senate and People of Rome, to Divus Titus, son of Divus Vespasian, Vespasian Augustus)

Fifty metres down Via Sacra and a right turn along a small tree lined path had us looking up at an enormous arched building of which less than half remains. It was at this time that the skies opened and we were looking for shelter. The Basilica of Maxentius was fenced off so we couldn't head there. Some of the ruined arches were thick and dry beneath but were immediately filled with people closer than us. We headed back along the path where we stood under some of the trees at the garden edge. This with our expensive jackets and cheap umbrellas gave us some protection.

Basilica of Maxentius (or Constantine). One started it and the other one finished

Looking up at the Farnese Gardens and Aviaries on the Palatine Hill from under the trees

There rain did not let up for some time so we put up with it and headed back down Via Sacra towards the Temple of Vesta, but not before checking out the Temples of Antoninus Pius and Faustina and that of Divus Romulus (or possibly Jupiter Stator). An easing in the weather allowed us to take stock and have a good look at the Vestal Virgins.

Jo and the Temple of Antoninus Pius and Faustina

The Temple of Vesta was associated with one of Rome's most ancient and important cults and as such possibly Rome's most sacred locations. It was within the circular temple that the Vestal Virgins tended the sacred fire that perpetually burned as a symbol of the city's life force. For as long as the flame burned, Rome would stand.

Temple of Vesta. The remains date back to the 191 restoration by Septimius Severus

Behind the temple was the courtyard of the House of the Vestal Virgins and the scant remains of what was once the building in which they lived. The six Vestals were chosen by the Emperor in his role as Pontifex Maximus from noble families and served a chaste existence for thirty years. They were aged between six and ten years old when chosen. Those who managed to last the distance were rewarded with large dowries and allowed to marry. Those who didn't were paraded around the town in a cart, given a loaf of bread a lamp and entombed in an underground chamber. According to the information we were given via our Rick Steves commentary, not many lasted the distance.

Remains of the Statues of the Vestal Virgins

It was then back down to Via Sacra and a left turn to the Temple of Julius Caesar who was assassinated in 44BC, stabbed 23 times by political conspirators. Not much of the temple remains but a metal roof covered the spot where Caesar was cremated. Shortly after his death Julius was deified posthumously by the Senate and his adopted son, Augustus, later to become Emperor Augustus begun the temple's construction. Fifteen years after his death Augustus dedicated the temple to him. A look behind a remaining wall at the front revealed the mound of dirt where he was supposed to have been slain. Flowers were strewn over the mound.

What's left of Temple of Divus Iulius

Being a little underwhelmed by the Caesar experience, although at least some of it survived, we wandered further down Via Sacra to the Forum Square, where it all happened. The square stretched to the foot of Capitoline Hill and was once surrounded by temples, law courts, government buildings, triumphal arches and such. Being the busiest and seediest part of town, the square was crowded with all sorts, from senators and politicians to pick pockets, gamblers and prostitutes. As is the norm with today's Romans, their ancestors also used the outdoor piazzas or squares to get some air and spend time with their friends and neighbours.

Veering off of the main street, we found ourselves looking across the almost vacant area that once contained Basilica Aemilia towards the Curia, where the Senate was housed. This was fenced off as was the Arch of Septimius Severus. By this time we could go no further. Stuck at the base of Capitoline Hill. Heading down towards one of the oldest roads around, Vicus Iugarius, we passed the columns of one of the oldest structures in the Forum, the Temple of Saturn. The original temple was built during 497BC and housed an old wooden statue of the god Saturn. More importantly, the statue's pedestal held the city's treasury (gold bars, coins and jewels). The present ruins are the third incarnation of the temple. It replaces the version destroyed by the fire of Carinus in 283 after being completely rebuilt in 42BC.

Arch of Septimius Severus, Roman emperor from 193 to 211

What's left of the third incarnation of the Temple of Saturn

That was just about it. We were on Vicus Iugarius, and looking toward Palatine Hill. Just to our left were two final but no less important structures. The Rostrum, a raised platform where Roman freedom was no more apparent. Rome's orators could stand on the three metre high platform, try to draw a crowd and sway public opinion. The other was the Column of Phocas, the last monument to be put in the Forum. The column was a gift from the Byzantine Empire in 608. It was presented to a Rome on the decline. A final nail in the coffin of a fallen empire, it commemorated the pagan Pantheon being given over to the Christian church. The thousand year rule of Rome had come to an end. The place was looted by Vandals and the population dwindled from one million down to ten thousand. The once grand centre of Rome was abandoned and subsequently buried under centuries of silt and dirt.

The Column of Phocas with the ruins of the Rostrum in the foreground

Looking across Basilica Julia to the Temple of Castor & Pollux. Arch of Titus behind

Our next step was to check out the Farnese Gardens on top of Palatine Hill. Halfway up the steps, we came across some sort of grotto with plenty of water leaking out of the rock. Probably some sort of miracle and supported by a light show on the bare surfaces. Then a storey above was the gardens and aviaries, created during the sixteenth century, when leading Roman families controlled the land on the Palatine. At this point the rain bucketed down so we paid more attention than usual to the place. Statued out, we left the aviaries and headed for the lookout above the old palace, looking over the entire Forum. The place was pretty packed but the rain got heavier as we approached the edge and the crowd split, looking for shelter. We had our five Euro umbrellas which kept us reasonably dry but continually threatened to turn inside out. We got away with it, had a good look with plenty of room and saved our umbrellas. The rain was only getting heavier so we made a beeline for the covered access to the other side of the Palatine Hill.

Ruin upon ruin, this place must have been remarkable in its day. The weather made everybody scamper so no effort was needed to wander around and through Domus Flavia and Domus Augustana to the Stadium and Severan Complex.

Stadio Palatino, or more specifically a gardened hippodromus where horses were exercised.

By now we had had enough and headed for the exit, satisfied that although there was more to see, we took our time and were happy with the experience. A down side was Jo's choice of footwear, having chosen shoes that ended up being so waterlogged that water squeezed through her toes and out the top as she walked.

The return trip was back along Via di San Gregorio, kept the Coliseum to our left and ended up following Via Celio Vibenna to a small restaurant where we could dry out, have a drink and a late lunch. After looking what Crab Ristorante had on offer, fish and crabs by chance, we entered the place next door where we had a simpler meal including a delicious serve of trippa (tripe). Osteria Angelino, although only a small shop front was quite large inside. There were a reasonable number of people inside with as many at the bar as eating. They must have been locals as they seemed to know each other.

Lunch finished, we headed back to the apartment via the local supermarket which was just a stone's throw way. Laden with supplies we walked back up Via Nicloa Salvi. On the way we witnessed hat we thought was a funny sight. There were four or five unmarked police cars rushing toward the city centre with sirens blaring and headlights flashing. The front seat passenger was leaning out the window with a red paddle waving at traffic about to obviously give way.

When we all met up we discovered that the others had their tour in two parts. The morning was the Coliseum and at two thirty were to meet again for the Forum. Cecilia had had enough after the Coliseum. Her back had been giving her hell since her slip and crash on the uneven marble stairs at Trevi Fountain.

Pasta for dinner, another trivia argument and bed.

Time for bed

Tomorrow Apia Antica.

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