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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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To Hunt a Silver Stag (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wore a crown of deer antlers atop your head. Charms were woven into the gaps between the tines, attached to golden thread; jewels of starlight strung like teardrops from the moon. Your feet, staying still on the hard stone of the Great Hall, are bare though attract no dirt or dust—it is as if the very ethereal aura that coats your gown of pure white repels any such thought of uncleanliness or corruption of this mortal plane.

You are so very far from home.

Standing in the center of your soon-to-be husband’s court, your eyes seem not to be on the man himself, who watches you greedily from the throne of black iron, but instead behind him. Blank of any emotion, your long lashes blink in the direction of the stained glass windows with a horrible longing. Whispers from the multitude of court attendants go in one ear and out the other—useless to you. Their time would be gone in a blink, and yet here you would remain, immemorial. Their words were nothing, and their utterances would turn to dust faster than their bodies would.

You can’t help but wonder if those colorful depictions in that glass window, of God and his valiant angels, are mocking you as you blink at them slowly. Not only for what you are and where you now find yourself in the kingdom of your enemies but for being so full of the very qualities that would normally resign a woman of this age to the stake.

Independent, confident, and curious, among others.

A voice raises above the rest, and your eyes blink elegantly, the silver hue to them unnatural in all senses. Yet, you do not look away from the mighty white stag, its soldered bits of thin glass a patchwork of an overwatching Lord. Saint Eustace is there, staring at it, just as was told from generation to generation.

A pagan man converted to Christianity, the symbol of a cross set between antlers very much like the ones adorning your head. Humming under your breath, your eyes dip down, chin moving. Below the window, there stands a tall knight, and your gaze locks with his softly.

“Today,” the King’s voice echoes over the crowd as brown orbs stare at you, blinking. “We are here to celebrate the joining of two great bloodlines!” He stands with a grand cape over his shoulders, falling to the floor as his boots stand at the top of the stairs to the throne. Yet, this knight holds your attention more than your Promised does as the cheering starts, loud; making your ears twitch.

At your waist, a golden belt is engraved with expert attention, stories woven into metal that even seem to move with the magic embedded into it. It seems to hum with an energy that makes your eyes narrow in confusion upon this stranger.

He had brown eyes, the knight, and the hues reminded you of brown that you could see in the trees of your home—those old beasts that grew still with the magic of your line and your gentle touch. Surrounding him, there was silver armor and a strip of red fabric that went over one shoulder, hanging beside the items of his station; a sword and a dagger on a brown leather belt.

Brows furrowing, your head tilts slowly, unblinking, as the eye contact persists.

A bold man, it seems.

The knight’s eyelids slightly widen, as if realizing he had been staring, and his face swiftly moves to the side, his short hair close to his oval skull. You hear the faint clearing of a throat come into the shell of your pointed ears.

Sighing, your focus returns to the matter at hand, the crown’s adornments clinking together as your head rotates. The speech.

King Michael spreads his hands out, a man far into his older years but still had the gleam of malice in his eyes. Those beady things. They remind you of a rat—a small creature, while intelligent, that cannot win unless through tricks.

“We all know that magic has slowly been disappearing from the lands,” the King utters, voice echoing off the walls. Your hands are holding themselves near your abdomen, grace embedded into your bones. Watching how he speaks, you can’t deny he was influential. But influence didn’t matter when you had no wife—no children. He has a dying line, and that means weakness…which is why you’re here, after all. “And in that time, our war with the Fae has fallen into a stalemate.”

Your expression sharpens, fingers twitching. Stalemate? There were humans in your lands—spreading their fires and swinging their defiling iron swords. There was no war here except the one that this King was perpetuating.

But you held your tongue, even if your silver eyes narrowed in an ancient, bitter, anger. Your head raises itself higher, hanging gemstones swinging. The knight near the stained glass is back to watching you—his feet shifting from under him, hands behind his armored back with loose shoulders.

“...Today, myself and the King of the Fae have come to an agreement in confidence, and in the fashion of old, I am to be wed to his daughter, a princess!” Gasps, cheers, clapping. They spring up from all corners of the Hall, bouncing. Your body longs for nature, to be away from rock and metal, these suffocating walls that close in with the gaggle of wretched corpses walking. “Peace shall be beholden to all of us! Magic shall come back into my bloodline through our many children, and all will share in its wealth!”

You had compared yourself to a broodmare when your father had given the news of your journey here. A womb to be filled until you could give no more; restrained to a bed—away from any privilege and right.

And you’d been sent here anyway. A price needed to be paid, your father had told you. A daughter to stop the war. A child to bring back mortal magic and keep the peace through generations. Was your head to be put to the block for that? Who was to say that children would bring peace? That there weren’t more conflicts to come?

This was a momentary sacrifice, and here you were wearing white.

You hum under your breath and feel shackles tie themselves to your ankles; tying you to this place. But what other option did you have?

Your ears listen to the loud rapturous cheering, the exclamations of love that mean nothing to you—you do not love these people, do not love their need for violence and their pride. You want to go home, to find where you can rest among glades and grass. Converse with the birds and the beasts to learn of their news of far-off lands; run your hands through clear streams and watch plants grow where you walk.

As your stone body stays still, silver eyes unblinking, the knight near the window is the only man in the room not gazing at you like he wants something from you. While Lords have their eyes filled with lustful envy of your age-less skin—your finery and wealth; the promise of strong children, the knight is the only one with an open expression.

He only watches, handsome face holding the whispers of stubble and eyes that would make many moral women wish to be his wife.

Admittingly, your attention keeps going back to him, just as his own is stuck on you even as he tries to look professional. Back straight, armor glinting, sword pommel fiddled with by long fingers.

The King is walking down the stairs, one withered leg at a time. You don’t offer any help.

“My bride,” Michael licks his lips when he’s in front of you; but he’s more fixated on your stomach than all else. What it will hold for him. “My beautiful Fae bride. My wedding will be known through history for ages to come.”

My.

The world holds its breath. The knight’s jaw clenches, though no one sees it.

You take a heavy breath into your lungs to hold back your snapping tongue. As the words meet the air, they come out as unemotional as a wave at sea. Wind holding mist.

“Certainly.”

—

As it turned out, the castle itself was even less homely than the material that was used to build it. You walk slowly through the halls, hands behind your back and your crown glimmering—the trail of a thin and flowing gown making you look like a specter. One crudely carved window after another passes by your right shoulder, and you look out of every slit; seeing the silver shades of moonlight. In contrast, everything on your left was washed with firelight from the blazing iron sconces, your ears twitching to the pop of wood and fabric saturated in animal fat.

Everything here was horrible.

A prison, you think, slowing near one of the larger windows in the hall. A cage.

Staring outside, trying for only a moment to understand the disgusting castle and adjoined town you look at, there’s a faint noise from far down the corridor.

Wasting no time, your head moves slowly to the side, blinking. There isn’t anyone to be seen, but yet again, your slightly pointed ears twitch.

A firm heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Staring at nothing, you listen for a moment, taking it in as your visage fights with blue and red light, shadows littering the small cracks and the marks of stone—your hands slightly tighten, but you hold no fear.

You refused to be afraid here; you would go to your spiritual death with a high head, and nothing less.

“It’s unbecoming to stalk as if a wolf,” you call, voice smooth and even. A beat of bird’s wings. “Four-legged beasts have perfected it, yet, the same cannot be said of you.”

There’s a lapse of silence—a swirling of slight tension that comes not from you but another. The heartbeat in your ear lightly skips. Startled. A shadow cusps one of the connected hallways, a gleam of silver armor. You blink slowly.

“Apologies, Ma’am.” The Knight. The one from the Great Hall. “I…didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

His lithe form doesn’t try to hide from your accusation, instead, his body moves to the middle of the stone floor and straightens—one hand going to his heart and the other behind his back; bowing. The darkness of his complexion seems to glow in the light, smooth skin besides the marring of small scars along the left cheek. Tiny things, only two lines.

For no reason at all, your body lightly turns towards him, watching.

“I’m not nervous,” you respond. “Please, stand straight.”

He does so without hesitation, though his eyes are avoiding yours. A guilty pull is to his lips that you can’t help but quirk a brow at. Yet, you remain emotionless, and outside the shadows of flying birds shift past.

“What is your name, Knight?” You see his expression slightly tense at the question, but you continue easily. A test, perhaps, if this man was worth your time. “I recall your face.”

“I can’t give you that, My Lady.” Brown eyes go to meet yours, and the silver flecks in your orbs glimmer. “My orders were clear.”

“And were those orders also to follow me?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting. “...Maybe.”

You hum, moving your body slowly and walking forward to him. The man blinks in surprise, straightening even more but a firm set to his eyes. His attention never wavers, unless it’s to glimpse your crown and belt, perfect pieces of artistry lost to this section of humanity. No mortal craftsman could imagine making something as such. He liked them, you notice at the light impression of awe in his gaze.

Anyone with sense would.

Stopping just a few feet away, you tilt your head.

It was common knowledge that you never gave your name to one of the Fae, your betrothed would have told everyone close to him to avoid doing so. Just as you would never tell your real name to anyone—not even under dire circumstances. Names hold power, and no person in this castle would make you even more of a prisoner than you already were.

You know the names of beasts and plants, flora and fauna—they bend to you, let you manipulate them to your will, though you often find no need to. The animals from any land prefer your company, anyway. The castle’s hunting hounds have already become well acquainted, just as the messenger birds had.

But mortals? No. No, there were no names that you knew besides the King himself, and even then it was a fake one. Second names and such, are common.

“Your title, then,” you say to the Knight. “If you’re to be a constant face to me.”

“Gaz is just fine, I’d say.” He nods his head, a slow smile moving his cheeks. Your brows furrow. Strange fellow. “A pleasure. I really do need to say that I wasn’t following you for long—I was only concerned you might have lost your way.”

You stare.

“Lost?” Owlishly, your head shifts.

Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck. “Yeah—lost. It’s, uh, it’s a big castle, My Lady—”

“Stag.” Wide eyes blink, this meeting is only awkward on his part and not yours. In fact, for how humans go, he was acting far better than most. Usually, there was iron being brandished by now.

“What was that?”

“My title,” you explain, your crown’s gems bright in the light. The fire crackles, popping. “Stag. I do not need my status stated. I know what I am, Knight.”

“Then I’d say the same,” your fingers twitch, liking the word game he plays. Inside of your sockets, the unnatural makeup of your eyes shimmers.

“Very well,” you pause, picking your words. “Gaz. A strange choice to be sure.”

He chuckles, nodding in a very stoic-like way despite the nearly boyish nature of him. “Well, Stag isn’t exactly common, either.”

You hum in your throat, unblinking; staring. Your intrigue grows the longer the man talks. Just like in the Great Hall, his form attracts all of your attention to it, against all laws that you seem to know in your soul.

“Pray tell,” you shift, moving back to the window with your feet not making a single sound. Gaz watches on, eyes flickering between the hanging gems and how you tread over the stone as if you had wings. Your form slips back to the window, and your focus once more goes outward. “Has the King told you to spy on me, Gaz?”

The title, even if not the one of his birth—not the one written on his soul like a brand—still made the air quiver with might. You were older than most of this kingdom, the Knight knew. Older than the oak trees of the nearby forest; older than rock and wind and air.

Power dripped off your tongue like water to a leaf.

But it wasn’t your influence that made the man answer you. It was his own nature.

“Yes,” Gaz says, taking a few steps to where you stand, watching a flock of birds dance above the courtyard, silver moon-drips illuminating white feathers. “But I wouldn’t call it spying. Officially, I’ve been put in place to keep you safe, Princess.” His dark brows crease when you don’t pay him any mind. “I take my job very seriously, yeah?”

“I can see that,” you utter, eyes still on the birds. “The only thing I need protecting from is the iron ring on your right hand.”

He startles, blinking for a moment.

“...Parden?”

Silver eyes pierce him, watching; waiting.

Gaz looks down, locking on the hand that has been resting on the pommel of his sword. Cape swishing, he makes a noise in the back of his throat. His sigil ring—the one that had been given over at his dubbing ceremony sat on the first digit, the engraving of his King’s coat of arms glimmering back.

A wolf; a snake caught in its fangs.

Brown eyes dart back, and he sheepishly smiles, huffing a chuckle of sorts.

“Comes with the job, unfortunately,” yet still, his other hand easily grasps and slips the thing off, tucking it away into the leather pouch swinging from his belt. “I thought that was a myth—the Fae being harmed by iron. Conjured up to give people something to cling to.”

“I can name a million things that men and women like you consider myth,” you mutter, starting at that pouch, deep in thought. You hadn’t expected him to give in that easily. Your shoulders loosen their rigidness, but your chin never drops its high pride. “Every story comes from somewhere—be it reality or wives’ tales. Who’s to say that the words don’t give them life in one form or another?”

“Bloody hell. Not a discussion to take up with me, I’m afraid,” Gaz huffs a chuckle, smirking. While still hesitant around you, the conversation wasn’t anything that made him want to not be around you. Everyone deserved to have their character shown, and what he was seeing so far wasn’t ringing any alarms. “Sound more of a scholar than a Princess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Your lips quirk. “I prefer philosopher.”

“And what’s a Fae philosopher doing out in the middle of the night, then?” A breeze wafts through the window, blowing on your dress and making Gaz’s cape flutter in its bloodish tint. The torches whip and dance. You take a low breath, bird chips coming closer.

“Speaking with an old friend.”

A white dove lands on the stone opening of the window, fluttering wings coming to fold along its sleek form until it shakes and settles all at once.

“Lysander,” you say in greeting, nodding your head. Gaz watches, barely moving as his lips part in astonishment.

Your hand extends itself, bearing no rings or bracelets. All you needed was your crown. Tiny eyes blink as an angular head turns to the side, tiny coos sparking from a rounded breast. Pale feet grasp your perfect flesh, such a tiny weight settles before you lift effortlessly; wings flapping to keep balance.

“What news, then?” You ask in a whisper, bringing the beast to your crown. Lysander settles on one of the tines, head dipping down as feathers puff. Into your ear, words take shape.

You hum in answer, blinking at every clicked sentence; tapping talons.

Gaz stares blankly, eyebrows pulled up on his head and unable to articulate himself.

So many stories about your people—he hadn’t thought half of them to be true. While he’d been stationed in many places during the duration of this war, he’d never actually encountered one of the Fae before. Gaz had been told they were like a plague; they came in when you weren’t looking, spoke magic into your ears, and forced you to come back to their home and live as mindless beasts. Cupbearers and entertainment.

Of the countless knights he’d been in line with, he knew the true names of none of them. A precaution. Forethought.

Yet…you don’t look dangerous.

But the man is far from stupid.

“He says the fires from your forges burn his eyes,” your voice snaps him back to you, and he straightens, fingers twitching. Gaz finds your face already turned his way, owlish in its movements. “The smoke makes his throat ache.”

“I,” he pauses, mouth opening and closing. Brown eyes dart to the sharp-beaked dove; the thing very much like you in the way it watches him. “I’m…sorry?”

Your lips pull in a frown, sighing with a shake of your head.

I can never survive here, you find yourself thinking. I believed this is what I had to do, but if this is how I’m going to live…

“Tell me about your King, Gaz,” your body swiftly turns, feet carrying you down the corridor once more with long, even, steps. “If I’m to marry him, I will know of his nature.”

The man clears his throat and follows after, where you hear the clinking of silver and the scabbard against his thigh. He glances over at you, walking if not a bit behind yourself in proper fashion.

“What do you want to know, Ma’am?”

Your unnatural orbs shimmer, and the bird on your crown hunkers down; puffed contently and eager to rest his wings from a long flight.

“Everything. I will not be unaware of my fate.”

“Well,” Gaz sighs, rubbing at his chin with his opposite hand. He licks his lips, mind running to answer the best he can. “You’ll not want for anything—finery and wealth will—”

“I do not care about mortal revelry. I need neither fine things nor wealth.” Your voice curtly moves along the open air. The Knight’s boots connect with stone while your bare flesh emits nothing. “His character, Knight. Is he fair—just?”

Gaz’s face tightens, glancing from you to the hallway as he takes a moment to think.

“My King has…become troubled with the turning tides of the war. I’m sure when your marriage is official, he’ll go back to how he was before.” He doesn’t seem certain, but loyalty is a trait that a knight knows well. You had been set as his charge, of course, not under the best of circumstances, but he would do his job how he believed would benefit all parties. Even if his guts were stiff at the thought of a forced marriage.

“My Lady Stag?” He asks, and your heart jerks unexpectedly at the muttering of your title.

Blinking in confusion, your hand coming up to rub at your collarbone like a willow branch, you almost miss the question entirely.

“Where you come from, if I can ask, of course, what’s it like?” Your mind strays from marriage ceremonies and consummation—momentary peace slipping in on waves of this man’s smooth accent.

Mouth opening, only to close once and open again, you decide to indulge this man with your answer. If only because he speaks of your home.

“Green,” is the soft utterance of your answer to him. “It’s green. More trees and rivers than you can count in your lifetime. Animals each more fantastical than the last; all of which your people now call nothing but hearsay.”

You can sense his attention, sucking up knowledge as if he had the years to know and understand it all.

Lysander coos, shaking his feathers out, and you glance upward without moving your head. You chuckle like a blade of moving grass.

Blinking, Gaz slowly begins to smile, cocking his skull to the side boyishly. “What’s so funny, then?”

Your high nose twitches.

“He says you’re as if a Wyvern hatching. A curious thing.” Brown eyes drift to your companion, whose peaked eye pierces like black fire-stone. Gaz’s mouth releases a puff of a chuckle, chest jerking.

“Hell, never thought I’d get insulted by a bird.”

“Humans have not the ability to speak with beasts,” you ease out, walking on. “On that, I have to say you are at a sure disadvantage.”

“What?” Gaz’s amused voice is in your ear. “Minus the whole immortality thing?”

You side-eye him, visage calm with decades of understanding. “Not everything is built to last forever.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of you. Eyes locked, you both stare, legs carrying bodies across the unfeeling stone until the area Lysander had told you about takes form. You shift a slow right and exit into the inner courtyard, large stone walls making a small square of patchy green grass and dying plants. A fountain sits still.

“If this is to be a game of equal exchange, Knight, I desire to ask the next question.” Your eyes take it all in, hand moving out to capture the blackened leaves of a Medlar tree. Frowning at the dead fauna, you hear Lysander take to wing, flapping until his ghostly form lands on the far-off fountain’s edge.

“Alright,” Gaz nods, looking around at the dying place with a frown as well. He’d never come here before, but the state of things was…sad, really. “Ask away.”

“When you leave the castle—the town,” you let power move to your fingertips, and you feel the tingles of it running the lengths of your arms like ice and fire; taking a low breath. “What do you see? I admit, I’m not used to having company with humans. I know not how their souls feel.”

Gaz walks into the small enclosed space, humming as he taps the pommel of his sword. His shoulders shrug as his head tilts up, blinking at the stars.

“I wouldn’t see it as you would, I gather.”

You look over your shoulder, amusement in your face mixed with a slice of intrigue. “That wasn’t my question. But, no, you would not.”

“Figured,” he chuckles, nodding at you. Gaz articulates himself dutifully. “I see a place far more peaceful than the one here. Outside the stone and smog—it’s beautiful, truly. Calm. You can actually think above the noise, you know? I usually find myself wanting to get out more often, but my duty ties me here.”

Your eyes soften slightly, thumb running the face of the leaf as you take in his words. Lysander stoops to take a sip of water.

“You’re…” You lack the words, only humming and stopping yourself.

“Why are we here, Princess?” Gaz asks you, gazing around. “I had only expected you to walk to the kitchens—the library, even. Don’t get me wrong, you can go as you wish, but I’m not sure this is the most…” He grunts. “Sightly place to end up. Everything’s dead.”

“Nearly,” you whisper, a tiny smile taking over your flesh. “Not quite.”

Gaz’s frown is lost to you, as is his comment that he mutters, “Looks it.”

Leaning forward, you press your lips to the leaf you hold as if a precious object. Into its blackened and shriveled form, you whisper its name—its true name, one you had learned through years of patience and trust that bordered on an entirely trance-like state. A Medlar is a tough and stubborn thing, like the fruit it bears, it will hang on until all else is gone to dust. Its roots are strong, and from them, you had listened to the earth sing its songs one buzzing note at a time.

All things speak, you just have to know how to listen.

There’s a surge of wild order, a dichotomy of will and freedom; the sing of an axe and the memories of young saplings just gracing their leaves to the sun. A circle of death and rebirth as old as the stars that still shone in a sky of black.

You know many names, but those of the trees were the first to come to you, and it was only proper. Before anything, there were trees.

The Medlar shakes, its leaves dropping down one at a time until they come in groups, in clusters—bare branches shiver like dogs do until creaking ballads move over the air.

Starling, Gaz had taken a large step back, hand snapping to the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn. Lysander flies past his face, blunt talons skating the close-cropping of his hair before the bird grapples to your crown. Flinching, the knight watched with a mixture of horror and pure wonder.

The tree was sprouting new greens.

You step back, and from your feet, the dead grass quivers, before the smell of groaning earth makes his nose twitch; fresh blades show themselves anew. The dove atop your crown jumps from one sharp tine to the next, dodging lines of gold—eyes glinting and wings flapping excitedly.

Life is in the very air.

You smile to yourself, silver eyes moving as a nearly ancient-looking spark flares to life in them—a long breath entering your lungs.

Gaz’s face begins to heat as he watches, his heart pounding with something he can’t understand. He stares at your bright face before his fast-blinking eyes move to the grass growing all around; the bushes dancing, flowers opening up and turning to you. Birds gather on the edges of this verdant and fertile land, darting one by one to the fountain and to the trees. Singing.

The knight steps back, feet dancing over the ground with an airy laugh stuck in his throat.

“Holy hell…” he breathes, nearly panting.

Wide eyes move back to you, expression open, innocent. This was a moment when you truly believed you’d never seen a face more bare than this; more giving.

“You…” He laughs. “You’re tellin’ me you could always do that?” You chuckle, and it is a sound that could make roots grow in his heart, flowers bursting from his lungs. “I…I’m speechless, really. This is,” he laughs once more, turning a full circle, with his hand going to the back of his neck in shock. It was entirely new—all of it. Ivy climbed the stone, and the animals spoke and flew in the air; excitement something that transcends species. “This is extraordinary.”

You were something incredible.

Chuckling, you raise a slow brow, feeling a foreign heat move over your cheeks. It’s a moment before you speak, taken aback by the reverency.

“My thanks, Knight,” your head nods his way, a simple dip of your chin and nothing more. “But this is only a small courtyard. A fraction. If I so wished, forests could grow from ashen ground.”

“How?” He asks you, eyes glittering more than the moon.

Smaller birds join Lysander on your head, finches, perhaps, and sparrows. They tweet and chip, speaking their thanks. You reach up and let one move onto your finger, bringing it back to eye level as you move to softly connect your forehead to its own. Moving back, you hum and watch the bird fly off.

“Ages of practice,” you elegantly tip your head his way, careful of your cargo. “Quite verbatim.”

Gaz is speechless, unable to recall something in his life that had made him feel so special to be able to witness it. Magic to humans was a dying thing—you’d be surprised if he’d ever even seen it in this magnitude before.

“...Amazing,” he utters under his breath, smiling like a fool.

For all of your Fae trickery, your games, you had to be honest. “I don’t believe I thought you’d be this moved by it.”

“Really?” He blinks at you, a boyish twist to his face. “How could I bloody not be, Love?”

Your air gets stuck in your throat, eyes minutely widening.

Gaz quickly comes back to himself, straightening and clearing his throat as your face suddenly blazes in a way that startles you. Heart pattering like a horse’s hooves not only at the…different title but his awe at your magic as well.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” you choose not to correct him. “I overstepped.”

His body bends forward in a deep bow, hand to his heart, resting over his armor as the cape drapes its crimson fabric to the now vibrant grass.

It had briefly eluded you that you were to be married soon. A comment like that could get the Knight and his tree-bark brown eyes put to the sword. You hold back a long sigh, eyelids fluttering shut softly.

“Is he kind?” Your question is small, but it moves like a knife.

Gaz stares hard at the ground, once dead and nothing but a reminder of nature. He clenches his jaw, a worry swirling in his gut. The man knows who you’re asking about, and he holds the same dread he did in the Great Hall as you were led like a sacrificial lamb to the altar.

Maybe the Knight was broken, but even if he’d never met one of your kind before, he knew that no person deserved to be bartered for the illusion of peace—forced to give children like they were only objects. But maybe he was also just a man not meant for this lifetime.

It was the way of things.

Gaz swallows the tension in his shoulders. He will not lie.

“...No.”

—

This tall knight had become a constant at your side. Officially, he’d been placed for your protection, but you knew it was because the King didn’t want you to cut and run.

But unless there was a very good reason to, he should have known that you were not the running type. It was a battle of wits, and even into your marriage, you would always come out on top.

It started easy enough—Michael would invite you for tours of the castle ‘making it a home’ he’d said in front of his court. It was a power trip.

He’d talk about his wealth like it would make you swoon; like you cared at all. You could only hide your sneer for so many hours, even with your infinite amount of patience. Time had mellowed you like the rocks of the ocean, but even they cracked when the storm was strong enough.

Yet still, you considered yourself too intelligent for baseline insults.

“My palace was much the same, your Highness. Our towers rose high—nearly gracing the clouds themselves.”

“Oh, lovely, my King. Pray tell, do you also have pet dragons? Oh…unicorns, perhaps? My, I had the most lovely unicorn companion when I was just shy of my two-hundredth birth year. A little thing—all legs and neck. Beautiful creatures.”

“Gorgeous little trinkets. Tell me, do you have a coffer for fallen stars? They create the most magnificent illumination for late-night reading.”

Gaz nearly lost his composure at times, even if no one else could tell except for you and your pointed ears; twitching at every breath that was fought to keep still. The over-the-lip huffs and chuckles. In fact, you found yourself perpetuating the back-handed insults just to hear those noises. Such small and meaningless things, in the grand scheme.

You took…enjoyment from it.

Seeing the effect it had on the King was also a bonus—his raging eyes, snapping tongue held back for only his reputation and little more. He wanted to take you by the arm and shake you, you knew, yell in your face.

Kind, King Michael was not. Gaz had been correct.

In the nights, you would discuss with the Knight—sitting in the dense and growing courtyard with your body comfortable on the grass; Gaz’s on the fountain’s edge.

You have much of the same confidence in one another as you do tonight.

“Do knights marry for love?” Your voice wafts out, petting Lysander with a single finger in your lap; itching at his neck as he coos. “Do they get to choose?”

Gaz fiddles with his cape’s clasp, fingers dancing over the silver make. He has made a motion to always take off his ring when it’s just the two of you, easily slipping it away until he was forced to put it back on. He doesn’t know if you feel it, but he believes the two of you to be well-off acquaintances—perhaps even friends.

The man enjoyed speaking to you. He reveled in the limitless knowledge that spilled from your tongue, your stories and tales. Gaz, unlike so many others, enjoyed your company not for the power that it offers in a physical sense, but for the words that you freely give. Often your sentences were like honey to him, seeping into his head.

A princess speaking with a knight? Unheard of. A Fae princess? Blasphemy.

It was easy to forget that you were older than many generations of his family line.

“No,” he says, glancing over. “All knights take a vow of chastity when they commit to service. None of those alive in this kingdom will wed unless they willingly break their oaths.”

Your head tilts, crown resting comfortably a small distance away on a rock.

“That sounds lonely.”

Gaz smiles, “Worried about me?”

You stare, eyes traveling the little deaths on his face—the lines, the scars. “If it’s what you wish to do with yourself, who am I to tell you any different?”

The man’s face softens, lips pulling as his cheeks heat under the moonlight. “Figured you’d have some opinion of it.”

You hum, raising a brow. “It’s your life—it’s so fleeting. Tread it as if water between your fingers. Before you know it, it’ll be gone.” Lysander leans into your flesh, shivering. “Live it.”

“For someone who says they don’t know humans that well,” Gaz grumbles, though his chest is light. “You sure know a lot about them.”

“Intuition,” your mouth twitches in a smile. “And a bit of reality.”

Delicate looks are shared.

You do admit, you liked these conversations with Gaz. The long nights and the feeling of grass under your flowing dresses; the horrid contraptions that your betrothed had tried to make you wear stuck far back into the wardrobe of your room. Heavy items—suffocating corsets, unlike the simple but elegantly sewn one you wear now. You could feel it trying to sneak in when the days drew on.

Control.

It was all becoming more and more apparent. You did not want to live like this.

Your face goes troubled as the calm silence moves over the Medlar with its reaching branches. Fireflies hang like miniature stars as you take your crown and slip it back on; to feel the comforting weight of antlers.

The knight pauses as he slips his cape off of his shoulder, blinking over at you in a slow confusion. You look troubled. He’d never seen that expression on your face before.

“Stag?” Your head swivels, as if in another world.

“Just thinking,” your voice moves into his ears, making them hum with energy. Gaz’s brows furrow, a frown taking over. After a second, he stands, moving closer on quiet feet.

You watch him as he goes to kneel near you, one arm moving over the bent nature of his leg while the other holds fabric—letting it cascade over the earth. Brown eyes narrow, and a joking tease moves with the undertone of slight concern.

“I’m usually the talker, I know, but when you look a bit like that it makes me nervous.”

You frown. “Look like what?”

“Like someone’s got a sword to your neck, Princess.” The air is cool here, the deep throws of night taking you by the breath in your throat. A smooth smirk. “It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

If you leave, if you find a way out of this…the war will never end. It will go on until stone cracks like glass and generations forget why it even started in the first place.

But why were you put to the axe because of it? Why must you take the blade to the stomach—an object of greed?

Gaz’s amused voice moves lower at your immobile lips, going serious.

“Hey,” a hand outstretched to your arm, hovering. “Really, is everything alright?”

“Gaz,” you pause, voice still level despite your heated pulse. It’s like a snake curls itself in your guts, roots growing in your veins. The courtyard seems to shiver all by itself, leaves curling into themselves from bushes and trees. Lysander’s feet shimmy, head moving about.

This knight had been kind to you as well as honest about his intentions. Chivalrous. Such qualities are hard to come by anymore.

“I don’t believe I want this.” It’s a breath more quiet than a lapping of waves. Gaz stills, fingers above your flesh twitching. “I can’t live in a cage. I refuse.”

Silver meets brown, holding it firmly.

“I will not be a prize to be chained to a birthing bed.”

The man’s face pulls at that, tightening.

You don’t know what to expect. It isn’t fear in you—no, nothing like this could make you afraid. Apprehensive? Perhaps. Age made you cautious. At any moment he might flip his tune; run off to tattle to a King he, seemingly, likes just as much as you. Which is to say, very little. But there’s still the possibility, the knowledge stacked over ages and ages of strategy and mind games.

A knight of a tension-ridden kingdom, swearing fealty to a King whom you’re betrothed to. You’d just expressed treason, in a way. It could put you to the sword; to the rope. To irons. Your mind runs through the millions of possibilities, not able to settle on a single one before—

A cape settles over your shoulders, startling you.

Hand snapping to grab the front, your head snaps up, eyes wider than you can remember them ever going.

Soft browns meet you, a thin smile. Fireflies buzz about, and a dove sits under your still finger, watching with beady orbs intently at the scene. A Medlar quivers.

A stag and a knight breathe the same air. A godly creation and a saint ensnared in a song far larger than they intend, as the world shifts past all around them. Silver starlight leaves long reflections breaking from the hanging glory of your gems, but the patches of light on Gaz’s face capture yours in that instant far more than they should have.

Impossibly so. Unnaturally so.

Does this mortal have magic of his own, perhaps? You have to ask yourself. There was no other possibility.

And when he speaks…it’s like whatever ice has been layered over your antediluvian heart breaks into fire. There wasn’t even a fight from him.

“Then tell me what you need.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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blueiskewl · 2 months

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1,100-Year-Old Viking Sword Found in UK River

A corroded sword pulled from an English river by a magnet fisher is a Viking weapon dating to between A.D. 850 and 975, experts have confirmed.

Trevor Penny was searching for lost and discarded objects in the River Cherwell in Oxfordshire in November 2023 when he made the discovery. The magnet fisher had been down on his luck that day and only pulled scaffolding poles from the water, he said in a message on Facebook. When Penny lugged out the sword, he didn't immediately recognize what it was.

"I was on the side of the bridge and shouted to a friend on the other side of the bridge, 'What is this?'" Penny, who is a member of the Thame Magnet Fishing Facebook group, recalled in the message. "He came running over shouting, 'It looks like a sword!'"

Penny immediately uploaded images of the sword to Google to try to identify it. "Whatever photo angle I tried was coming up with Viking sword," Penny said. The magnet fisher then contacted the Oxfordshire county liaison officer responsible for recording archaeological finds made by the public, and took the sword to be examined by experts.

The sword, only provisionally dated until now, has been authenticated as Viking and estimated to date as far back as 1,200 years ago.

The weapon dates to a period when the Vikings, who were originally pagans from Scandinavia, traveled to the British Isles to plunder, conquer and trade with the ruling Saxons. The Vikings set foot on British soil in the eighth century, having raided a monastery on Lindisfarne, an island off Britain's northeast coast, in 793. Similar raids in Britain occurred for several centuries and escalated after 835, when larger Viking fleets started arriving and fighting royal armies. British kings gradually reconquered territory seized by the Vikings throughout the 10th century and unified what was a patchwork of kingdoms into a new realm called Englalond.

Viking incursions and periods of rule continued until the 11th century, but the Viking Age ended following the Battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066, with the defeat of the king of Norway, Harald III Sigurdsson, by the Saxons.

The newly discovered Viking sword is in the care of Oxford museum services and may eventually be put on display, the Oxford Mail reported.

"The officer said it was archaeologically rare to find whole swords and treasure of historical importance still intact," Penny told the regional newspaper last week. "There was a little dispute with the landowner and the rivers trust who don't permit magnet fishing. The latter sent a legal document saying they wouldn't take action on the condition that the sword was passed to a museum, which I had done."

By Sascha Pare.

#1100-Year-Old Viking Sword Found in UK River #River Cherwell #magnet fisher #sword #viking sword #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #vikings #viking history

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an-abyss-of-stars · 7 months

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Thinking about modern!Aemond's tattoos for Burnt Over And Over Again and I feel like these are so fitting!

Like super detailed art, black&white sketch styles, the Greek/Old pagan mythology themes, LIKE IT FEELS SO RIGHT!! 😳 I'm sure he'll have a few actually coloured/colourful designs somewhere on his body, but I imagine a lot of simple black ink patchwork-esque tattoos scattered across his arms, a few on his chest and neck, and his back. Maybe something on his hip and thighs too 🤔🤔

ALSO I'm thinking, at some point, probably near the end of this fic, Rhaena's going to get one! I'm imagining Aemond goes with her to get her first tattoo, and she chooses something like this:

Like something floral, and pretty, and dragonfly seems cute! Or maybe a butterfly, with her favourite flowers behind it...like it'd suit her! Hers will definitely be super bright and colorful though, like all pink, purple, blue, green with gold and shit. Like definitely something really suited to her bright artistic style. Idk I just love the idea of it being a thing they do together once they're officially together 🥹😌

#aemond x rhaena #rhaena x aemond #rhaemond #rhaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #burnt over and over again #bo&oa updates!!#i also headcanon that maybe she's wanted a tattoo for ages but as the sweet prim one she didn't think her parents would approve #so she low-key chose a spot that Daemon wouldn't ever really see #but hilarity ensues if she ever posts a bikini pic that exposes the tatt 🤣🤣#ANYWAYS I'm currently writing the Prague sex scene and it's FINALLY FLOWING #took me weeks to get back into it #but I'm finally getting somewhere with it!!#no official update date to estimate yet...but progress babyyyyy 😂😂

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thebibutterflyao3 · 2 months

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Day 23 - Prompt: Bite @pandalilymicrofics

February Daily Series - 737 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

The DJ booth suddenly lit up with strobe lights and the powerful harmonies of Bohemian Rhapsody slowly gained volume from the white gazebo-style bandstand. As Queen announced the beginning of the evening’s festivities, Sirius and Remus reappeared from their journey to the car park. Their heads were nearly touching as they leaned in to whisper to each other.

“About time!” James called out, unfolding from the ground while lifting his boyfriend to his feet. “Stop gossiping, it’s time to dance.”

“Rude.” Regulus huffed, then dragged Pandora up with him.

Lily quickly joined them as they made their way across the park. As much as she’d enjoyed their sitting arrangement in the festival stall, the deep, visceral need to align her own heartbeat to the steady bass pumping through massive speakers thrummed through her. There was nothing quite as exhilarating as losing herself in a crowd of people who were all attuned to the same song. It satisfied – or perhaps, soothed – a biting urgency in her soul.

“Are you really going to dance?” Pandora asked, nudging Regulus’s shoulder. “In front of all these people?”

Regulus eyed the crowd gathering around the bandstand. “Merde. Where did they all come from?”

“Don’t worry, Regulus. Pandora and I will distract them, won’t we?” Lily teased, reaching for Pandora’s hand.

The crowd’s enthusiasm was contagious and the moment she joined them, Lily was overflowing with it. She twirled the blonde in a circle until her skirt fanned out and a startled laugh burst from her lips. Pandora’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled with amusement when she met Lily’s gaze again. Without hesitation, she framed Pandora’s cheeks with her hands and admired the woman with a soft smile.

“Laughter looks good on you.”

Pandora grinned as she wrapped her fingers around Lily’s wrists and dragged her hands down to her neck. She tipped her head back and arched an eyebrow in silent challenge.

Lily’s fingertips caressed that lovely throat all on their own. She didn’t even notice until Pandora inhaled sharply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t say ‘stop,’” Pandora said, her voice low. Her thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of Lily’s wrists. “I don’t think I’d ever tell you to stop.”

A vivid awareness of Regulus’s curious stare and the rowdy crowd around them broke whatever trance she’d momentarily fallen into. Lily startled and released Pandora abruptly, but her wrists were still held captive. Pandora laughed carelessly as she tossed Lily’s arms in the air to twirl beneath them again.

The lazy beat of Take Me to Church drifted through the speakers and Hozier’s lyrics danced over her lips as she watched Pandora sway. The hem of her colourful patchwork skirt drifted through the grass and the dormant blades shivered around her feet as if she wielded the wind herself. Lily wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

“My lover's got humour

She's the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody's disapproval

I should've worshipped her sooner

If the Heavens ever did speak

She's the last true mouthpiece.”

Pandora’s sparkling blue eyes fell closed as her arms lifted over her head until her fingertips skimmed Lily’s palms. Her graceful movements were embraced by the music rather than the other way around. The delighted smile curving her lips captured Lily’s gaze and held her hostage. Her own body followed the path Pandora laid out as she sang to her.

“If I'm a pagan of the good times

My lover's the sunlight

To keep the Goddess on my side

She demands a sacrifice

Drain the whole sea

Get something shiny.”

Pandora’s lashes fluttered as she swayed closer and closer. Lily’s arms draped over Pandora’s shoulders while her arms wrapped around Lily’s waist. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces, as though they were meant to be pressed together. The wistful thought tugged at her heavily barricaded heart.

“Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life.”

As the song slowly faded out, Lily allowed herself to drift in the contentment of Pandora’s arms. The strength and intensity this woman hid beneath such a soft, angelic appearance was enchanting. She was enchanting.

What a lovely creature. She’s a fairy or woodland sprite determined to lure me away from home.

I think I’d let her.

Next Part>>>

#pandora lovegood x lily evans #lily x pandora #pandolily #pandalily #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #lily evans #regulus and pandora #james potter #regulus black

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years

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Campaign: Knights of Winter

Taking place in a snowy land ruled by faith and riven with injustice, this campaign is a chivalric tale about a group of people who find themselves with the power to change a broken system just as that very same system crashes down around their heads.

Our setting is the Abladed Lands, union of small crusader kingdoms carved out of pagan wilderness by a number of zealous holy orders who used their devotion to the goddess of civilization as an excuse to claim territory for themselves and force the native inhabitants of that land into serfdom.

More than a century since this conquest, The Abladed lands have grown increasingly unstable as the last of these holy orders tighten their grip on a rebellious populace, all while the bishop who ostensibly governs these patchwork territories seeks an ancient power that will let him rule uncontested.

Onto this stage stumbles our heroes, travellers who’ve stopped off in a grand cathedral located in the high wilderness on their way to whatever business they once had. After doing a favour for one of the priests and delving a series of catacombs, the group ends up involved in a murder mystery that brings the tensions of the region to light. From there, with their reputations earned, it’s just a matter of where the party wants to go next:

To Barbaric Frontier of Deolimar, where an aging warlord uses a hunt against a marauding beast to try and forestall the divine reckoning of his crimes.

To Wartorn Jaatisbaine, where rebelling peasants clash against squabbling nobles, and roving gangs of bandits maraud across the land.

To the Capital of Volskolt, rich in trade an opportunity, only to be waylaid by a marauding frost giant and a waylaid huntress making her last stand

Out to the Rimebough Forest where the pagans and rebels hide, a holy order using the disappearance of a royal heir to launch an inquisition against them.

Wherever the party go they will accrue glory and upset the tenuous order imposed by zealots, slowly earning the favour of both the people and perhaps earning themselves status as champions of the realm. Players might even earn the favour of the ancient spirits of the land, or the goddess of order herself, who would see this oppressive structure broken down and rebuilt by more dependable hands.

Such blasphemy and rebellion will not be tolerated by the Bishop Prince of Jaatisbaine, who will unleash an army of long buried horrors in the hopes of purifying the Ablated lands and securing his power. To Defeat him, the party will need to martial their allies, and perhaps even venture to the fey besieged court of the last pagan king, and then to the furthest north to the mythical city of the aurora in order to defeat the Ancient threat unleashed by the Bishop’s pride.

#campaign #Campaign start #warfare #mid level #low level #Press Start #rebelion #temple #mystery #Adventure #Adventure Compendium #d&d adventure #chivalry

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thenightling · 2 months

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The anti-Wiccan ranting among some occultists and Neo Pagans is so self-righteous and all over social media and all their rants about how "problematic" it is are things true in ALL forms of Neo Paganism.

And don't get me started on those that start calling you ill-educated, or stupid for considering Wicca a flavor of Neo-Paganism.

It's like they think the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn were doing things precisely the way the Ancient Greeks were. There's a reason that "Neo" is there. It means "new." Whether you like it or not all forms of Neo Pagan religion are cobbled together from scraps or re-invented whole cloth and, whether they want to admit it or not, borrowing from each other.

You'll find Diana worshipers using Gaelic symbolism, Morpheus invocations using the poppy flower as a symbol in the summoning. (Morphine's connection to the God of Dreams is a nineteenth century invention), and you'll find Asatru followers arguing with Greco-Roman Pagans about which religion came up with werewolves first, usually the Asatru insisting their religion is the source (even though the very word lycanthrope comes from the Greek myth of king Lycaon of Arcadia).

It's weirdly fashionable to be anti-Wiccan because of some of the questionable people who have been tied to it like Gardner and Crowley. Crowley's biggest contribution was the spelling of Magic with a k to differentiate between illusion and occult practice. That man has a very questionable history but sometimes not-so-great people come up with good ideas. And a quick visual distinction between illusion and spell casting is convenient, no matter who invented it. "But Wiccans culturally appropriate!" Annnd? Name a religion that doesn't. Borrowing aspects of faith from open religions is not "appropriation."

If it's your faith you believe it to be true, you're not "stealing it." We don't call it appropriation when a scientist adopts another scientist's theory because it has logic that makes sense to him.

Just because it's popular to bash something and call it bad doesn't make it right. I do not agree with attacking aging hippies for following the "wrong" religion.

It's shameful and I think a lot of the people doing this aren't self-aware enough to realize they are behaving like the very oppressive "Christians" that may have once told them that they were Satanic and going to Hell for following the wrong religion.

Yes, Wicca is a "New" patchwork quilt of old folk beliefs but that shouldn't offend you by their merely existing.

I have news for you. This is true with most religions and this is especially true with Neo Paganism. It's part of why there are so many Astru bigots, because the version INVENTED (yes, invented) in the late nineteenth century and later adopted by some World War 2 Nazis was cobbled together by a bigot.

And though it might anger you to consider Wicca to be a form of Neo Paganism, it is. Its conception is very similar to how most Neo Paganism was shaped a century earlier. Most true Ancient Pagan practices have been lost to history. It's all reinvention or borrowings now.

Stop looking for religions to hate. It's like watching the Pagan equivalent of "I'm Protestant and those Catholics are NOT Christians! Look at all the horrible things they've done as a collective. We've never done anything bad ever as a collective group!"

And then in a special kind of cognitive dissonance, you get the ones who don't like Wicca for the "Harm none" rule and think calling them the "Fluffy bunny of Paganism" is the great Gotchya to shame them. It's so strange to me.

#Wicca #Wiccan #Pagan #Neo Pagan #Asatru #Occult #Magick #Magic

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samwisethewitch · 2 years

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The Green Knight as a Fairy Journey

"In this domain more marvels have by men been seen

than in any other that I know of since that olden time."

- Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated by J. R. R. Tolkien

In my previous post, we talked about how Arthurian legend combines pagan and Christian elements to create a syncretic mythology. The Holy Grail, for example, is explicitly connected to Christian myths around the death of Jesus, but it may also be related to Irish and Welsh myths about divine cauldrons with healing properties. A lot of Arthuriana is like that -- a patchwork quilt of pagan and Christian elements.

One of the most unapologetically pagan Arthurian legends is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. This tale has it all -- sex, violence, magic items, and a Green Man figure whose appearances are tied to the winter solstice. While Christian elements are still present (like Gawain's shield which bears an image of the Virgin Mary), they take a backseat to a pretty straightforward fairy story.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a fairy story both in the sense that it features at least one of the Good People (the titular green dude) and in that it follows the protagonist on a journey into the realm of the Good People which is, confusingly, also called Fairy. In studying fairy lore for an upcoming project, I realized how similar this story is to other Fairy Journey narratives from the British Isles, and I think reading it through that lens can help explain a lot of the elements that don't always make sense to modern audiences.

The story opens with a Christmas celebration at the court of King Arthur. Ye olde partying is interrupted by the arrival of a mysterious knight, who is both bigger than a normal man and entirely green, from his skin to his hair to his clothes and even his horse. The visitor says he has heard tales of Arthur's knights and wants to test their bravery. He proposes a game: he will allow any man in the room the chance to swing at him with his (probably enchanted) axe as long as they will allow him to return the favor in a year and a day. Arthur's nephew, Gawain, accepts this challenge. Gawain beheads the Green Knight with his own axe, but instead of dying the Knight picks up his decapitated head, gets back on his horse, and reminds Gawain of his promise before leaving.

The fact that the stranger who visits Arthur's court has Otherwordly origins is explicitly stated in the text: "in his face and form that showed; / as a fay-man fell he passed, / and green all over glowed." [Emphasis added, quote from Tolkien's translation.]

In other words: "His face and body looked like a terrible fairy man and glowed green all over."

In their book Fairies, A Guide to the Celtic Fair Folk, Morgan Daimler says that green is probably the most well-known color associated with the Good People, and that they are often described as wearing green. Daimler also points out that the Good People often appear wearing a combination of green and red -- usually green with red accents. It's worth noting here that the Green Knight is described as having red eyes.

When he enters Arthur's hall, the Green Knight is described as holding an ax in one hand and a holly bough in the other. Some authors have argued that this connects him to the Holly King, a figure who represents winter in British folklore. Author John T. Kruse says in his book Faery: A Guide to the Lore, Magic, & World of the Good Folk that holly was used to protect the home from the Other Crowd, but at the same time they were said to shelter under it in the winter. This connects the Green Knight once again to Fairy, and to midwinter.

There are a few details in the encounter in Arthur's court that seem to indicate fae mischief. First, the Green Knight proposes that he accept a blow from one of Arthur's knights and be allowed to return it in a year and a day -- this time frame is common in fairy stories. Second, he asks to know Gawain's name before they begin. Names have power in Fairy, and Gawain freely giving his name to the Green Knight may be what allows the Knight to trick him later in the story.

The following year, Gawain sets out after All Soul's Day (Samhain) to search for the Green Knight. He cannot find any sign of the Green Knight or of the Knight's home, the Green Chapel in England or Wales, and we are told he wanders into "countries unknown." The poem skims over this part of Gawain's journey, but we're told he fights with worms (possibly referring to dragons), wood-trolls, and ogres. It seems pretty clear that at this point Gawain is in the Otherworld.

Gawain eventually arrives at a beautiful estate which belongs to a man named Bertilak. Bertilak's court is consistent with descriptions of Fairy courts -- wealthy and opulent, but very similar to contemporary human society.

The way the poet describes Bertilak's wife may also hint that this is a Fairy court. Lady Bertilak is described as supernaturally beautiful, and Gawain feels immediately drawn to her. This is similar to descriptions of Fairy Queens throughout the Ireland, Wales, and the British Isles.

When Bertilak learns that Gawain is looking for the Green Chapel, he tells him that it is very close by and suggests that Gawain stay with them to regain his strength before going on. Gawain agrees, and Bertilak proposes a game: Bertilak will go hunting, and each day he will give Gawain whatever he gets on his hunt. In exchange, Gawain will give Bertilak whatever he gets in Bertilak's house.

On the first morning, after Bertilak leaves to hunt, Lady Bertilak sneaks into Gawain's bed and offers him sex. ("To my body will you welcome be / of delight to take your fill; / for need constraineth me / to serve you, and I will.") This exploits a paradox in the knight's code Gawain lives by: a knight is required to do anything a noble woman asks, but sleeping with a married woman is a serious sin. Gawain compromises by kssing Lady Bertilak, but not going any further.

That night, Bertilak returns and gives Gawain deer he has killed. Gawain responds by giving Bertilak a kiss ("His fair neck he enfolded then fast in his arms, / and kissed him with all the kindness that his courtesy knew"), but refuses to tell him who he "won" it from.

The next day, Bertilak hunts a boar with his men. Lady Bertilak visits Gawain again, and this time she kisses him twice. When Bertilak returns, he gives Gawain the boar. Gawain gives him the two kisses but refuses to tell him what happened.

On the third day, while Bertilak is hunting a fox, Lady Bertilak visits Gawain and insists on giving him a gift. She offers him her girdle. (Which, for those not familiar, is an undergarment -- it's like the medieval equivalent of offering a man your bra.) Gawain refuses this very inappropriate gift, but Lady Bertilak tells him that the girdle is enchanted and will protect him from physical harm. Gawain takes it, thinking it might save him when he faces the Green Knight. When Bertilak returns and gives Gawain the fox, Gawain keeps the girdle for himself.

Let's unpack this part of the story. First, it's unusual for hunting to be this good in midwinter -- Gawain even comments on how strange it is that Bertilak found such good venison at Christmastime. This is another hint that Bertilak's lands are not bound to the same cycle of the seasons as ours. Daimler notes that Fairy often appears green and bountiful, even when it is winter in the human world.

Second, Lady Bertilak's seduction of Gawain falls into a larger pattern of Fairy Queens taking mortal lovers. The Queen often offers her lovers some kind of magical gift or supernatural power in exchange for their affection, but this often comes at a price. In Gawain's case, his fairy lover grants him protection from harm at the cost of compromising his vows as a knight and lying to her husband.

Third, this fits into the "seduction test" story type. For example: in the first branch of the Welsh Mabinogion, the hero Pwyll trades places with Arawn, lord of the Otherworld, for an entire year but refuses to sleep with Arawn's wife. After this, the two are lifelong friends, and Arawn continues to be friendly to Pwyll's descendents after Pwyll dies.

Gawain finally leaves Bertilak and his wife, wearing Lady Bertilak's girdle for protection. He reaches the Green Chapel, where the Green Knight is waiting for him. The Green Knight fakes him out twice, then gives him a very small cut on the neck. He then reveals that he is Bertilak, and that the cut was a punishment for hiding the girdle Gawain took from his wife. He adds that he doesn't blame Gawain, because he knows he only took the girdle to save his own life. Aside from a little blood and a lot of embarrassment, Gawain is fine.

Bertilak's appearance was changed by Morgan le Fay, who he also calls Morgan the Goddess. (Morgan le Fay LITERALLY means Morgan the Fairy.) He invites Gawain to return to his house to meet Morgan and to celebrate, but Gawain refuses and returns to Camelot instead.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight makes much more sense as a straightforward tale of a journey into Fairy than it does as a Christian morality tale. The Green Knight is clearly an Otherworldly figure, and both Lady Bertilak and Morgan le Fay fit the role of the Fairy Queen. The test of virtue is consistent with older stories of Otherworld journeys, and Bertilak's home being in Fairy explains how there is such good hunting in the middle of winter.

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scotianostra · 1 year

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Today is the anniversary of the death of St Cuthbert, celebrated as one of England’s greatest saints, he died on 20th March 687AD.

St Cuthbert was a monk, bishop and hermit of Lindisfarne who lived in Anglo-Saxon Northumbria. A wee bit geography for you, during St Cuthberts time, the area that is now Scotland was divided into three areas: Pictland, a patchwork of small lordships in central Scotland, the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom of Northumbria, which had conquered southeastern Scotland; and the kingdom of Dál Riata in western Scotland. Anglo-Saxon Northumbria stretched from on the East coast, the Humber, where it got it’s name, on the west from the river Mersey, up the the Firth of Forth, and what is now Dumfries and Galloway in the west.

Cuthbert was born (perhaps into a noble family) in Dunbar, now in East Lothian, at the time the region was still largely Pagan, although King Edwin of Northumbria was spreading Christianity having been converted about ten years previously. Incidentally some claim that Edwin might have given Edinburgh it’s name, but it is generally accepted the name derived from the area being known as Eidyn, from the time the Roans left, into the dark ages, the name Eidyn itself’s origin is not known.

Back to oor Cuthbert, he is known to have grown up in what is now The Scottish Borders, we know that he tended sheep on the hills above the abbey at Melrose when he was older.

t seems, from stories about his childhood, that he was brought up as a Christian. He was credited, for instance, with having saved by his prayers, some monks who were being swept out to sea on a raft. There is some evidence that, in his mid-teens, he was involved in at least one battle, which would have been quite normal for a boy of his social background.

His life changed when he was about 17 years old. He was looking after some neighbour’s sheep on the hills. (As he was certainly not a shepherd boy it is possible that he was mounting a military guard - a suitable occupation for a young warrior!) Gazing into the night sky he saw a light descend to Earth and then return, escorting, he believed, a human soul to Heaven. The date was August 31st 651AD - the night that Saint Aidan died. Perhaps Cuthbert had already been considering a possible monastic calling but that was his moment of decision.

He went to the monastery at Melrose, also founded by Aidan, and asked to be admitted as a Novice.

For the next 13 years he was with the Melrose monks. When Melrose was given land to found a new monastery at Ripon, Cuthbert went with the founding party and was made guestmaster. In his late 20s he returned to Melrose and found that his former teacher and friend, the prior Boisil, was dying of the plague. Cuthbert became prior (second to the Abbot) at Melrose.

In 664AD the Synod of Whitby decided that Northumbria should cease to look to Ireland for its spiritual leadership and turn instead to the continent the Irish monks of Lindisfarne, with others, went back to Iona. The abbot of Melrose subsequently became also abbot of Lindisfarne and Cuthbert its prior.

Cuthbert seems to have moved to Lindisfarne at about the age of 30 and lived there for the next 10 years. He ran the monastery; he was an active missionary; he was much in demand as a spiritual guide and he developed the gift of spiritual healing. Cuthbert was said to be an outgoing, cheerful, compassionate person and no doubt became popular. But when he was 40 years old he believed that he was being called to be a hermit and to do the hermit’s job of fighting the spiritual forces of evil in a life of solitude.

After a short trial period on the tiny islet adjoining Lindisfarne he moved to the more remote and larger island known as ‘Inner Farne’ and built a hermitage where he lived for 10 years. Of course, people did not leave him alone - they went out in their little boats to consult him or ask for healing. However, on many days of the year the seas around the islands are simply too rough to make the crossing and Cuthbert was left in peace.

At the age of about 50 it is written that he was asked by both Church and King to leave his hermitage and become a bishop. He reluctantly agreed. For two years he was an active, travelling bishop as Aidan had been. He seems to have journeyed extensively. On one occasion he was visiting the Queen in Carlisle when he knew by second sight that her husband, the King, had been slain by the Picts doing battle in Scotland.

Feeling the approach of death he retired back to the hermitage on the Inner Farne where, in the company of Lindisfarne monks, he died on on this day in 687AD.

His body was brought back and buried on Lindisfarne, well for a time anyway, after long journeys escaping the Danes his remains "chose", as was thought, to settle at Durham, causing the foundation of the city and Durham Cathedral. The St Cuthbert Gospel is among the objects later recovered from St Cuthbert's coffin, which is also an important artefact.

Pics are depictions of Cuthbert, the second featuring his incorrupt body from the Life of Cuthbert, a 12th century manuscript.

#scotland #scottish #england #anglo scottish #religious history #religious figure #lindisfarne

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tokoyamisstuff · 2 years

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Metamorphosis - Franken Stein / Reader

Unable to let you go, Stein does the unspeakable...

Warnings: Angst, Slight Cussing, Mentions of (past) Injury and Death Words: ~3300 A/N: This is for my lovely friend @just-someone-who-likes-to-write who came up with the idea. I hope you like it! 💕

"If I'm a pagan of the good times My lover's the sunlight To keep the Goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life

No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen." - Hozier: Take Me To Church

Something was off.

That was the very first feeling, the first coherent thought your mind was able to conclude out of this otherwise vast emptiness in your head.

You felt as if your mind has been switched on again, like a computer that was forced to reboot. So it was no wonder that the memory of all that happened before - god knows how long it's been since then - was only present in an incoherent blurr.

Like all of the details were blocked, taken even by some far greater force than you could comprehend.

It was hard to describe, but just moments before your soul felt oddly at peace - until you were suddenly pulled from that place you actually belonged.

And still, you remembered nothing else of this place other than that your soul longed to return there.

Right. You shouldn't be here.

And no matter how hard you tried to silence that inner voice, you couldn't shake off this nagging feeling that whatever happened, it went horribly wrong.

What worried you only further - even though at first sight not all that bad - was the fact that you were in no pain at all.

Haven't you been injured before, and badly at that?

Even if your allies had been able to save you, the sensation of a healing body would certainly not feel as calm and neutral as this. As a matter of fact, your whole system felt foreign to you.

You were scared of this unnatural aura surrounding the very essence of your being, unable to decide whether you actually wanted to know or if it would only bring you far greater pain.

Only one way to find out, for doing nothing was no option.

The black curtain vanished as you hesistantly forced your eyes open, only to be pleasantly surprised taking in your surroundings. You immediately recognized the bright makeshift operating room of Stein's patchwork laboratory, and a warm feeling of security washed over your anxious nerves.

Thank god, you were home.

With your body still feeling heavy and a little numb, your eyes darted around the room, trying to find any information to work with at all...

...until you finally noticed the greyish-silver hair resting on the operation table you were currently laid on.

The person it belonged to had given in to exhaustion on a chair next to you, uttering illegible nonsense in his sleep. He looked like a mess honestly, and you weren't sure if he had ever left your side at all.

A weak smile crept onto your lips at this almost adorable if not concerning sight, your hand subconsciously wandering to pet his head.

Wait - your arm was not gone?!

Before you would actually touch him you froze in shock, a shiver running down your spine as bandaged fingers stretched and clenched in front of your face to examine Stein's handiwork.

Of course. It was Dr. Stein who you were speaking about - a man who you believed could make anything possible.

Your concerningly unresponsive body could only wring out so much as a weak "Hey...", but it was more than enough to make your boyfriend jolt up from his brief rest.

"Y/N...?" a faint voice called out for you, unbelieving - just to turn into a distraught yell when he realized that this time, his mind was not playing tricks on him. "Y/N! You're back!"

Stein immediately jumped up from his spot next to your sickbed, clasping your hand in between his much bigger ones. "It finally worked!"

"Wha-" The words died in right your throat when you saw actual tears glistening in those palish-green eyes of your lover...

...and judging by their reddened rim, fitting to the dark bags under his eyes, this was certainly not the first time during your absence that he had shed some.

Franken Stein was certainly not an emotionally expressive person, so never before you had seen him cry - even through all the pain and other terrible things he endured.

Over the years, while fighting both enemies as well as Stein's personal demons, you had seen him at his worst several times. About to lose his fight and be consumed by madness, committing unspeakable atrocities in the name of his wicked science.

Still, you would always get him back to the light, never even once leaving his side no matter how hard.

But this time, it was different - and seeing him like this was almost frightening.

"I'm so, so glad, Y/N..." All of your former concerns immediately dissolved into thin air as Stein softly caressed your cheek, with you gladly leaning into his touch.

You stirred a little, allowing for him to gently aid you into an upright position before pulling you right into his arms. "I thought I had lost you forever..."

"Shh..." you hushed, a hand tangled in your lover's hair and carefully letting your fingernails massage his scalp. "It's alright now. You saved me, right? I need to thank you."

It was an undeserving praise he told himself - you telling him to never have doubted someone like him to be good for you. He was shaking, you could clearly feel every single muscle of his tremble through your closeness.

There were so many questions running through your racing mind at once - and even though you were afraid to ask, you knew finding out eventually was inevitable.

"For how long was I gone?" You had most likely been in a coma, at least that was the best possibility you could come up with as you rubbed your sore neck.

The gap between your question and his answer was filled with almost unbearable silence, Stein's heart beating so violently against his chest that he was sure that you could hear it.

Unable to meet your eyes, his lips grimaced into a mixture of a bitter, almost manic smile before he found the courage to explain this most bizarre situation.

"It's...it's been two months since the incident" was all he said however, leaving you with that breadcrumb of information to process. Your eyes widened at his statement, brows furrowing in confusion at what's tormenting him so much.

Stein has cared for you all those weeks - and assessing from the literal wrack of a man slouching in front of you, he did it with no concern of his own well-being.

So yeah, while it might be shocking that you had lost that much time, wasn't all that counted that you're fine again? If that's truly everything, then you should be eternally grateful!

What crucial part is he leaving out that makes even him so terribly afraid of the truth?

"Y/N, dear, can you remember anything from before you woke up here?" While you were racking your brain around every memory that might be helpful to bring order into the chaos of your mind, the doc's sudden assesment catched you off guard.

"I-I..." you stuttered as he examined your body, tested reflexes and lighted a flashlight into your eyes, all in a matter of seconds. "Stein, you're scaring me..."

"Nothing to be afraid of, love" he told you confident, lovingly. "I'm taking care of you. Always."

Typical for him to switch his behavior like this and act all professional now - science was his way to connect with the world, after all...

...and he used it to escape the harsh reality of that very same world way too often.

Now having once again rejected nature's law however, it wasn't all that easy to separate his work and emotions like he had done so often already...

...for you were a now creation from both of them connected, after all.

"My left arm was cut off by the enemy, I remember. And then..." Nothing. That was where your memory ended and the feeling of having forgotten something crucial began.

Finally, you slowly began grasping the situation as your right hand run over the bandage of your formerly severed arm...

...and you noticed your skin to be drained of any color.

"Y/N, wait-!" Stein grabbed your wrist, but in your shattered state you only pushed him back by a shockwave of your own soul, quicker than the surprised man could adapt to your wavelenght. He desperately called out for you, worried what you'd do if you were to unveil the truth unprepared - but to no avail.

Mind in a tunnel view, you tossed the patient gown aside and rushed out of the operating room. You'd follow the few decorations you had put to orient yourself in this literal horror maze that was your shared home, until you eventually found the next best mirror...

...only to collapse right in front of it, breaking out into convulsive sobbing.

Crimson irises looked back at you from behind the glass, shining predatory in contrast to your otherwise almost glowing paled skin, with dark veins inside decorating it like the vines of a tree.

It was a nightmare you were desperately trying to wake up from - yet no matter how hard you'd concentrate, you could neither make out breathing nor heartbeat of your agonizingly indifferent body.

"Y/N!" Stein whined as he rushed down the hallway, almost falling when he finally found you. "Please" he panted as he tried catching his breath, watching your pitiful form whimmering on the floor. "Let me explain-"

"How could you do this to me?!" Your voice was small at first, yet turning into a roar echoing through the wide hall as a sole beat of your fist broke the mirror in front of you into a thousand pieces. "You had no right!"

You were correct of yourse, no matter what else accusations you wanted to throw at him. Having done this to your body without your consent was selfish, crazy, immoral...

...but what other option did he have?!?

"I know, I know..." Stein reluctantly kneeled down in front of you, regardless of the shards cutting into his legs. His hands were trembling, unsure of how to bring any comfort into this hopeless situation - and much to his sorrow you slapped them away, instead pulling your knees to your chest.

The only thing greater than his urge to cradle you into his arms nonetheless and assure you it'd be alright, was the fact that he did not deserve to touch you right now - or ever again.

"You don't understand. You died, Y/N! Right in front of my eyes..." Tears now broke through his defense, running freely down the scar on his face.

While Stein was rendered unable to fight due to an acute outbreak of madness, you were commanded to serve even without your Master either way - with a horrible outcome. They retrieved your battered self and brought it straight to your partner's laboratory...

...but all of this talent and knowledge he always prided himself in so much wasn't nearly enough to keep you from this cruel fate.

Science has always been the one and only thing he ever considered a positive trait of his, the only possibility to distance himself from a villain - and ironically, it was not helping him saving his only reason to want and become a better person.

"The wound to your heart was lethally" he croaked, throat feeling as if constricted with barbwire as he recalled the image of you bleeding out in his arms. "It's a miracle you survived long enough for me to say goodbye...yet you died before I could do anything."

Your lip was trembling, breathing heavily out of habit though it didn't do anything for your body that was synthetically stopped from decaying.

Indeed, there was a huge scar just like the ones covering Stein's whole body, right in the middle of your chest. You wondered if there was even still a heart inside, and what it would make out of you if it wasn't.

Much to your astonishment, you felt tears of your own searching their way through lifeless eyes - tears are a soul's way to speak, or so they say.

"I-I'm just like Sid now, ain't I?" while certainly looking almost like your old self compared to the massive change your colleague had underwent during, realization washed over you in a tidal wave of sadness. "So I can't eat or sleep anymore, or enjoy anything normally with that broken shell of a body..." And only the gods themselves would know what heavy toll fate would extract from you, for breaking nature's law.

Stein remembered that in the past, he was incredibly scared as soon as he grasped the depht of his feelings towards you - of how weak and instable it could make him. And many would say today's deed was the ultimate proof of that theory...

...as of now, your partner had learned the hard way just how much strenght he could gain through his affection for others.

"Sadly, you died before I could perfect the zombiefication." It was true, with his know-how not only medical but also in magic and soul studies, one day this menace of a man would possibly even be able to actually succeed in resurrect the fallen. A thought that made your already still blood run cold. "You're still just a prototype. Given time, I can-"

You interrupted him through grabbing the collar of Stein's lab coat, furiously screaming from the top of your lungs. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your fucked up experiments! I was your partner!"

Was. That little word shot a dagger through his heart, though it's a little price compared with your imminent demise.

"Now what, I'm cursed to watch everyone I love grow old and die while I just stay the same?!" Becoming aware of consequences of his own actions sure was suffocating, and it got harder and harder to not become aware of what future he robbed you. "The alternative would've been death, Y/N!"

"Well, then I should've stayed dead!" you spat bitterly, defeated even. "I-I wanted to have children with you one day, Stein...even that you took away from me."

That was it - the sentence that broke him.

"You talk about the gods and their rules all the time! Tell me Stein, if you fear them so damn much then how could you do something so godless?!"

He snapped right then and there grabbing your shoulders and shaking you violently. "Because no matter who, even if the gods themselves decide to take you away from me then I'll gladly become a demon to prevent this! Do you hear me?!"

"Shit, Y/N...I-I'm so sorry..." Stein leaped a safe distance away from you, horrified with himself as he saw your frightened expression. He buried his face into his hands and for a brief second the affection you still felt for this man overwhelmed your anger and grief. "I don't know what came over me, I just- I don't know..."

"You sound just like a Kishin would talk" you noticed woefully, yet not less affectionate. "No matter what, Stein: You must never go there!"

No. Stein was many things, but certainly not that.

As if he could ever disappoint you like that, after you were the only one to ever see good in him all this time others would've turned away. Stein had sworn himself to never fall prey to that dormant madness inside of him, and he was willing to keep that oath with every fibre of his being.

Just moments before all of this, he quite literally held your soul into his hands. If they all felt bright and warm like yours, Stein could very well understand the temptation of devouring them - making them a part of oneself for all eternity in the progress...

...yet instead he forcefully anchored it to this useless body of yours out of this obsessive desire, forcing it to stay the vessle which it should long since have left.

There was no other way to repay this debt of failing to protect you due to his pitiful shortcomings, or so he thought - for not being there for you when you needed him most.

Whether you'd accept this gift, this greatest sacrifice of his or not: You'd get a second chance, would be free to choose at least - and that was more than enough for him.

"If only I was there when you needed me, then none of this would've happened!" he ultimatively exclaimed, and only now you realized how much he had blamed himself for this unfortunate event.

Initially, you had thought this whole farce to be part of his eccentric delusions that he had to control simply everything - including yourself, no matter your actual wishes or feelings...

...but that was far away from the truth. Your lover was suffering just as much -if not even more than yourself.

"Please forgive me..." Stein was facing the ground, tears mixing with the bloodied floor as heartbreaking sobs filled the room. "I'm simply not strong enough to let you go. I can't, I just can't. You deserve better than this fate, I-"

"Stein" you breathed out, trying to regain composure for both of your sake's. "Look at me."

It sure was ironic, how even though Stein could involuntarily cause so much misery, his intentions were pure. While slowly calming down from this first, earthshattering shock, this sole thought would remain. And as that whole turmoil of emotions raging inside of you faded out...

...the only thing that would preserve was love.

Eyes are the mirror to one's soul, and behind all of the madness and pain, Stein's would show enothing less than sheer adoration for you - a glimpse into his true self only you had ever been honored with.

Stein was expecting punishment for having commited this great sin, and would've gladly accepted anything you would direct at him, knowing he deserved it...

...yet instead, you'd grace him through falling right into his arms.

"I hate you" you whispered barely audible, exhausted now that you'd processed everything. Yet you'd still only ever beat softly against your boyfriend's chest as your tears wetted his sweater. "I hate that I don't know what to think. I hate that should despise you for what you've done, and yet I can't."

You grabbed the fabric of his sweater, holding onto him for dear life as he pulled you even closer. "You were right. I don't want to go. I want to stay with you and the others."

"I'll do anything, Y/N" Stein spoke with genuine regret, planting a kiss on your face to wipe those tears away. "Just tell me what I can do. I'll do anything."

"How can you still kiss me like this?" Even though you were the one to ask, your heart was faster than your mind as your lips met his. "Isn't it disgusting? I'm a living corpse."

Your lover softly smiled against your mouth, eagerly stealing another kiss from you just to prove his point. "I know best what it's like to be a freak, so believe me when I say: You shouldn't feel like one. You've always been perfect to me, Y/N. No matter in what form."

"At least you didn't put a screw into my head" you joked quite insecure, earning a slight chuckle in return. "Well, I could still make adjustments."

"Don't even think about it, you unlicensed horror movie doc!" Your smile would soon turn into a bright, united laughter - unfitting for the situation yet relieving nonetheless. "What you've done today is more than enough for a long time, okay? So you better keep it down until I get used to..." you gestured around your body awkwardly, "...this."

"I bet there's no need for me to proof how sincere I am with you, yeah?"Stein answered as he picked you up from the ground, ready to carry you to a better place to catch up on everything. "But I'll promise to be on my best behavior, darling."

#soul eater #franken stein #franken stein / reader #dr. stein #dr. stein / reader #self insert #writing #fanfiction

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greenlikethesea · 1 year

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There’s no Devil in the craft and eight, please!! (No it’s not my favourite because I, myself, am an eccentric shop worker whos too invested in my customers lives, why do you ask?)

hello my love!!! thank you for your patience, it's been a wild few days with work and ~the self~ as it were --

send me a fic name and one of these questions!

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

We are both kinda crystal bitches! I can only speak for myself in this regard, but I was raised by atheists -- my father was never baptized for poverty reasons and my mother left Catholicism when she was 13. I came into witchcraft/paganism/the like entirely on my own, forming a patchwork belief system fused from the logical and the spiritual. Ya boi loves tarot for that reason -- nothing is set in stone. Just the possibilities.

I have also worked an extensive amount of retail/customer service and definitely grew fond of certain customers over others.

A lot of the Catholic stuff (which is stunning and brilliant) comes from Sparkly's experiences growing up practicing Catholicism and going to Catholic school!

@sparklyslug please contribute your side of this!!!

#asks #thanks for asking!#thanks for your patience too

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audeamus-uk · 1 year

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The Prequel Plague

The Black Death is synonymous with plague, but it wasn’t the first (or the last) epidemic of the bubonic plague. Think less Middle Ages and more about the Byzantine Empire. The first recorded instance of a plague epidemic was the plague of Justinian but it is lesser known.

“By which the whole human race came near to be annihilated” Procopius, the Byzantine court historian declared as he talked of the plague of Justinian in his book Polemon, or ‘Wars. The first wave of the plague ravaged the empire and Constantinople from 542-543 AC. The plague’s sporadic appearances would continue until 750 AC concreting it as the first- but certainly not the last- bubonic plague pandemic.

The word pandemic is Greek in origin, ‘pan’ meaning all and ‘demos’ meaning people. It was no surprise that as the plague engulfed the Byzantium the mortality rates soared, landing anywhere from 60-80% in some cases. Though the plague started in Egypt some time in 541 AC; Constantinople recorded approximately 300k deaths within the first year of the infection not more than a year later. The death toll rising by 5k to 10k a day during the 4 months it claimed Constantinople.

It was likely the disease was introduced through the port of Alexandria and from there it spread like wildfire. Even Procopius understood the grave nature at which the disease had spread:

“It began with the Egyptians who live in Pelusium. It divided and part went to Alexandria and the rest of Egypt, and part to the people of Palestine, the neighbors of the Egyptians, and from there overran the whole earth.”.

It’s no surprise that these words sound familiar in the 21st century. The shear speed in which the disease spread seems like a familiar memory in the wake of the 2019 Covid-19 pandemic. It’s difficult to know exactly the scale of the casualties as there is limited resources describing the populations at the time, this is what makes it largely more difficult to navigate in comparison to its successor: The Black Death. To add salt to the wound there is no clear documented evidence of the disease from a medical standpoint. Procopius of Caesarea was a high-ranking official under the reign of Justinian, living within the city of Constantinople at ground zero and John of Ephesus was a Christian bishop living within Syria at the time- both of whom had no medical experience. What can be said is regardless of dispute over the disease itself; they were both talking about the same plague.

Flicking through the sources and research notes it’s clear that most of what is known is a patchwork of information sewn together which leaves a large area for myths, doubts and discrepancies to arise. For the Justinian plague it seems far more common due to the scarcity of resources and so the plague seems to fly under the radar as the unknown prequel to the great mortality.

It’s important to start with the basics- to walk before you run. The ruler of the empire: Justinian ruled the Byzantine empire for 45 years from 527-65 AC. During this time, he made it a firm aspiration to reclaim territory in the wake of the Old Roman Empire’s dream- which was a fairly common goal amongst other rulers of Byzantium. The emperor was particularly keen in removing the remaining pagan roots from the empire and cutting out the corruption like an overdue tumor. He wasn’t particularly popular within his court. His closest advisors, due to his impoverished beginnings, were from outside the typical aristocratic class. Justinian was particularly authoritarian and believed that the emperor’s word was law- his ambitions, as most do, fell short.

As the wave of pestilence covered much of the empire, not even the emperor was spared. The disease in question was caused by a causative organism: Yersinia Pestis. Originally discovered in 1894 pandemic in Hong-Kong by a Frenchman, Alexandre Yersin. Though, despite its late discovery the Bubonic plague is far older, late neolithic-era remains dated 4500-2000 BC. Y.Pestis is one of 11 species of Yersinia- only 3 of which are capable of infecting humans.

Much of what is taught in history classes is true, the primary carriers of the bacteria are fleas found on black rats. When infected, the proventriculus (esophagus in layman’s terms) is blocked with bacteria. The flea becomes agitated in an attempt to relieve its predicament bites and regurgitates both the blood and the Y. Pestis into its host. Fleas reproduce on a massive level and simply move onto the next host when the one they’re calling home dies- a perfect breeding ground for an epidemic. For now, that’s all you need.

The disease began off the coast and moved through the country inland. From Egypt to Alexandria to Constantinople, the symptoms seemed innocuous at first but within days things became dramatically bleaker. Most victims died within a few days, the mild fever was tailed by bubonic swellings, delirium and hallucinations. The Buboes were the telltale symptom, although those that oozed pus were a sign of likely recovery. Black blisters spelled death. Procopius documented again.

“Death came in some cases immediately, in others after many days; and with some the body broke out with black pustules about as large as a lentil and these did not survive even one day, but all succumbed immediately. With many also a vomiting of blood ensued without visible cause and straightway brought death.”

As great swathes of the population were dying within Constantinople there was little they could do to stop it. The limited medical knowledge- largely based on Galen and Hippocrates respectively limited their ability to both assess and deal with the plague. In the end the only real measure they took was self-isolation something that people intuitively practiced.

Long disputes in recent history argue the validity that the plague taking hold of the Byzantium was truly the plague. Due to the limited ability to actually test for the presence of the disease in the victims (usually using dental pulp from remains) most of it is left up to assessing the symptoms and sources of the time. It’s not the first time in history that plague has been mistaken for other diseases especially with the symptoms in the beginning stages. To understand what the plague is, it’s easier to divide it up by the symptoms present.

The presence of the buboes is distinctive to the bubonic plague and involves the swelling of the lymph nodes especially in the groin and armpit areas. Usually, the infection is the result of a bite from an infected flea. The bacteria infect the lymph node closest and from there multiplies. The bubonic plague is reliant on a vector which makes infection sporadic and hard to track as well as particularly difficult to eradicate.

Though, the mention of black, pea-sized blisters could spell presence of the septicemic plague. Septicemic plague is a more unruly beast, the incubation period is poorly defined but is characterized by plague spots- likely caused by necrosis and internal bleeding of organs and the skin. Tissue turns black and dies especially on the regions such as the fingers and toes. It can be the first symptom or be onset from untreated forms of the plague. All of which are mentioned in Procopius’ account.

The description of the disease by Procopius doesn’t suggest any coughing but the notion that the disease spread as fast as it did could suggest the presence of the pneumonic plague- a strain which has a much shorter incubation period which is far more infectious. Pneumonic plague, characterized by a rapid onset of pneumonia and bloody, watery mucus. It’s possible that this type of plague develops from the inhalation of infectious droplets. This makes it one of the most dangerous forms as it doesn’t rely on a vector (the flea) to carry the disease. Most victims die from respiratory failure caused by pneumonia or shock. Estimated incubation period of 1 to 3 days much shorter than bubonic plague.

With the understanding of the general principles of infection, incubation, and symptoms it’s now easy to understand how alternative diseases such as Anthrax would be an impossibility. For starters, Anthrax cannot be transmitted from person to person. This was the fatal flaw in the bioterrorism act of 2001. The only people who died were the ones that came into direct contact with the microbes. Other Common diseases of the time also don’t feature the characteristic buboes, which are a defining feature of the bubonic plague. The cherry on the top is the identification of the pneumonic plague playing a larger part in the Black Death that would follow many centuries later, which we can reasonably assume was the case during the Justinian Plague, the original ‘plague’.

Procopius also documented the disease killing “People of all ages were struck down indiscriminately, but the heaviest toll was among the young and vigorous and especially among the men...” This speaks to the larger effects of the plague on the empire. The loss of manpower was on a massive scale. John of Ephesus Recollects as he moved through Palestine the intensity of the pestilence.

“During the tumult and intensity of the pestilence,” he wrote, “we journeyed from Syria to the capital. Day after day we, too, used to knock at the door of the grave along with everyone else. We used to think that if there would be evening, death would come upon us suddenly in the night. Although the next morning would come, we used to face the grave during the whole day as we looked at the devastated and moaning villages in these regions, and at corpses lying on the ground with no one to gather them.”

People spent days at a time shifting corpses for the piles to continue growing. Others spent days digging graves. When the plague had initially reached Constantinople, some doctors attempted to try and investigate the disease. Dissecting corpses, buboes and performing autopsies on the victims of the pestilence to no avail. In true Hippocratic style their explanation of ‘bad air’ was evaded by the bubonic plague’s sporadic infections, unlike anything they had encountered before.

During this time medical knowledge was limited to the teachings of Galen and Hippocrates which wouldn’t change for centuries. The reliance on the four humours and a sub-par understanding of anatomy sported by dissections of pigs and other lower animals. Their efforts in understanding the plague were limited, with no understanding of the bacteria causing the infection, nor the vectors. In the end their understanding lead to poor efforts at quarantine and an attempt to close the ports, which didn’t stop the rats or the fleas from spreading.

The disease reached the very extremities of the Byzantine empire. It’s no surprise that their authoritarian leader crumbled at the foot of the plague, more focused on surviving himself. Rather than trying to continue his administrative legal reform, demanding tax from a diminishing population, he instead retired himself to a dogged routine of survival. Procopius in his book Secret History, recounts Justinian demanding remit taxes from landowners, whom of which had lost much of their laborers. Should the landowner die, then the tax would pass from them to the neighbor, this ultimately worsened the financial situation. In 545 AC Justinian had to rule against the law to alleviate the burden on an already crushed population.

As the landowners lost much of their workforce, and the adult population diminished across the empire possibly increased the means to charge more for labour. Demanding higher wages. Demanding lower rent. This was noted by Justinian’s edict in 544 AC which complained of tradesman, artisans and agricultural workers having handed themselves to avarice in the wake of the plague. In some cases, demanding twice or even triple their normal rates. In an attempt to curb inflation the emperor froze both wages and prices at pre-plague levels, something which now sounds familiar in a post-pandemic world.

The loss of the agricultural workers was two birds with one stone. A loss of taxes, on which much of the empire relied but also the loss of crops. It’s no surprise that famine followed in the wake of the plague and there are documented food shortages in 542 AD then again in 545 and 546 AD.

As if the manpower in the fields was the only issue the military was also affected on a large scale. With the loss of the taxpayer base already paying higher taxes for Justinian’s military campaigns, there was now also a shortage of troops. The bulk of his remaining force in 544 AD were sent on a campaign to confront the Persians- the smaller Persian force decimated the remains of Justinian’s army with the Byzantium ultimately choosing to pay tribute and keep peace in 545 AD.

This wasn’t the only documented issue with the military campaigns, the time in which it took to muster reinforcements in battle was another good indicator of the plagues’ impact on the empire. An increased reliance on support forces such as the barbarians and longer campaigns moving from 5 years to 8. After the plague Agathias writes of the state of the army following the pestilence:

“The Roman armies had not in fact remained at the desired level attained by the earlier Emperors but had dwindled to a fraction of what they had been and were no longer adequate to the requirements of a vast empire. And whereas there should have been a total effective fighting force of six hundred and forty-five thousand men, the number had dropped during this period to barely one hundred and fifty thousand.”

There wasn’t a corner of society that the plague wouldn’t touch. Justinian within his reign had decreed the eradication of the pagan faith in favour of Chalcedonian Christianity. His authoritarian approach to faith could likely have helped form the imagery that shaped the Christian interpretation of the plague. In fact, this is reflected in the missionary (and pious Christian bishop) John of Ephesus’ testimony who argued it was directly a punishment from God. That those who would read his testimony would “become wise to the sentence for their sins”.

The common factor through all accounts of the Justinian Plague is the dramatic descriptions of mass mortality. The annihilation of the human race. In recent years, however this global, catastrophic event that supposedly brought the end of antiquity was actually likely just endemic within the region. The totalizing impact is just stirred up by the eyewitness sources where the pain and suffering was rampant. From recent studies of a range of indicators for phenomena such as economic production, state activity and urban development it seems like the Justinian plague was a largely localized outbreak. While it did impact Constantinople and other cities severely there is no clear evidence that smaller communities felt the effect at all. An example of this would be the study on fossilized pollen remains, which can be used to document agricultural production, which is a good indicator of economic activity. In this case, the area surrounding the Byzantine empire, particularly the eastern Mediterranean following the years of the plague experienced little or no decline in their production. For this reason, it’s not entirely accurate to document it as a pandemic or assume it affected the entire Mediterranean- or possibly even all the territories under Justinian’s control.

Though the extent of the pestilence and its mortality, including the reach of the disease can be questioned, the likelihood of this being the first bubonic plague outbreak stands on more solid ground. Identifying an ancient disease can be done in a few ways a retrospective diagnosis from the accounts given (Procopius and John) or using molecular biology to identify ancient pathogens extracted from human remains. Skeletons dating back to the 6th century have since been dug up and researchers were able to reconstruct the genome responsible for a 60-80% mortality rate within the population. Coupled with the clear and decisive accounts from those that witnessed the disease its clear the Justinian plague, although dramatized in its accounts truly was the prequel plague.

All the links to the references used within this blog can be found under my references tab.

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