#Archbishop Shining Gold

[mykneeshurt]

Divinity

Archbishop John Price x F!Reader

Warnings - explicit smut, religious themes, so much blasphemy, breath play, minors DNI, 18+

Archbishop John Price.

You’d had run ins with him before. All perfectly innocent of course. He was in town and he wanted to see you.

It was late, much later than normal for any type of meeting, especially in a Cathedral. Your city had an impressive gothic cathedral located in the centre of the cobbled streets and winding alleyways. The building its self was surrounded by beautiful grounds, a crumbling graveyard and various statues and tributes to those deemed holy enough.

Spires reached for the sky, gargoyles adorned the balconies meant to ward off evil spirits. But they couldn’t keep you out. A large circular stained glass window glistened in the moonlight as stone arches surrounded it.

You felt somewhat nervous. You weren’t too sure why.

Pushing the great wooden door it creaked open, it was a deep walnut colour with black iron details. On entering the Cathedral you took in is glory, high stone ceilings, various candles littering the walls and floors in their cast iron holders. Stained glass windows of Saints lined the walls, worn wooden pews lined up filled the hall. A red carpet led straight to the altar, this was only used when his Holiness was in town. And the red carpet led straight to him.

Straight to the Archbishop John Price.

He was sat in the Cathedra, like a king on his throne. Legs spread as his hips splayed towards the ceiling, his hand resting on the arm of the chair as he surveyed the kingdom before him. His eyes fixed onto your form immediately, watching as you slowly made your way towards him. Your dress swayed in time with your hips, capturing his eyes with the hypnotising motions.

Hands clasped behind your back you smirked as you approached the altar. He was dressed in all black, a singular gold ring on his left ring finger. Symbolising his commitment to God. You could see his chest moving slowly as he breathed, chest clearly tight with anticipation. Much like your own.

The moon illuminated his form in the dark surroundings of the Cathedral, his eyes overshadowed by his brow but with the slight blue hue still shining through. As you stood in front of him he raked his eyes up and down your form, over your curves, your breasts, legs and finally locking onto your eyes.

Biting your lip you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, hands now clasped in front of you signalling a silent prayer. Leaning forward he cupped your jaw, legs still spread as he pulled your bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I hear you’ve been quite busy little one’ he whispered as you rubbed your cheek into his palm. ‘I needed to get your attention’ you purred softly.

‘And you thought you’d do that by committing the sin of lust? By seducing my disciples of God like the succubus you are?’

You loved it when he talked to you like this, describing how you corrupted his priests, how you made them succumb to your spell, making them give in to their most carnal desires. You stared up at him through your lashes, trying to give him your best doe eyes. ‘I’ve seduced you before John. You know I get what I want.’ He chuckled under his breath, this time you raised your hand to his face. Pulling him closer. Your lips hovered over his, breath tickling the sensitive skin.

‘So give me what I want.’

Slowly he sat back, flashing a look to his lap, beckoning you to take a seat. Standing up you straddled his lap, your knees barely fitting between his muscular thighs and the wooden cathedra. Holding your hips he pulled you further into his lap, his firm cock grazed your aching core as you let out a soft whine. ‘Take it little one. Show me what you want’ he whispered into your neck, placing tender kisses between each word.

Nipping at his lip you dropped your hand to his cock, rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers. A hushed grunt exuded from his throat at the contact, subtly pushing his hips up. Desperately trying to get more friction. Giggling to yourself you kissed his neck, your breath gliding along his soft skin. ‘Tell me you want me John’ you whispered into his neck, desperation seeping through your voice.

He wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling you away from his neck. Forcing you to look at him, his clear blue eyes pooled in the rays that shone through the stained glass windows. His beard peppered with dark and white hairs, his bottom lip plump from where you had nipped it. ‘As God as my witness, I want you.’

Rolling your hips you smiled, eyes lighting up like the fiery pits of hell. ‘Then fuck me like you mean it.’

In one fluid movement he had you bent over the cathedra, dress gathered at your waist. Dropping his hand he caressed the back of your calf and onto your thigh. Fingertips gently grazing your soft skin, kissing the back of your other thigh he groaned, the vibrations tickling your now wet cunt.

Letting out a breathy moan into the wooden chair his name danced on your lips. ‘Don’t tease me John. Fuck. Me.’ Your words were harsh and commanding, but you always were when you weren’t getting what you wanted. Nipping the crease of your ass he chuckled against your skin, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. ‘Don’t rush me little one. I’m taking my time with you. I want to worship you.’

A slow whine made its way from your chest, ricochetting off the sandstone walls at his words. Tentatively he moved your panties to the side as he traced your lips with his fingers, whimpering at the sight of your glistening cunt. Kissing his ring he plunged two fingers into you, the cold metal grazed your folds as be began moving. Pumping his fingers as you came undone beneath him. ‘Fuck. I’ve missed that sound’ he whispered, ‘miss the way you hum my name. This cunt. Like God made it just for me.’

You were losing yourself at his words, ready to honour this man before his God.

‘John please’ you begged, voice hoarse with need and pure lust. Pulling his fingers out he gripped you by the waist forcing you to be flush with his cock. It took all of your energy to stand, but you managed to rest your head on his shoulder as he brought his fingers to your mouth. A silent demand to taste yourself. Opening your mouth he slowly ran his fingers along your tongue, your warm, slippery tongue. Moaning at your taste he kissed your neck as he rolled his fingers in your mouth.

Wanting to feel him inside you, you spun around in his grasp pulling him with you as you stepped back to the chair. Sitting you spread your legs gesturing for him to kneel before you. Keeping his eyes on yours he dropped to his knees, a glint present in his eyes. As he went to bury his head in your folds you placed the ball of your foot on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Leaning forward you grasped the rosary that was hidden beneath his shirt.

Using the rosary like a collar you pulled him towards you. He crawled over you, placing his lips on yours. Coaxing you into a kiss his tongue invaded your mouth, still tasting of you. As the kiss deepened you wrapped your legs around his waist. Rolling your hips you whined into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Without any warning you grasped his hair and pulled him away from you. He hissed as you held him forcefully in your grasp. ‘Don’t make me ask again’ you ordered. Holding his head there he smirked down at you, dropping his eyes to your lips and back to your eyes.

Playfully rolling his eyes he bit his lip as he pulled at his belt. Still hovering above you he worked his cock in his hands before slowly pushing into you. The stretch would have made the devil himself blush. He was thicker than average and it stung in the most beautiful way. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out, mouth agape with sweat beginning to gather on your neck.

‘God John’ you whined whilst gripping his shirt. ‘God ain’t here love, but let’s give the angels something to talk about.’

With that he began thrusting into you, your head pushed against the back of the cathedra while you gripped onto him to stay steady. He buried his head into your neck as he whispered words of affirmation with each thrust. ‘You feel so good around my cock’ he breathed, voice laced with desire and ecstasy. You were so cock drunk you were unable to find words, only various moans and whispers.

Dropping your hand to your clit you applied pressure, pushing yourself further to your climax. Eyes closed you let your mind wander, Archbishop Price fucking your pussy, Father Garrick taking your ass, all while Father Riley had his cock in your mouth while Father McTavish watched.

He gripped your hips as he upped his pace, his pubic bone adding even more pressure to your clit. ‘Don’t stop, please’ you whined, your climax edging ever closer. ‘That’s it little one ’ he cooed, cupping your jaw once more. ‘Tell me when you’re close’ you whispered, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. ‘Already am.’

With that you pulled at the rosary that was dangling between you, gripping it close to his neck, cutting off his blood supply. Humming to yourself you watched as his pupils blew wide. ‘Mmm good boy, now cum for me. I’m not letting go till you fill me’ you whispered. A choked breath escaped him as he became sloppy, desperate.

Removing your hand from your clit you ran your fingers against his lips, allowing him the honour of tasting you. He hummed in appreciation trying to savour your taste as he fought for air. With three more thrusts he came and came hard. Filling you entirely. Just as he did you released the pressure from his throat allowing a rush of air to fire through him. Dropping his head to yours he rested on your forehead, breathing heavy and fast.

‘Stick your tongue out’ he ordered. Doing as you were told you stuck it out and peered up at him with innocence in your eyes. Fake of course. In a smooth motion he pulled out making you feel empty and gathered his cum on his fingertip. Slowly he dragged it across your tongue ‘this is my body, I give it to you.’ Greedily you licked your lips and swallowed.

Just as he went to sink himself in again you stopped him, he looked confused, ‘if I cum now, I won’t get to do this again. Maybe you come to mine later and teach me more about God.’

————

Sorry this has taken so long. Life has gotten in the way. I don’t even know if I like it lmao

Taglist - @deadbranch @villainsoftheweek @glitterypirateduck @luminousbeings-crudematter

[aurheatum]

and from your face i shall be hidden.

welcome present (?) for @divinecrest (it's okay. runes already taken the psychic damage. for everyone else warnings for: death obv. grief! badly dealt with grief! body horror based on the chest cavity/heart. the usual mix of consummate lying and religious fervor rhea is known for.)

The fire should anger her more, even if it does not surprise her.

The fire should anger her more, even if it does not surprise her.

She had seen Jeralt’s face when she first forced the babe upon him; the horror as he looked her in the eyes and followed her final order all the same (“take it”).

She hadn’t told him to leave, but he had all the same. Jeralt had made his choice then, and Rhea, turning back to cradle Sitri in her arms, had made hers.

They tell her that the funeral preparations can be made without her, if that is what she wishes. Rhea says nothing. Tells them she is the archbishop and that she will oversee things as she always has. No one contradicts her.

All of the monastery agrees that one tragedy has seemed to follow another with Sitri succumbing to her frailty and now her husband nowhere to be seen. They really had thought of Jeralt as one of them, after all – but those raised outside the church, well, what can one truly expect?

Rhea wants to force them all to stop talking. Stop talking as if they ever knew anything of Sitri. As if they have the right to mourn a soul such as hers. 

She purchases a casket, instead; similar to the ones of the Four Saints it is inlaid with smaller, but no less resplendent gold pleated crests of Seiros on each of its four corners. Rhea has prepared the body for this, repaired the damage again and again just for this moment where she can send Sitri onward into the tapestry of time. 

(Most of the other vessels she had burned under the stars. Each had a shining light named after them now).

She carries her to the Holy Tomb herself, ready to call upon one of her knights to carry the casket out when she is finished but Sitri swaddled against her chest fails to leave her arms

“You cannot,” Rhea pleads before the ghosts of the ten elites and her hundreds of siblings, “you cannot go now. Do not leave me here alone, please!”

(The Church of Seiros says that everything – plant, human, animal has a soul but Rhea has never seen one. This does not mean she does not believe.)

She decides then that she will not send Sitri off into the stars, or lay her here with so many who died in torment; neither will she give Sitri to the ground as if she were just another thing to be broken down by the ravages of age. Rhea will see her perfect, and whole.

The casket goes into the ground a day later but Sitri stays in Abyss.

There were plants that only ever grew in the dark of Abyss – weeds, really, that neither Rhea or Seteth could stop from growing in the cracks of the shadow library but Sitri, enchanted by the faint light they gave off, had loved.

She had loved so much.

Rhea magicks her a field of pampas grass to lay in, grown from the Immaculate One’s blood; it is simple enough to restrain the growth of the field to a single chamber in the underground for unlike the weeds Sitri so loved the grass does not take to the damp and the dark.

It is simple too to place a piece of her own crest stone within the empty cavity of Sitri’s chest; as Rhea has done it many times before (some children of man did not take to her Nabatean blood and so in order to promote the healing of their bodies she had needed to give them something which the Seiros crest could respond to).

She’s done it so many times now, dug her claws into her own heart just to chip away at it for flakes she thinks she could do it in her sleep.

For Sitri she does more. Bringing her regular infusions of blood alongside offerings of freshly plucked lilies and valerian blooms, she arranges them neatly around the palate where she lays and she speaks with her.

She talks to her of how work has piled up again, and what she would not give to have Seteth help her with redoing the library (“you never met, but I think you would have gotten along well”). She tells her with a smile when Seteth returns alongside his sister, and adds with a frown she is not sure how long this time they will stay.

One evening she walks down from her chambers to Sitri’s place in abyss and informs her that the winds of fate have seen fit to bring her children back to Garreg Mach.

“We have needed a military arts professor,” Rhea admits, with some embarrassment, “and Jeralt never could take to that kind of instruction, you know.”

Rhea pauses and admits: “they’ve taken to it very well, though; and the bonds forged with the students, well, it makes me wonder…”

Rhea does not continues the train of thought, merely puts a hand  to Sitri’s face and brushes a strand of hair from her eyes.

“That kindness… I am sure it can only come from you.”

[ddagent]

“ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU” [3/3]

Aziraphale/Crowley | Musicians AU | FR12 | 3,420 words     When the friendship between rock star Crowley and crooner Aziraphale is made public, the two decide to leave their labels and work together. Alongside writing the next Christmas number one, the pair also explore thirty years of repressed feelings. Thank you so much for all the positive comments; I'm absolutely delighted about the response to my first Good Omens multi-chapter! We do get to hear Aziraphale and Crowley's Christmas song in this; I am not a songwriter (or really a poet), however, so please view their song with that in mind!

Voicemail message from Aziraphale Fell (recorded 1st November 2023 2.23 am)

Crowley, I was just wondering whether we had room for a third chorus. Sort of a ‘Baby Its Cold Outside’ rapport – just without the implications, obviously. Although did you read that news article I sent you on the historical background of the song? Anyhoo, I had some thoughts. Here are the lyrics; we’d go back and forth: I don’t need a shining star to point me to you, my dear. It wouldn’t take a wise man to see how much I love you, Angel. Your eyes are gold. Your tone is frank. Now stop murmuring and come over here! Let me know what you think!

Message sent 1st November 2023 (2.35 am)

Crowley: I would rather sing ‘O Come all Ye Faithful’ in Westminster Abbey on Christmas Eve, duetting with the Archbishop himself. You are such a talented song-writer – how? HOW?

By the start of November, Christmas had begun to invade. Decorations had sprung up in shops and supermarkets; cards and wrapping and festive food lined the shelves. Crowley had been dragged through an excruciating three hours in central London finding gifts for all their friends. One of the good things about now being in a relationship (other than the utter joy he felt being with Aziraphale, touching Aziraphale, loving Aziraphale) was that he got to put his name on their gifts. No more single gifts for him. They now came as a pair.

Of course, alongside the downturn into Christmas was the race for Christmas number one.

Continue Reading at AO3

[femuirdris]

A Feeling of Kinship

Fire Emblem: Heroes / Awakening / Three Houses | Rating: G | Character Focus: Seteth, Frederick

Two grown men have a tea party.

[Read on AO3!]

Seteth investigated his mirror image, smoothing down singular hairs out of place and pinching his eyebrows to align the same direction. He combed his beard and adjusted his circlet, fidgeting until he was finally satisfied with his appearance.

After all, it was not every day he personally had tea with a lord’s retainer from another world, let alone someone as like-minded as himself.

Of course, he interacted with many different heroes on a daily basis, from training to arena matches to simply standing guard in the castle, but he wouldn’t call most of them friends. He tended to dote on Flayn and spend the rest of his time with his companions from Fódlan—though, with the varying timelines that the heroes hailed from, determining whether a comrade saw him as friend or foe was nigh impossible.

After one more fiddle with his cuffs, cape, and belts, he nodded at himself with a contented little smile, and departed towards the gazebo.

As he approached, he was surprised to find, rather than a man in a hefty silver and cerulean suit of armor, seated at the table was a man in a dapper brown vest buttoned over a neatly pressed white dress shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. Around his neck was a neatly tied bow. But, his messy brown hair and untamable cowlick gave him away; this was certainly the same man Seteth had met clearing rocks from the roadside.

Seteth took a few moments longer to observe the man meticulously fine-tuning the table setting. The small round table was covered with a white and gold tablecloth, reminiscent of the banners that adorned the castle halls. Upon the table was a three-tiered display of assorted pastries, along with a gorgeous ceramic tea set.

He sucked in a breath before greeting his new friend. “Good afternoon, Sir Frederick!” His voice nearly cracked in his excitement. How unbecoming.

“Ah, Lord Seteth!” Frederick replied, and in one smooth motion he was on his feet, offering the unclaimed chair to Seteth. “Please, have a seat!”

“Thank you, my good sir,” Seteth accepted with a smile and a polite nod as he seated himself. When Frederick joined him again, he continued, “However, I cannot accept the title of lord, as I am only the advisor to the archbishop, Lady Rhea. You may simply address me as Seteth.”

“Ah, yes, Lo—er, Seteth. As you wish,” Frederick agreed. “Shall I pour you a cup?”

“Your chivalry knows no bounds. I would be delighted.” As Frederick poured the tea, the familiar scent of ginger filled his nostrils. “It seems we must have similar tastes! Are you a fan of ginger root, as well?”

Frederick’s lips curled into a small, but delighted smile. “Actually, I consider myself something of a connoisseur of all teas, depending on the occasion. Black teas make for an excellent energy boost during sleepless days. Ginger and peppermint are energizing, different herbal blends are excellent for relaxation and healing. I quite enjoy licorice root as a dessert; the natural sweetness shines through,” he explained. “However, I must say I did choose ginger with you in mind. I took it upon myself to ask your sister your preference. As I was not sure what the Askrian equivalent of ‘four-spice blend’ would be, I opted for ginger.”

Seteth’s eyebrows raised to touch his circlet. “You researched and procured my favorite tea for this occasion! I am most surprised. The only other person who has ever been so aggressively thoughtful is the professor. I appreciate your consideration!”

“You are one of the few who seem to appreciate my devotion. Lady Sumia of Ylisse, Sir Jakob of Nohr, and Sir Seth of Renais are the others. I am often criticized for my purported excess of zeal…” Frederick prattled, taking a sip of tea.

“I, too, am often criticized. My sister has called me ‘intrusive’ and ‘overbearing’ for my concern with her relationship with the other students in the Officers Academy.” He paused to inhale a whiff of the ginger as he took a sip. “Even Professor Byleth believed me to be a disgruntled and mistrusting nuisance for her first few months of instruction. I was only trying to protect Flayn from a woman I considered to be a stranger, regardless of Lady Rhea’s fondness for her.”

Frederick’s eyes lit up. “You truly do understand! Milord Chrom decided nearly immediately that the stranger we found sleeping on the roadside would become our chief tactician! He and Lady Robin were practically honeymooning from the moment he took her hand. She failed to even remember her own name and from where she hailed! I took it upon myself to be extraordinarily vigilant of her behavior to ensure milord’s safety.”

Seteth shook his head in shared disbelief. “Incredible coincidence. You know, the professor’s father, Jeralt Eisner, failed to let her know her own birthday! And she ended up blessed by the power of the goddess… this is why three of the professors share the mint green hair color, you see.”

His new friend chuckled. “Your mysterious professor was blessed by your goddess. My mysterious tactician was cursed to inhabit the Fell Dragon’s consciousness. Hence, the numerous Robins who claim to be the Fell Dragon Grima.”

“Ah, such as the gentleman whose garb disintegrated in battle!” Seteth recalled, Frederick eying him with a quizzical brow. “Yes, I am somewhat familiar. A shame—was the evil expelled?”

“In my timeline, Lady Robin sacrificed herself to rid the world of the Fell Dragon for good, yes. Er… she defeated her future self, that is? Time travel shenanigans, you see. It is all quite complex, I’m afraid…” Frederick explained, his brow furrowed.

“Ah, well, at the very least you can mostly discern which Robins are friend or foe,” Seteth uttered, a twinge of both jealousy and sadness in his voice. “Apparently there are… approximately ten significant ways in which my world’s timeline splits, depending on where the professor’s loyalty or the mercenary Shez’s loyalty lies. For instance, one of the Byleths despises me, for she sided with Edelgard in the war…” His voice trailed off.

“Askr is a curious melding of worlds, indeed. I am astounded with the possibilities—and how much the decisions of one person in each of our worlds can impact the lives of everyone in that world. It seems the Robins, Byleths, and even the Shezes share that in common,” Frederick pondered, his eyes following the delicate movement of the tea remaining in his cup.

Seteth hadn’t considered just how similar the experiences in the other worlds were to his own. His mind was a storm trying to wrap his mind around just how many alternate realities were possible, silence falling between the two men.

“However, existentialism is not the reason you intrigued me so, my good knight,” Seteth said with a smile, changing the subject. “You go so far as to remove rocks from the roadside so your liege does not trip?”

“Indeed! I must do whatever I can to keep milord safe. Whether it be taking a blow for him in battle or simply removing potential allergens by dusting, no task is too great or too small so long as it protects his wellbeing,” Frederick explained with a proud grin. As he deserves to be, Seteth thought with a mild envy. Flayn would chastise him for being so intrusive.

“How noble! I am ashamed to say I cannot compare. I protect my dear sister from miscreants who have potentially ill intentions, giving them stern talking-tos, and also watch over her in battle, but I fear my worry never dissipates…” He paused a moment, racking his brain for other unique instances of doting on Flayn. “Ah! When Flayn was young, I did write her fables—tales of ancient Fódlan, of the goddess and the saints, of morals and justice. I should think instilling great values in a loved one is a form of protection!”

“I would agree wholeheartedly! Providing a moral compass is extraordinarily important!” Frederick nodded sipping more tea. “You write?”

This time it was Seteth’s turn to beam. “I do. Writing fables continues to be a delightful outlet. In fact, I am a published author here in Askr! Commander Anna and I donate the profits from my work to support the less fortunate children in the realm.”

“Most impressive!”

“My thanks.” Seteth smiled into his cup. Convincing the commander to donate the profits took quite the effort, and he enjoyed the rare opportunity to discuss his works. “Do you indulge in any creative work for leisure?”

“I do not… particularly consider it leisure,” Frederick grimaced at the word. “However, I do enjoy knitting and embroidery—whether it be scarves or blankets to keep milord warm in the cold months, or a ‘Daddy’s Little Princess’ shirt for little Lucina, or a floral patterned dress for my wife.”

He didn’t take Frederick to be a married man, perhaps due to his everlasting devotion to the prince of Ylisse.

“You’ve a wife!” he exclaimed, finally noticing the ring on his finger.

“Indeed, as well as a child from the dark, alternate future, too. We’ve yet to have said child in my own timeline though.”

Seteth stared blankly. He knew of the Divine Pulse the goddess Sothis once wielded, but time travel from alternate futures? Earlier Frederick had alluded to it in their discussion of the Fell Dragon, but he figured the time travel was related to the dragon’s own powers. Human children, too?

“…Er, come again?”

“Ah—yes, all of the married couples of my time have had their children travel through the flow of time to change fate. Again, though, it’s curious that so many of the heroes here hail from different timelines. Apparently the Lissa of this world is married to a Frederick of hers, and their son is Owain? But I am married to Lady Sumia and our daughter is Cynthia… and I’m told one of the Chroms has married Sumia in his timeline, and their Cynthia has deep midnight blue hair like her father. It is… mind boggling, to say the least…” Frederick must have realized he was once again caught in the confusing web of alternate realities and timelines, and shook his head. “I apologize for my ramblings. Tell me, are you married? Do you have children of your own?”

A brief panic washed over Seteth, his eyes wide and his pointed ears pulling back. He gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Frederick hesitated, “M-my apologies if I struck a nerve—”

Seteth took a deep breath to regain his composure, and replied, “I have been married twice, actually. My late wife passed away in wartime long ago, and I found new love in the professor.” He sighed, the thought of his Byleth easing his nerves. He hesitated a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “We—do not have children at this time. My sister Flayn is the closest thing to a daughter, having raised her since her infancy.”

It was not necessarily a complete lie. Perhaps one day his new friend would know the truth, but even this realm with no bearing on his own, he couldn’t take the risk. Fortunately, Frederick did not see through his façade, and if he did, he was polite enough not to mention it.

“Ahh, I am relieved you were able to find love again; I could not imagine. From all that I know about you so far, you are deserving of the utmost happiness,” Frederick said, his smile returning.

“As are you, sir! Why, you must be the most steadfast, dedicated retainer I have ever known!” Seteth exclaimed with gusto. “I am delighted to call you a friend.”

“As am I!”

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Starter for @deaddoveadventures // Curumë

The city had been torn asunder, as if a gargantuan dragon had ploughed straight through it, pulverising every building, every wall, every single brick and pebble in its endeavour to reach the other end of the city; it had waded through the metropolis as if it had been a mere, knee-high lake. Except that the dragon hadn’t come in the form of an actual dragon, but in that of a legion of goblins and orcs, collaborating to maraud and deplete the city of its wealth and provisions. The devastation was everywhere one turned their head, there was no escaping it. Houses had crumbled and were nothing more but a pile of rubble, streets were buried under mountains of debris, and slowly dying fires, the only living vestiges of the violence that had transpired last night, were, ironically, the only sources of warmth left. The stench of blood and burning wood permeated the air. These last seven days, most denizens had either lost their abodes, lives, or both, and yet their solidarity had united them to tend to the injured and salvage whatever they could find to make their loss slightly more bearable.

The barbaric and monstrous assault had deprived the city of its colour and vigour in a week’s time; everything was etiolated, insipid and reeked of death and decay. Decades ago, when he’d been in the employment of his late father, he’d often traversed to this place, as a merchant to trade. The streets used to be filled with ebullient laughter, boisterous conversation, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the currents of a gentle breeze. Tall trees and exotic plants and flowers, vibrant and sweet, emblazoned the environment, adding to it a touch of nature and tranquility, making one forget that one was, in reality, encompassed by sturdy city walls, a rich assortment of architectural residences, and an enormous crowd of people thronging the roads and alleyways all day long. Now, none of that remained, not even a sliver; those images had been diminished to a mere evocation...

The road meandering up to Luran’s place of destination was impeded by rubble. They’d barely passed the disintegrated city gate when they had been forced to shed the carriage and continue on horseback. But even on their mounts, navigating the ruins proved to be a challenge. The beasts couldn’t find their footing, stumbled, fell, and snorted defiantly when spurs prodded their sides to coerce them over rock and treacherous terrain both rider and animal were cognisant of were unsound. Eventually, Luran dismounted and resumed his laborious journey on foot; the King’s knights, clad in their heavy, shining armour, trailed in his wake. Regardless of happening upon many civilians in need, none approached him — or any of the soldiers — to ask for aid. Presumably because they thought the King’s knights and his emissary weren’t here for them, and therefore, would never assist them. And they were correct. Luran had been sent to discuss financial affairs, among others, with the archbishop who governed the city. The King had no interest in supporting the victims, to alleviate their hardships, their suffering; he was only concerned with the archbishop and how the religious leader would compensate for the loss of gold and other riches.

The cold and desperation, which haunted him outside, were chased from his bones now that he was standing in the archbiship’s warm and luxurious office. Perhaps office wouldn’t do the room justice, atrium would be more apt. Paintings and frescoes adorned the walls and ceiling. Columns and statues were situated on either side of the cavernous hall, and a grand oval table with intricate carvings in its mahogany surface, stood in its centre. Several tall, arched windows, their frames embellished with heavy, gold and burgundy curtains, offered a view over the ravaged city — once a magnificent spectacle to behold, no doubt, but now, just a sad reminder of what was. The cathedral was still surprisingly intact after the bombardment of blazing boulders that had laid waste to the rest of the city. Granted, there were some dents blemishing its walls and a meagre layer of dust veiled its interior, but other than that, the House of the Goddess had remained unscathed. The advisor scribbled a mental note to himself to apprise the King of this particularly odd phenomenon...

While the archbishop rambled on about last week’s events and how tragic and pointless the loss of life was and how it affected him so, Luran stood, composedly, beside a slender window, his countenance averted from the other elf, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He regarded the people below, mere specs from his vantage point. He detested travelling, especially for long periods of time... He preferred the comfort and safety of home, and couldn’t wait to return. Alas, there were pressing matters to attend to.

The conversation that ensued was tedious, and throughout the ordeal, Luran felt an aura of insincerity, dishonesty radiating off of the archbishop. His words of sorrow, grief and loss did not reflect in his eyes. His histrionic comportment, his charade, was rather impertinent, especially when taking all the dead denizens into account. The King had found in this elf a kindred spirit: neither cared about their subjects, both were corrupt, blinded by power, greed and wealth and would go to any extreme to procure it... Repulsive...

Many hours sidled past in this fashion, before they were interrupted by the archbishop’s guards. Half a dozen came marching in, following their captain. Two guards escorted a man, digging the fingers of their iron gauntlets into his upper arms. The captain, herself, held some sort of artifact or statue in her arms — Luran couldn’t quite determine its nature from where he was positioned, but clearly, it did not belong to the... trespasser... thief...

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ the archbishop demanded irritably, gesturing to the scene that was now unfolding before his very eyes.

‘Your Grace. Advisor. My sincere apologies for the intrusion, but we caught this thief red-handed, stealing. The idol of the Goddess was in his possession,’ the captain explained pragmatically, shooting the thief a nasty glare.

Luran’s sapphire blue eyes oscillated between the archbishop and the captain; the archbishop suddenly appeared rather... perturbed. It was remarkable how his people being massacred had a less emotionally detrimental effect on him than some law offender nicking a stone artifact. However, had the advisor been familiar with the power harnessed within the idol, he would’ve understood the apprehension. The deceptively simplistic artifact allowed anyone attuned to it, to enthrall the masses and keep them subservient, obedient, as meek as a flock of gullible lambs raised for slaughter.

‘This man shall be punished for his crimes,’ the archbishop said, hastily taking the idol from the captain. ‘Throw him in the dungeons!’

‘The dungeons were obliterated, Your Grace,’ the captain commented resolutely.

A sigh of exasperation brushed past the archbishop’s lips, which elicited a flinch from the captain. Back at the palace, Luran had witnessed similar reactions manifesting in the royal guards whenever they were met with the King’s displeasure. And while the archbishop embarked on a tirade, Luran contemplated how he could be of service. His gaze swept over to the thief, scrutinising him for the first time.

‘We could take him back with us, to the City — he can stand trial there,’ Luran eventually suggested, his euphonious voice calm and collected, yet his eyes were cold and trained, unblinking, on the miscreant. ‘I’m fairly certain they’ve got a cosy prison cell left to temporarily accommodate this malefactor, until his fate has been decided...’

[brookston]

Holidays 2.16

Holidays

Akiyoshidai Yamayaki (Japan)

Archbishop Janani Luwum Memorial Day (Uganda)

Bir Chilarai Divas (Assam, India)

Bumper Car Day

Cheque Day

Citizenship Day (Canada)

Cyclamen Day (French Republic)

Day of the Shining Star (North Korea)

Do A Grouch A Favor Day

Elizabeth Peratrovich Day (Alaska)

First 911 Call Day

Gator Nation Giving Day (Florida)

Gold Standard Day

Harvey the Hound Day (Canada)

Heart’s Day (Elder Scrolls)

IEEE Foundation Day

Innovation Day

International Black Aviation Day

International Jewish Day of Constructive Conflict

Kick Day

Kyoto Protocol Day

LOINC Day

Makha Bucha Day (Thailand)

National Buna Day (Ethiopia)

National No One Eats Alone Day

Nine-One-One Day

Restoration of Lithuania's Statehood Day

Tutankhamen’s Tomb Day

216 Day (Ohio)

Wear Purple for Kyoto Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Feast of Sticky Buns

International Syrah Day

National Almond Day

Tartar Sauce Day

Tim Tam Day (Australia)

3rd Friday in February

Care Day (UK) [3rd Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

Global Divestment Day (UK) [Friday of Go Green Week]

Heritage Day (Yukon Territory, Canada) [3rd Friday]

National Caregivers Day [3rd Friday]

National Woman’s Heart Day [3rd Friday]

World Porter Day [3rd Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning February 16

Girl Scout Cookie Weekend [thru 2.18]

National FFA Week [thru 2.24]

Independence & Related Days

Lithuania (from Russia & German Empire, 1918)

Sovereignty Day (Serbia)

Festivals Beginning February 16, 2024

Adelaide Fringe Festval Adelaide, South Australia) [thru 3.17]

Babcock Ranch Seafood & Music Festival (Punta Gorda, Florida) [thru 2.18]

Carnevale di Venezia (Venice, Italy) [thru 3.5]

Festival du Voyageur (Winnipeg, Canada) [thru 2.25]

Fiddler Crab Festival (Steinhatchee, Florida) [thru 2.18]

Great Backyard Bird Count [thru 2.19]

Inter Varsity Folk Dance Festival (York, UK) [thru 2.18]

New Zealand Fringe Festival (Wellington, New Zealand) [thru 3.9]

Philippine International Hot Air Balloon Fiesta (Capas, Philippines) [thru 2.18]

Riverside County Fair & National Date Festival (Indio, California) [thru 2.25]

WBCA Jalapeño Festival (Lardeo, Texas)

Wine & Chowder Trails (Florence, Oregon) [thru 2.18]

Feast Days

Abda of Edessa (Christian; Saint)

Armand Guillaumin (Artology)

Bonten Matsuri festival begins (Asking for Good Crops; Japan)

Charles Todd Quintard (Episcopal Church (USA))

Cremation Wednesday (Church of the SubGenius)

Devil’s Dance (Everyday Wicca)

Elias, Jeremy, Isaias, Samuel, and Daniel (Christian; Egyptian Martyrs)

Friday after Shrove Tuesday (Western Christianity) [44 Days before Easter (a.k.a. ... 

Friday Fish Fry Day (Midwest US)

National Tartar Sauce Day

Kissing Friday

Nippy Hug Day (Westmoreland, UK)

Gilbert of Sempringham (Christian; Saint)

Gregory X, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Guru Ravidas Jayanti (a.k.a. Magha Purinma; Parts of India)

Hash Wednesday (Church of the SubGenius)

Iace (a.k.a. Tatto) of Scotland (Christian; Saint)

Iain Bank (Writerism)

Juliana of Nicomedia (Catholic Church; Virgin & Martyr)

Juvenal (Positivist; Saint)

Kanō Eitoku (Artology)

Michelangelo Cerquozzi (Artology)

Onesimus (Christian; Saint)

Platypus Pondering Day (Pastafarian)

Respectable Tales of Kelp-Koli (Shamanism) [5 Minutes]

Richard Ford (Writerism)

Secret Patience Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Three Good Deaths Day [Salmon, Pigs, Robbers] (Celtic Book of Days)

Vasant Panchami (a.k.a. Saraswati Puja; Celebrating harvest goddess Saraswati; Hindu)

Victoria — Nike’s Day (Pagan)

Warren Ellis (Writerism)

Zowie-Zown the Upside-Down Clown (Muppetism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Prime Number Day: 47 [15 of 72]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Ants in Your Pantry (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1945)

Black Panther (Film; 2018)

The Bostonians, by Henry James (Novel; 1885)

Bridge to Tarabithia (Film; 2007)

Bringing Up Baby (Film; 1938)

Carousel (Film; 1956)

Cher (TV Series; 1975)

Down to Earth (Film; 2001)

The Duck Doctor (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1952)

Early Man (Animated Film; 2018)

Factory Girl (Film; 2007)

Fit to be Toyed (Modern Madcaps Cartoon; 1959)

Ghost Rider (Film; 2007)

Gift Wrapped (WB LT Cartoon; 1952)

Happy Gilmore (Film; 1996)

Jersey Bounce, by Shep Fields and His Orchestra (Song; 1942)

Let’s You and Him Fight (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1934)

The Little Red Hen (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1934)

The Mad Hatter (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1948)

The Man Who Folded Himself, by David Gerrold (Novel; 1973)

Muppet Treasure Island (Film; 1996)

My Mom’s Having a Baby (DePatie-Freleng Animated TV Special; 1977)

The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace, by Christopher Short (Novel; 1976) [Saint #46]

Scooby-Doo! Abracadabra-Doo (WB Animated Film; 2010)

Sexual Politics, by Kate Millett (Political Theory; 1970)

Spanish Harlem, recorded by Aretha Franklin (Song; 1971)

Sweet November (Film; 2001)

Time Regained, by Marcel Proust (Novel; 1927)

The Venture Bros. (Animated TV Series; 2003)

Werther, by Jules Massenet (Opera; 1892)

When the Cat’s Away (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1935)

The Witches (Film; 1990)

Today’s Name Days

Adalbert, Juliana, Liane, Philippa (Austria)

Julijana, Miljenko, Samuel (Croatia)

Ljuba (Czech Republic)

Juliane (Denmark)

Alda, Aldi, Miralda, Miranda, Valda, Velda (Estonia)

Kai (Finland)

Julienne, Lucile, Onésime (France)

Juliana, Liane (Germany)

Pamfillie, Pamfillos, Sele (Greece)

Julianna, Lilla (Hungary)

Faustino, Giorgia, Giovita, Sigfrido (Italy)

Aloizs, Alvils, Olafs, Olavs, Ulafs (Latvia)

Girdenė, Girdenis, Jovita, Jurgita, Vytis (Lithuania)

Sigbjørn, Sigfred (Norway)

Faustyn, Georgia, Georgina, Jordan, Jowita, Józef, Klaudiusz, Przybyrad, Sewer (Poland)

Onisim (Romania)

Pravoslav (Slovakia)

Claudio, Faustino (Spain)

Sigfrid (Sweden)

Georgette, Georgia, Georgina, Jovan, Jovita, Siegfried, Sigrid, Sue, Susan, Susana, Susanna, Susie, Suzanne (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 47 of 2024; 319 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 7 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Luis (Rowan) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 1 (Bing-Yin), Day 7 ()

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025)

Hebrew: 7 Adair I 5784

Islamic: 6 Sha’ban 1445

J Cal: 17 Grey; Threesday [17 of 30]

Julian: 3 February 2024

Moon: 50%: 1st Quarter

Positivist: 19 Homer (2nd Month) [Juvenal]

Runic Half Month: Sigel (Sun) [Day 8 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 58 of 89)

Week: 2nd Week of February

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 26 of 28)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 2.16

Holidays

Akiyoshidai Yamayaki (Japan)

Archbishop Janani Luwum Memorial Day (Uganda)

Bir Chilarai Divas (Assam, India)

Bumper Car Day

Cheque Day

Citizenship Day (Canada)

Cyclamen Day (French Republic)

Day of the Shining Star (North Korea)

Do A Grouch A Favor Day

Elizabeth Peratrovich Day (Alaska)

First 911 Call Day

Gator Nation Giving Day (Florida)

Gold Standard Day

Harvey the Hound Day (Canada)

Heart’s Day (Elder Scrolls)

IEEE Foundation Day

Innovation Day

International Black Aviation Day

International Jewish Day of Constructive Conflict

Kick Day

Kyoto Protocol Day

LOINC Day

Makha Bucha Day (Thailand)

National Buna Day (Ethiopia)

National No One Eats Alone Day

Nine-One-One Day

Restoration of Lithuania's Statehood Day

Tutankhamen’s Tomb Day

216 Day (Ohio)

Wear Purple for Kyoto Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Feast of Sticky Buns

International Syrah Day

National Almond Day

Tartar Sauce Day

Tim Tam Day (Australia)

3rd Friday in February

Care Day (UK) [3rd Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

Global Divestment Day (UK) [Friday of Go Green Week]

Heritage Day (Yukon Territory, Canada) [3rd Friday]

National Caregivers Day [3rd Friday]

National Woman’s Heart Day [3rd Friday]

World Porter Day [3rd Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning February 16

Girl Scout Cookie Weekend [thru 2.18]

National FFA Week [thru 2.24]

Independence & Related Days

Lithuania (from Russia & German Empire, 1918)

Sovereignty Day (Serbia)

Festivals Beginning February 16, 2024

Adelaide Fringe Festval Adelaide, South Australia) [thru 3.17]

Babcock Ranch Seafood & Music Festival (Punta Gorda, Florida) [thru 2.18]

Carnevale di Venezia (Venice, Italy) [thru 3.5]

Festival du Voyageur (Winnipeg, Canada) [thru 2.25]

Fiddler Crab Festival (Steinhatchee, Florida) [thru 2.18]

Great Backyard Bird Count [thru 2.19]

Inter Varsity Folk Dance Festival (York, UK) [thru 2.18]

New Zealand Fringe Festival (Wellington, New Zealand) [thru 3.9]

Philippine International Hot Air Balloon Fiesta (Capas, Philippines) [thru 2.18]

Riverside County Fair & National Date Festival (Indio, California) [thru 2.25]

WBCA Jalapeño Festival (Lardeo, Texas)

Wine & Chowder Trails (Florence, Oregon) [thru 2.18]

Feast Days

Abda of Edessa (Christian; Saint)

Armand Guillaumin (Artology)

Bonten Matsuri festival begins (Asking for Good Crops; Japan)

Charles Todd Quintard (Episcopal Church (USA))

Cremation Wednesday (Church of the SubGenius)

Devil’s Dance (Everyday Wicca)

Elias, Jeremy, Isaias, Samuel, and Daniel (Christian; Egyptian Martyrs)

Friday after Shrove Tuesday (Western Christianity) [44 Days before Easter (a.k.a. ... 

Friday Fish Fry Day (Midwest US)

National Tartar Sauce Day

Kissing Friday

Nippy Hug Day (Westmoreland, UK)

Gilbert of Sempringham (Christian; Saint)

Gregory X, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Guru Ravidas Jayanti (a.k.a. Magha Purinma; Parts of India)

Hash Wednesday (Church of the SubGenius)

Iace (a.k.a. Tatto) of Scotland (Christian; Saint)

Iain Bank (Writerism)

Juliana of Nicomedia (Catholic Church; Virgin & Martyr)

Juvenal (Positivist; Saint)

Kanō Eitoku (Artology)

Michelangelo Cerquozzi (Artology)

Onesimus (Christian; Saint)

Platypus Pondering Day (Pastafarian)

Respectable Tales of Kelp-Koli (Shamanism) [5 Minutes]

Richard Ford (Writerism)

Secret Patience Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Three Good Deaths Day [Salmon, Pigs, Robbers] (Celtic Book of Days)

Vasant Panchami (a.k.a. Saraswati Puja; Celebrating harvest goddess Saraswati; Hindu)

Victoria — Nike’s Day (Pagan)

Warren Ellis (Writerism)

Zowie-Zown the Upside-Down Clown (Muppetism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Prime Number Day: 47 [15 of 72]

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Ants in Your Pantry (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1945)

Black Panther (Film; 2018)

The Bostonians, by Henry James (Novel; 1885)

Bridge to Tarabithia (Film; 2007)

Bringing Up Baby (Film; 1938)

Carousel (Film; 1956)

Cher (TV Series; 1975)

Down to Earth (Film; 2001)

The Duck Doctor (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1952)

Early Man (Animated Film; 2018)

Factory Girl (Film; 2007)

Fit to be Toyed (Modern Madcaps Cartoon; 1959)

Ghost Rider (Film; 2007)

Gift Wrapped (WB LT Cartoon; 1952)

Happy Gilmore (Film; 1996)

Jersey Bounce, by Shep Fields and His Orchestra (Song; 1942)

Let’s You and Him Fight (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1934)

The Little Red Hen (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1934)

The Mad Hatter (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1948)

The Man Who Folded Himself, by David Gerrold (Novel; 1973)

Muppet Treasure Island (Film; 1996)

My Mom’s Having a Baby (DePatie-Freleng Animated TV Special; 1977)

The Saint and the Hapsburg Necklace, by Christopher Short (Novel; 1976) [Saint #46]

Scooby-Doo! Abracadabra-Doo (WB Animated Film; 2010)

Sexual Politics, by Kate Millett (Political Theory; 1970)

Spanish Harlem, recorded by Aretha Franklin (Song; 1971)

Sweet November (Film; 2001)

Time Regained, by Marcel Proust (Novel; 1927)

The Venture Bros. (Animated TV Series; 2003)

Werther, by Jules Massenet (Opera; 1892)

When the Cat’s Away (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1935)

The Witches (Film; 1990)

Today’s Name Days

Adalbert, Juliana, Liane, Philippa (Austria)

Julijana, Miljenko, Samuel (Croatia)

Ljuba (Czech Republic)

Juliane (Denmark)

Alda, Aldi, Miralda, Miranda, Valda, Velda (Estonia)

Kai (Finland)

Julienne, Lucile, Onésime (France)

Juliana, Liane (Germany)

Pamfillie, Pamfillos, Sele (Greece)

Julianna, Lilla (Hungary)

Faustino, Giorgia, Giovita, Sigfrido (Italy)

Aloizs, Alvils, Olafs, Olavs, Ulafs (Latvia)

Girdenė, Girdenis, Jovita, Jurgita, Vytis (Lithuania)

Sigbjørn, Sigfred (Norway)

Faustyn, Georgia, Georgina, Jordan, Jowita, Józef, Klaudiusz, Przybyrad, Sewer (Poland)

Onisim (Romania)

Pravoslav (Slovakia)

Claudio, Faustino (Spain)

Sigfrid (Sweden)

Georgette, Georgia, Georgina, Jovan, Jovita, Siegfried, Sigrid, Sue, Susan, Susana, Susanna, Susie, Suzanne (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 47 of 2024; 319 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 7 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Luis (Rowan) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 1 (Bing-Yin), Day 7 ()

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025)

Hebrew: 7 Adair I 5784

Islamic: 6 Sha’ban 1445

J Cal: 17 Grey; Threesday [17 of 30]

Julian: 3 February 2024

Moon: 50%: 1st Quarter

Positivist: 19 Homer (2nd Month) [Juvenal]

Runic Half Month: Sigel (Sun) [Day 8 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 58 of 89)

Week: 2nd Week of February

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 26 of 28)

[tunglo]

This tale originates from Itinerarium Cambriae - Journey Through Wales - Gerald of Wales' 1191 account of a preaching tour / crusade recruitment campaign he undertook with the Archbishop of Canterbury, Baldwin of Forde, in 1188. In his section on Neath he included the story of Elidyr, a priest who had been known to his uncle, David FitzGerald, the Bishop of St David's between December 1148 and May 1176...

Somewhat before our time an odd thing happened in these parts. The priest Elidyr always maintained that it was he who was the person concerned. When he was a young innocent only twelve years old and busy learning to read, he ran away one day and hid under the hollow bank of some river or other, for he had had more than enough of the harsh discipline and frequent blows meted out by his teacher. As Solomon says: "Learning's root is bitter, but the fruit it bears is sweet."

Two days passed and there he still lay hidden, with nothing at all to eat. Then two tiny men appeared, no bigger than pigmies. "If you will come with us," they said, "we will take you to a land where all is playtime and pleasure." The boy agreed to go. He rose to his feet and followed them. They led him first through a dark underground tunnel and then into a most attractive country, where there were lovely rivers and meadows, and delightful woodlands and plains.

It was rather dark, because the sun did not shine there. The days were all overcast, as if by clouds, and the nights were pitch-black, for there was no moon nor stars. The boy was taken to see their king and presented to him, with all his court standing round. They were amazed to see him, and the king stared at him for a long time. Then he handed him over to his own son, who was still a child.

All these men were very tiny, but beautifully made and well-proportioned. In complexion they were fair, and they wore their hair long and flowing down over their shoulders like women. They had horses of a size which suited them, about as big as greyhounds. They never ate meat or fish. They lived on various milk dishes, made up into junkets flavoured with saffron. They never gave their word, for they hated lies more than anything they could think of. Whenever they came back from the upper world, they would speak contemptuously of our own ambitions, infidelities and inconstancies. They had no wish for public worship, and what they revered and admired, or so it seemed, was the plain unvarnished truth.

The boy used frequently to return to our upper world. Sometimes he came by the tunnel through which he had gone down, sometimes by another route. At first he was accompanied, but later on he came by himself. He made himself known only to his mother. He told her all about the country, the sort of people who lived there and his own relationship with them.

His mother asked him to bring her back a present of gold, a substance which was extremely common in that country. He stole a golden ball, which he used when he was playing with the king's son. He hurried away from the game and carried the ball as fast as he could to his mother, using the customary route. He reached the door of his father's house, rushed in and tripped over the threshold. The little folk were in hot pursuit. As he fell over in the very room where his mother was sitting, the ball slipped from his hand.

Two little men who were at his heels snatched the ball and ran off with it, showing him every mark of scorn, contempt and derision. The boy got to his feet, very red in the face with shame at what he had done. As he recovered his wits he realized that what his mother had asked him to do was very foolish. He set out back along the road which he usually followed, down the path to the river, but when he came to where the underground passage had been there was no entry to be found. For nearly a year he searched the overhanging banks of the river, but he could never find the tunnel again.

The passing of time helps us to forget our problems more surely than arguing rationally about them can ever hope to do, and our day-to-day preoccupations blunt the edge of our worries. As the months pass by we think less and less of our troubles. Once the boy had settled down among his friends and learned to find solace in his mother's company, he became himself once more and took up his studies again. In the process of time he became a priest. The years passed and he became an old man; but whenever David II, Bishop of St David's, questioned him about what had happened, he would burst into tears as he told the story. He still remembered the language of the little folk and he could repeat quite a number of words which, as young people do, he had learnt very quickly.

The Bishop told me that these words were very like Greek. When they wanted water they said 'ydor ydorum', which means in Latin 'aquam offer'. In their language 'ydor' was the word for water, like Greek 'ύδωρ' and just as 'υδρίες' means water-vessels. In Welsh the word for water is 'dwfr'. When they wanted salt they said 'halgein ydorum', which means 'salem affer'. Salt is 'ἅλς' in Greek and 'halen' in Welsh. The Britons stayed a long time in Greece after the fall of Troy and then took their name from their leader Brutus, so that the early Welsh language is similar to Greek in many of its details.

It seems remarkable to me that I do not find so many languages agree as much over any other word as they do in this: 'ἅλς' in Greek, 'halen' in Welsh, 'halgein' in Irish, where g is inserted, and 'sal' in Latin, where, as Priscian tells us, s replaces the aspirate in some words. Just as 'ἅλς' in Greek corresponds to 'sal' in Latin, so '?' is 'semi' and 'επτά' is 'septem'. In French the word becomes 'sel', the vowel a changing to e as it develops from Latin. In English a t is added to make 'salt' and in German the word is 'sout'. In short you have seven languages, or even eight, which agree completely over this word.

If, careful reader, you should ask me if I think that this story of of the little folk is really true, I can only answer with Augustine that 'miracles sent by heaven are there to be wondered at, not argued about or discussed.' If I reject it, I place a limit on God's power, and that I will never do. If I say that I believe it, I have the audacity to move beyond the bounds of credibility, and that I will not do either.

I call to mind what Jerome said when asked a similar question: 'You will find many things quite incredible and beyond the bounds of possibilty which are true for all that. Nature never exceeds the limits of God who created it.' As Augustine implied, I would put this story, and others of a similar nature, should the circumstance arise, among those which cannot be rejected out of hand and yet which I cannot accept with any real conviction.

I find it interesting for its similarities with my favourite medieval 'otherworld' story, the Green Children of Woolpit. Our oldest source for that story is William of Newburgh's Historia rerum Anglicarum, written c. 1189, which claimed the event happened during the reign of King Stephen (1135 - 1154). The children, a brother and sister, were herding their father's cattle when they followed them and the sound of bells to a cave, before discovering themselves in a strange land - the village of Woolpit, where locals found them wearing strange clothes, speaking an unknown language, and with a green tinge to their skin. For days they refused all food, before finally chancing upon raw broad beans which they ate ravenously.

The boy, the younger and sicklier of the children, died shortly afterwards, but the sister was said to have lived to adulthood, working for many years as a servant in Richard de Calne's household before marrying a man from King's Lynn. After learning to speak English, the girl explained she came from 'St. Martin's Land' where the sun never shone and the days consisted of a light akin to twilight. Theories on the children's actual origins range from lost Flemish settlers of Fornham St Martin suffering with green sickness (Paul Harris, 1998), to falling from heaven (Robert Burton, 1621), to arriving via a matter transmission malfunction from some unknown planet trapped in synchronous orbit around its sun (Duncan Lunan, 1996)!

[collaredattachment]

For You Alone

Character: Rhea Word Count: 3,332 Warnings: Magical injury, descriptions of pain Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: T Description: It’s a beautiful spring morning, though a smidge too early. Lady Rhea is receiving visitors, but trouble seems to have snuck in along with them. An unexpected hero rises to fight a plot to assassinate the Archbishop, willing to throw themselves on the line, their own life be damned.

A/N: i have no clue if archbishop is supposed to be capitalized or not so i just said yes and went with it. Lots of fluff at the end because I need Rhea to hold me gently

Foreign visitors again, today.

You hide your yawn behind your palm and take a good look at the people standing in the audience chamber. Guests from Arianrhod aren’t all too common, and while you’re excited to see people from the farther reaches of Fodlan, the timing could’ve been better. Morning shifts were never really your thing.

Two men dressed in white and blue exchange words with Seteth, murmuring under their breaths to make sure their conversation doesn’t reach unwanted ears. Despite their best attempts to hide it, their frustration comes across as obvious, rather than discreet.

The Archbishop is late.

It is well past nine o’ clock and the sun has long since risen, and yet she’s nowhere to be seen. What could be keeping her?

Seteth looks entirely unperturbed by the situation, although to his credit, it is his job to remain calm regardless of the nature of the catastrophe. You take note of the dark circles under his eyes. It can’t be easy work, keeping people, important people, on their best behavior when something goes wrong.

”We’ve travelled a long way, sir,” one of the men, the one with long hair slicked back and an oiled moustache decorating his upper lip, speaks up. His eyes look hard and unforgiving, the morning sun doing nothing to soften them.

”I’m sure you understand why we’re disappointed,” the other one says. He’s equally dressed up, but his hair is shaved, only a short bristle covering his scalp. Seteth sighs.

”Of course, good sirs,” he says, and you can almost hear him grinding his teeth all the way from here. ”I only ask for a bit of patience. The Archbishop has run into unexpected difficulties this morning, but she will be arriving any moment now.”

You frown. Unexpected difficulties? You share a look with the guard standing next to you, your superior officer, a man in his late thirties with a faint, scraggly beard, but he only shrugs.

The men huff impatiently, and make it very clear that they have no interest in being understanding. In the following silence your attention is caught by a stray sunbeam, sneaking into the room through the open window behind you, and you wonder if anyone would notice if you snuck a few inches to the left so it could warm your back instead of the stone floor.

”Ah!” The man with the moustache exclaims and your head shoots up. ”Archbishop, how wonderful!”

He’s right. Lady Rhea is standing in the doorway in all her glory, the gold of her headpiece glinting in the sun like a halo. Half her face is shines with rich, brilliant yellows and oranges. Her eyes, though weighed down by exhaustion, drink up the light, absorbing the life of a brand new day, and you could almost swear she’s glowing.

You can hear several people in the room sigh. You aren’t an exception.

The Archbishop walks up to the visitors and offers Seteth a discreet nod of thanks. He bows his head in acknowledgement and takes a step back to stand beside her. The men take a deep bow.

”I thank you for your patience, my lords,” Lady Rhea says with well practiced ease, her tone a blade, honed sharp solely for the purpose of slashing at the building tension in the room. ”I ask for your forgiveness; Unfortunate difficulties presented themselves prior to my arrival, but the issue has been taken care of.”

”Of course, Archbishop,” the moustached one speaks up. His oily expression makes your skin crawl. ”Might we inquire about the nature of the issue?”

You can’t see it, but you would swear on your life that you can hear Seteth grinding his teeth again.

”A staff problem within the castle,” Lady Rhea says smoothly, without a moment of hesitation. ”Nothing you need to concern yourselves with, I’m sure.”

The men look at each other, thinly veiled excitement on their faces.

”Are you sure you don’t need any assistance?” The short-haired one asks, and though the words themselves could be interpreted as innocent enough, it’s the way he says it; the sarcasm, the slippery suggestion that Lady Rhea can’t be trusted to take care of things, that really makes you want to punch his teeth in.

”It is very kind of you to ask,” Lady Rhea replies, though a well trained ear can easily pick up the tightness in her tone. She rubs her temple briefly, before returning her hand to rest in her lap. ”But the issue is under control. There is no need to worry.” She clears her expression and smiles at the men, her withering patience brushed under the carpet as easily as a dust bunny. ”Now, what kind of business brings you to Garreg Mach?”

You zone out the second their discussion begins. Your attention is instead drawn to a bird outside on the windowsill, hopping from one edge to the other. It’s a bird of summer, you note with delight, probably returning home after a long winter spent somewhere warm. It gives the window a few pecks, before suddenly taking flight and disappearing out of your view, leaving behind only clear blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight, only the rising sun that beckons the rest of Garreg Mach to come admire its glory.

It’s going to be a beautiful day.

A round of laughter pulls you back into the audience chamber. You turn your gaze forwards, blankly staring ahead at the balustrade on the upper floor, when movement catches your eye.

A guard, nervously fiddling with a satchel.

You frown. There’s no bag included in your uniform. Trying to get a better look at his face you squint, but from this distance it’s impossible to tell who it is.

A heavy, uncomfortable weight settles over your shoulders. You nudge your superior and when he glares at you, mouth open and ready to offer you a reprimand, you gesture at the man on the second floor. With a roll of his eyes he turns to look at the stranger, and you pray to Sothis that he’ll just sigh and tell you to get back to work.

No such thing happens, though.

He watches the stranger with knitted brows and slowly, very, very slowly places his hand over the pommel of his sword.

”I take it he’s no new recruit?” you ask him in a whisper, and he grimly shakes his head.

”Never seen this guy in my life,” he murmurs. You take a shaky breath.

”What should we do?”

”Not alert him for starters,” he hisses at you, and you snap your mouth shut. He lifts two fingers to his brow and whips them to the direction of the suspicious man, while holding eye contact with the other guard positioned on the second floor. You can barely see her nod her head.

The stranger finishes fiddling with the bag, and pulls out a tome in plain sight, clearly visible to anyone who happens to chance a glance in his direction.

”This guy is a terrible assassin,” you whisper to your superior, and though he looks at you disapprovingly, there is a slight twist to the corner of his mouth. He nods at the guard posted on the upper floor, and she slowly starts to sidle towards the suspicious stranger, who is having an awful lot of trouble opening the book.

”Better be safe than sorry,” your superior says, before pretending to sneeze. You frown at him in confusion, but realize quickly that he’s got the full, undivided attention of Seteth, who is currently watching you from across the room, strategically standing so he can face you directly. Your superior nods twice, and Seteth turns towards Lady Rhea.

”Archbishop,” he says, ”perhaps we ought to continue this in the advisory chamber?”

Lady Rhea doesn’t falter for a second. ”Of course.”

The guests, on the other hand, open their mouths to disagree, but Seteth manages to get a word in before they can start to argue.

”I’m sure your feet could use a moment of respite after such a long and arduous travel all the way from Arianrhod. Please, let us get more comfortable before proceeding.” He quiets them quickly and effectively, earning a few amicable mutters in return.

The group begins to move away at a steady pace, not too slow, but not fast enough to earn suspicion. You take a peek at the upper floor again and, to your relief, see the threat has been neutralized. Two guards have surrounded the stranger without much fuss, and the tome has been confiscated. You almost allow yourself a sigh of relief. The eyes of the entire guard in the room are glued to the silent removal of the intruder, yours included. He doesn’t seem to be making much of a fuss, though.

Your brows knit together as you watch him. There’s no real reason for him to stay quiet, especially now that he’s been caught, so what-

Oh.

Your head whips to the direction of the advisory chamber, and the second you spot movement, your vision makes a beeline towards the stained-glass window.

A shadow moves on the other side.

You don’t even stop to think. You run.

”Lady Rhea!” you shout, pure instinct taking over. You know that any warning you might give is already too late, two steps behind a simple distraction that anyone should have seen coming. Your feet thunder against the floor in slow-motion, gaze frozen in horror as the window shatters, revealing a second mage with black, oozing dark energy dripping from her hands. Seteth is turning, hand reaching for a dagger but he’s too slow, Sothis, there’s no way he’ll make it. With a flick of her fingers, the assassin sends the dark spike flying towards Lady Rhea, and you pray for speed as you leap, feet taking off the ground. Your outstretched arms find purchase on Lady Rhea’s shoulders and with all your strength you push, sending her crashing to the ground along with you. The dark mass of energy pierces your shoulder, sinking into flesh like a knife into butter, and sends a wave of pulsing – no,  crawling – agony through your body. Your mouth is open in a silent scream as you land on your side, incapable of moving. The dark energy tears into you like an invisible beast, fangs sinking into muscle and bone like they’re paper.

Someone’s bent over you, but your vision is going purple, a burning haze eating into your very ability to see as the magic steals its way into your brain. You breathe in gasps; terrified, high pitched whines for help that’s not coming. A voice, severe and commanding speaks, but the words sound muddled, as if spoken from the other side of a wall. You feel stretched thin, tearing apart at the seams as holes rip into your self, your very being, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll just turn into smoke, disintegrate into thin air without the chance to say goodbye. The world outside feels freezing cold, but inside there’s a warmth, sweet and enticing that asks you to follow it into the dark. With every heartbeat you feel like you’re being turned inside out, like your organs have been spread for show, like you’ve been thrown to the wolves and they’re fighting for the pieces of meat that still, somehow, are connected to your body.

You beg for sweet release and let yourself fade.

A light dances somewhere beyond your vision. It’s pale: a mix of light yellows and greens, with a core of hot, unbearably bright white. The heat that you expect to be searing is only a comforting warmth, soft and gentle. For a moment you feel like you’re floating, every inch of your skin tingling slightly as the light pulses inside you, silky and smooth, like holding the hand of someone you dearly love. Something knits together, and you open your eyes.

You gasp, an inhale so deep it sends you into a coughing fit harsh enough to leave you gasping for breath. Whoever is standing by your side takes a step back, and once your breathing is even again, you take a better look at your surroundings.

Beds, dressed in white linens, cupboards brimming with herbs and potions, and shelves lining the walls, all full of medical equipment.

The infirmary.

”Welcome back.”

The voice shakes you out of your reverie and you snap your head towards it, only to immediately regret it when white-hot pain flashes behind your eyes.

”Careful.” Hands are placed on your temples, and the pain ebbs away, leaving behind only a dull echo, foggy and distant. You open your eyes again, slower this time, and thank Sothis for the dim lighting. Someone places a cup of water in your hands and you crane your neck to offer a word of thanks, only to pause, mouth open in shock.

”Archbishop!” Your voice is hoarse, creaky like an old and forgotten door. You stare at Lady Rhea, wide eyed and confused. She laughs softly.

”Good morning,” she says, and feels your forehead. ”You seem to be recovering well.”

”I– ” you start, but Lady Rhea lifts the cup in your hands to your lips before you can continue.

”Drink.” She follows her command with a stern look that you don’t dare defy. The water feels heavenly as it goes down your throat, and you heave a satisfied sigh when you’re done.

”Thank you,” you say. ”But - with all due respect - my lady, what are doing here?”

Lady Rhea sets the cup on the nightstand and places her hands over your shoulder, hovering only inches above your skin. She radiates warmth, like a fire in the hearth after a long, rainy day.

”You saved my life.” Her hands begin to glow with the same light you felt before, and the ache settled in your shoulder abates, fading into a mere memory. ”I felt it only fitting that I do the same for you.”

”Oh,” you say, color pooling in your cheeks. Lady Rhea shines the light over your bicep, your elbow, your forearm, and finally the back of your hand. You think back to the events of the morning, the fake intruder, the assassin, and-

”Wait!”

Lady Rhea immediately withdraws her hands and examines you, eyes flitting from one place to the next with dizzying speed. ”Did I hurt you?”

Your blush deepens, and you clear your throat. ”I– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just– What happened to the attacker?”

”Ah,” Lady Rhea says, her shoulders relaxing, and resumes her ministrations. ”After you interrupted her plan, she was swiftly caught and taken in. She’s currently in the dungeons.” She takes your hand in hers and checks that your fingers work properly, bending each knuckle one by one. ”You’re perfectly safe now.”

You let yourself sit back and observe as she feels your palm, making sure there’s no damage on the inside either. Her hands are so soft, like the wings of a dove. You wish she didn’t have to stop.

Your whole face takes on the color of a beet. Lady Rhea glances at you, curious, but keeps working.

”You seem flustered by my presence,” Lady Rhea says, keeping her eyes focused on your fingers. You briefly wonder what it would feel like if she kissed one of them.

You clear your throat, hoping it will clear your head as well. ”I think anybody would be, my lady. It’s not everyday the Archbishop herself spends an afternoon by your bedside.”

Lady Rhea chuckles. You can see little crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes when she smiles, small reminders of all the laughter in her life. You find yourself wishing there could be more of it. If only you could just pluck joy from the heavens and offer it to her, the world would be a better place.

”I suppose not,” she says. Her hands stop moving, and she looks at you suddenly, brow furrowed in concern. ”You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

”With you being here?” you ask. You can’t quite meet her eyes. ”It’s not that, my lady. I’m just nervous. You’re the Archbishop, after all.”

You expect Lady Rhea to relax, for some of the tension to leave her face, but instead she almost seems to deflate. She absentmindedly rubs her thumb over your knuckles, lost in thought, somewhere far away. ”I see.” Rhea sits there for a good moment before she shakes her head gently and lets go of your hand. ”I’m sorry. I did not mean to overwhelm you.”

”It’s alright,” you say, and resist the impulse to touch her, to rest your palm on her shoulder, to softly brush your fingers against hers. Instead, you nervously thumb at the sheets with your uninjured hand, and lean towards her, trying to get her attention without startling her. ”It must get lonely, being someone like you.”

You see her mask slip for a second, just one second, but it’s one too many. The faint shadow of a grimace crosses her face, and compared to her usual calm restraint, it’s like she’s been slapped across the face. The difference is so jarring you fear you might’ve overstepped, but as soon as it appeared, it’s gone, like shifting sand. The gentle smile is back, if a little somber.

”It is,” she admits quietly, with a vulnerable tremor in her voice. You don’t dare even breathe. ”But that’s my burden to bear. It’s a small price to pay for all I do.”

Lady Rhea falls silent, and after a moment, finishes treating your arm. She touches the tips of your fingers with hers, and then presses her palm against yours. The light grows brighter and then fades, until it disappears.

”Alright, try moving your arm.”

You do as you’re told and give your shoulder a roll. You lift your arm and curl your fingers into a fist, and then open them as wide as you can. Your mouth falls open in awe. Potent dark magic punched right through you at close range, Sothis knows you should at least need a sling for a few weeks, and yet you seem to have gotten off with a headache.

”It’s– It’s good as new, your ladyship,” you say, and move your awestruck gaze from your arm to look Lady Rhea directly in the eye. ”Thank you.” You search her face for a moment, looking for a trace of that deep sadness from before. You clear your throat, and continue: ”I mean it. It means a lot to me that you would take time out of your day to tend to my injury. I…” you trail off, and rub the back of your neck, nervous fingers searching for something to fidget with. ”I’m very happy that you’re here.”

Lady Rhea’s eyes widen briefly, until her expression flowers into a smile that glows with such rich brilliance that it takes your breath away.

”You are most welcome,” she says, and carefully lays her hand on your cheek. ”But I believe I should be thanking you.”

Heat crawls all the way to the tips of your ears and your mouth goes dry as you can only helplessly stare at Lady Rhea, so close and so impossibly kind. You return her smile and bow your head, knowing you can’t speak if she keeps looking at you like that. ”I wouldn’t have had it any other way, my lady.”

Lady Rhea chuckles. The sound sends your heart racing like a comet rushing to meet the ground. She lets go of your cheek and stands up, straightening her robes and brushing off imaginary dust. She turns to the door, her hand placed over the handle, but she pauses.

”I hope we will meet again,” she says, ”my hero.”

The door closes behind her with a thud. You stare after her, sitting in silence as the seconds tick by.

Sothis, how beautiful she is.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sat., Dec., 19, 2020

Commemorated on December 6_by the new calendar

Saint Nicholas, Archbishop of Myra in Lycia, and Wonderworker (345)

     Saint Nicholas, Archbishop of Myra in Lycia, and Wonderworker is famed as a great saint pleasing unto God. He was born in the city of Patara in the Lycian region (on the south coast of the Asia Minor peninsula), and was the only son of pious parents Theophanes and Nonna, who had given a vow to dedicate him to God. As the fruition of longtime prayer of his childless parents, the infant Nicholas from the very day of his birth revealed to people the light of his future glory as a wonderworker. His mother, Nonna, after giving birth was immediately healed from illness. The newborn infant while still in the baptismal font stood on his feet three times, without support from anyone, indicating by this to honour the MostHoly Trinity. Saint Nicholas from his infancy began a life of fasting, and on Wednesdays and Fridays he accepted milk from his mother only but once, after the evening prayers of his parents.      From the time of his childhood Nicholas thrived on the study of Divine Scripture; by day he would not leave church, and by night he prayed and read books – fashioning in himself a worthy dwelling-place of the Holy Spirit. His uncle, Bishop Nicholas of Patara, rejoiced at the spiritual success and deep piety of his kinsman. He ordained him a reader, and then elevated Nicholas to the dignity of presbyter, making him his assistant and entrusting him to speak instructing the flock. In serving the Lord the youth was fervent of spirit, and in his proficiency with questions of faith he was like an elder / starets, which aroused the wonder and deep respect of believers. Constantly at work and vivacious, being in unceasing prayer, presbyter Nicholas displayed great kind-heartedness towards the flock, and towards those afflicted coming to him for help, and he distributed all his inheritance to the poor. Having learned about the bitter need and poverty of a certain formerly rich inhabitant of his city, Saint Nicholas saved him from great sin. Having three grown daughters, the despairing father considered to give them over to profligacy so as to save them from hunger. The saint, grieving lest the man perish a sinner, by night secretly brought him through the window three sacks with gold and by this saved the family from falling into spiritual destruction. In bestowing charity, Saint Nicholas always strove to do this secretly and conceal his good deeds.

In setting off on pilgrimage to the holy places at Jerusalem, the bishop of Patara entrusted the guidance of the flock to Saint Nicholas, who fulfilled this obedience carefully and with love. When the bishop returned, he in turn asked blessing for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Along the way the saint predicted the onset of a storm threatening the ship with inundation, since he saw the devil itself having got on ship. At the entreaty of the despairing pilgrims, he calmed by his prayers the waves of the sea. Through his prayer also was restored to health a certain sailor of the ship, who had fallen from the mast and was mortally injured.      Having reached the ancient city of Jerusalem and having come to Golgotha, Saint Nicholas offered up thanksgiving to the Saviour of the race of mankind and he made the rounds of all the holy places, doing poklons and making prayers. By night on Mount Sion the closed doors of the church opened by themselves in front of the arriving great pilgrim. Going round the holy places connected with the earthly service of the Son of God, Saint Nicholas decided to withdraw into the wilderness, but he was stopped by a Divine voice, urging him to return to his native country. Having returned to Lycia and yearning for a life of quietude, the saint entered into the brotherhood of a monastery, named Holy Sion. But the Lord again announced another pathway, awaiting him: "Nicholas, this is not the field, on which thou ought to await Mine harvest, but rather turn round and go into the world, and there My Name shalt be glorified in thee". In the vision the Lord gave him a Gospel of exquisite workmanship, and the MostHoly Mother of God – an omophor.      And actually, upon the death of archbishop John, he was chosen bishop of Lycian Myra – after one of the bishops of the Council gave a decisive reply on the question of choice of a new archbishop – the choice of God as directed him in a vision – Saint Nicholas. Summoned to the flock of the Church in the dignity of archbishop, Sainted Nicholas remained a great ascetic, appearing to his flock as an image of gentleness, kindness and love towards people. This was particularly precious for the Lycian Church during the time of persecution of Christians under the emperor Diocletian (284-305). Bishop Nicholas, locked up in prison together with other Christians, sustained them and exhorted them to bravely endure the fetters, punishment and torture. He himself the lord preserved unharmed. Upon the accession to rule of the holy equal-to-the-apostles Constantine, Saint Nicholas was restored to his flock, which joyfully received back their guide and intercessor.      Despite his great gentleness of spirit and purity of heart, Saint Nicholas was a zealous and ardent warrior of the Church of Christ. Fighting evil spirits, the saint made the rounds of the pagan temples and shrines in the city of Myra and its surroundings, shattering the idols and turning the temples to dust.      In the year 325 Saint Nicholas was a participant in the I OEcumenical Council (Sobor). This Council proclaimed the Nicean Symbol of faith, and he stood up with the likes of saints Sylvester the pope of Rome, Alexander of Alexandria, Spyridon of Trimiphuntum and others of the 318 fathers of the Council against the heretic Arius.      Saint Nicholas, in the heat of denunciation and fired up with zeal for the Lord, even gave the false-teacher a good drubbing on the ears, for which he was deprived of his bishop's omophor and put under guard. But several of the holy fathers shared a vision revealing that the Lord Himself and the Mother of God had made the saint to be bishop, bestowing upon him the Gospel and omophorion. The fathers of the Council, having concurred, that the audacity of the saint was pleasing to god, gave glory to the Lord and restored His holy saint to the dignity of bishop.      Having returned to his own diocese, the saint brought it peace and blessings, sowing the word of Truth, nipping in the bud defective and spurious claims of wisdom, uprooting heresy and healing the fallen and those led astray through ignorance. He was indeed a light in the world and the salt of the earth, wherein his life did shine and his word was mixed with the salt of wisdom.      Even during his life the saint worked many miracles. Of them the one accorded the greatest fame was the deliverance from death by the saint of three men, unjustly condemned by a greedy city-commander. The saint boldly went up to the executioner and took hold of his sword, already suspended over the heads of the condemned. The city-commander, denounced by Saint Nicholas in wrong-doing, repented himself and begged for forgiveness. During this time there were present three military officers, dispatched by the emperor Constantine to Phrygia. They did not suspect that they soon likewise would be compelled to seek the intercession of Saint Nicholas: it so happened that they had been vilely slandered before the emperor and were come under a sentence of death. Appearing in sleep to the holy equal-to-the-apostles Constantine, Saint Nicholas called on him to dismiss the wrongful death-sentence of the military officers who, now in prison, prayerfully called out for help to the saint. He worked many other miracles, and asceticised many long years at his labour. Through the prayers of the saint, the city of Myra was rescued from a terrible famine. Having appeared in sleep to a certain Italian merchant and having left him as a pledge of payment three gold money-pieces, which the merchant found in his hand upon wakening in the morning, he requested him to sail to Myra and furnish grain there. More than once did the saint save those drowning in the sea, and provide release from captivity and imprisonment.      Having reached old age, Saint Nicholas expired peacefully to the Lord (+ 345-351). His venerable relics were preserved undecayed in the local cathedral church and flowed with curative myrh, from which many received healing. In the year 1087 his relics were transferred to the Italian city of Bari, where they rest even now (about the Transfer of Relics see under 9 May).      The name of the great saint of God, the hierarch and wonderworker Nicholas, a speedy helper and suppliant for all hastening to him, is famed in all the ends of the earth, in many lands and among many peoples. In Russia there are a multitude of cathedrals, monasteries and churches consecrated in his name. There is not, probably, a single city without a Nikol'sk temple.      In the name of Sainted Nicholas the Wonderworker – the first Russian Christian prince Askol'd (+ 882) was baptised in 866 by Patriarch Photios. Over the grave of Askol'd, the holy equal-to-the-apostles Ol'ga (Comm. 11 July) erected the first temple of Sainted Nicholas in the Russian Church at Kiev. Primary cathedrals were dedicated to Saint Nicholas at Izborsk, Ostrov, Mozhaisk, and Zaraisk. At Novgorod the Great one of the main churches of the city – the Nikolo-Dvorischensk church, later became a cathedral. Famed and venerable Nikol'sk churches and monasteries are at Kiev, Smolensk, Pskov, Toropetsa, Galich, Archangelsk, Great Ustiug, Tobol'sk. Moscow was famed by several tens of churches consecrated to the saint, and three Nikol'sk monasteries were situated in the Moscow diocese: the Nikolo-Greek (Staryi) – in the Chinese-quarter, the Nikolo-Perervinsk and the Nikolo-Ugreshsk. One of the chief towers of the Kremlin was named the Nikol'sk. Part of all the churches devoted to the saint were those established at market-squares by Russian merchants, sea-farers and land-goers, venerating the wonderworker Nicholas as a protector of all those journeying on dry land and sea. They sometimes received the name among the people of "Nicholas soaked". Many village churches in Russia were dedicated to the wonderworker Nicholas, reverently venerated by peasants as a merciful intercessor before the Lord for all the people in their work. And in the Russian land Saint Nicholas did not leave off with his intercession. Ancient Kiev preserves the memory about the miraculous rescue of a drowning infant by the saint. The great wonderworker, hearing the grief-filled prayers of the parents in the loss of their only child, by night snatched up the infant from the waters, revived him and placed him in the choir-loft of Saint Sophia church in front of his wonderworking image. And here in the morning the infant was found safe by his thrilled parents, praising with a multitude of the people Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker.      Many wonderworking icons of Saint Nicholas appeared in Russia and came also from other lands. There is the ancient byzantine embordered image of the saint (XII), brought to Moscow from Novgorod, and the large icon written in the XIII Century by a Novgorod master. Two depictions of the wonderworker are especially distributed in the Russian Church: Sainted Nicholas of Zaraisk – in full-length, with blessing right hand and with Gospel (this image was brought to Ryazan in 1225 by the byzantine princess Eupraxia, future spouse of Ryazan prince Theodore, and perishing in 1237 with her husband and infant-son during the incursion of Batu); and Sainted Nicholas of Mozhaisk – also in full stature, with a sword in his right hand and a city in his left – in memory of the miraculous rescue, through the prayers of the saint, of the city of Mozhaisk from an invasion of enemies. It is impossible to list all the graced icons of Saint Nicholas. Every Russian city and every church was blessed by suchlike icons through the prayers of the saint.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

John 10:9-16 

9I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.10 The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly. 11 I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep. 12 But a hireling, he who is not the shepherd, one who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees; and the wolf catches the sheep and scatters them. 13 The hireling flees because he is a hireling and does not care about the sheep. 14 I am the good shepherd; and I know My sheep, and am known by My own. 15 As the Father knows Me, even so I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep. 16 And other sheep I have which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they will hear My voice; and there will be one flock and one shepherd.

Hebrews 13:17-21 

17 Obey those who rule over you, and be submissive, for they watch out for your souls, as those who must give account. Let them do so with joy and not with grief, for that would be unprofitable for you. 18 Pray for us; for we are confident that we have a good conscience, in all things desiring to live honorably. 19 But I especially urge you to do this, that I may be restored to you the sooner. 20 Now may the God of peace who brought up our Lord Jesus from the dead, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, 21 make you complete in every good work to do His will, working in you what is well pleasing in His sight, through

[heartofstanding]

Duck for the WIP guessing game? :p also, crown, if you'd like?

This was rather fruitful for both of these so under the cut. 

send me a word and if it’s a wip, i’ll send you the sentence

Duck

From a WIP about Hal recovering post-Shrewsbury

‘I do want to,’ Courtenay said. ‘When have I said otherwise? I thought I should ask, though, rather than trailing you around like a confused duckling. You might be too busy or want more time with your brothers. You might be bored of the sight of me.’

and

It was too cold for the ducks to be out and the water was iced over where willow trees cast their shadows.

A WIP about John, Duke of Bedford dealing with Hal dying:

John could remember sitting on [his mother's] lap by the mere in Kenilworth and feeding the ducks.

The sequel to The Swan where Henry VI investigates Humphrey’s death:

The man who showed him how to feed ducks and held him when he was scared and said I would rather die than see Orleans released and bore the badge of a swan and who was loved, absurdly loved, by the commonfolk, and hated by the rest.

From a Philippa of England fic because dammit Philippa needs more fic and if the rest of you won’t write some, I will have to:

‘She liked taking us out into the gardens,’ Harry said, ‘and down to the mere to feed the ducks.’

Crown

A ficlet in which Richard Courtenay has dinner with Archbishop Arundel:

He wondered what Arundel would do when the king was dead and Hal was crowned.

From the post-Shrewsbury fic mentioned above:

Hal slowly uncurled his hands from the fists they had formed and knelt on the floor. He saw Henry’s legs turn to face him, felt his father’s trembling hand on the crown of his head.

This is a fic about Henry responding to the Epiphany Rising:

He knows he will ride out of London on a destrier, his head bound by the gleaming gold of a crown and his sword heavy at his waist, and no one will ride before him so that when battle is met, it will be him who engages the rebels first.

Joan of Kent witnesses the Black Prince return from Poitiers:

He was golden in the sun, his uncrowned hair shining and the gleam of the golden filigree inlays on his ceremonial armour bright.

send me a word and if it’s a wip, i’ll send you the sentence

[inviouswriting]

Past

Aymeric x Kiya

milder smut

During their stay in the Hermit Hovel, Kiya and Aymeric read a lot of the books on the shelves. They had discovered quite a few erotic romance tomes and read them together. Kiya felt a twinge of shyness whenever they came across a spot in the book that was explicit, she would shift closer to Aymeric. There were many moments where they got lost in the passion of the book and he would pepper kisses on her neck to draw her attention to him.

They were in one of those moments, the book was more of instructions on positions or how to please. Aymeric took and put everything he read into memory as well as tested these ideas on his beloved. They had retreated to the water outside or on rare moments when completely enraptured. Aymeric took his love on top of the tables.

Aymeric preferred the water, it allowed him to move with her without preparing so heavy. He had her once completely on her back and waist raised to where he had her hold his hands to keep support. The rain that fell on them made the experience one of his favorites to see Kiya so lost in bliss he recalls in his mind how tight her hand held his.

Now he had her in his arms and read to her from the text. He would feel her shift closer till his voice lulled her to sleep. He’d stop reading when her breathing evened out and tug her close into his arms. 

Aymeric had never thought that the time he would spend with her would be spent discovering so much about the other. She had donned the outfit she had left her tribe in and showed him a sultry side of her as she had danced for him giving him a lasting memory as he took her then. There were quiet moments together talking about their lives. He shared stories of his youth, she shared many of her adventures before she became the eikon slayer. How she use to work at the Gold Saucer as a server. He had recalled her there a few times when he and other knights snuck to gamble at the race tracks. 

He vaguely remembered her, she had to be around nineteen while he was twenty two. It was before he had his own fateful events with his band that left only he and Estinien alive. He remembered how the other knights at that time had tried to harass her. The men laughed as they walked away from her. 

Aymeric steps back from the group seeing her casting spells quicker than the others could react. Fire and ice hit his companions while he stares on after them. He looks back at the girl seeing the fury in her eyes. Even he felt fear from them, she gives him a glance debating whether she wanted to throw a fireball at him, or ice when he waves his hands. He didn’t do anything to her.

“Easy!” He backs up and she lowers her hands down. He glanced over to his group. The men that sported burns had groped her, while the ones hit with ice made comments and whistles. He himself reprimanded them fierce about harassing other women. 

“Would be that you guys deserved it! If you all had half a brain between your lot, you would have noticed her scepter! Miss! I am terribly sorry for my companions. They are idiots who have not seen women dressed so... well... scantily..”  He apologized to her for his company. She gave him such a cold stare he still remembers the anger behind her green eyes that it made him shiver in memory. They had went their separate ways then.

He poured himself into his training, Kiya poured into hers till he had heard that Ifrit had been slain by two survivors.  Ten years had pass since that one encounter. Aymeric became Lord Commander, while Kiya had become a warrior that had survived Ifrit’s fire, then Titan, followed Garuda. Every single being that came to fight her had fell. He became enamored by her tales. How she with another group of people took down the castrum and Gaius.

Then Leviathan. She has recounted to him that despite the fact Leviathan was a primal. The great sea monster was her favorite fight. It was raw, it was alive, it was a fight between not falling off into the depths, while the serpentine monster lashed and summoned creatures. People lost to the sea in hysteria, till she had taken it down. The light in her eyes at talking about the fight.

As they shared their stories, Aymeric became aware of how much she had achieved in years, he had his own, but he was no warrior of light. He felt a little envious towards her prowess in few moments. He shoved those feelings aside as this woman who sat nestled in his arms divulged her life to him. When she remembered he was that young knight in training that apologized for his companions she gave him that one stare. Then laughed when he panicked earning him pinning her down for his retribution on her.

The turn of events of her becoming the warrior of light, and him with his heritage as the archbishop’s son.

They shared their first impressions of each other. She knew his from when he first told her about his fascination in her. He scoffed when she thought him pompous at first.

“Me? Pompous? What gave you that impression?” He questioned as he lain on top of her with his hands beside her head. He had to know.

“It was Alphinaud’s words! He had told me you Ishgardians were stand-offish and set in your ways! So I had assumed you would act all high and mighty! I thought you were going to be this old crotchety man. Not some young and handsome guy.” This earns a laugh out of him as he placed kisses on her face.

“Old? Crotchety? Forgive me if I dashed your expectations.” Aymeric says haughty and amused. Kiya lines one of her hands with his, marveling at how the size between their hands are. His so much bigger than hers and he tilts his head at how small hers are closing his fingers on hers easily.

“I think I like the fact you were a lot younger. If I had been faced with one of the devoteds.. I don’t think we’d be here today.” The thought makes him frown at how easy this opportunity would have slipped them. They would have been overrun by Vishap breaking their barriers and probably have died defending his home from so many dravanian. Her mere presence turned that fight. Her and the adventurers that came to their aid.

They pause to share a kiss with each other. Kiya leans more into it, while Aymeric runs the back of his hand against her face tender feeling her skin. They lounged a lot together nude and in the comfort of the others arms. The only time they really need clothing was to make a trip to camp overlook for provisions.

Kiya notes at just how much the man over her has grown from that knight that scolded his mates for grabbing her to a alliance leader and now husband to her. They keep their kiss till Aymeric parts it to look her in her eyes checking to see what sort of mood she is in. When he sees how she matches his own stare. He inclines his head down to hers to seal another kiss.

The book they had been reading forgotten next to them as they get lost in an emotion together of realizing just how much is between them. She urges him to allow her to fit on his lap and he guides her as she does. He listens to her sighs and whimpers she makes whenever she takes him on he cautions her about being reckless with having him in her so sudden. He tries to move but is met with a sight that makes him stop altogether in pained tears.

“My love.. you can’t just mount like that.. you know how large it is.” He scolds her as he tends to her pulling from her. He showers her face in kisses and holds her to him.

“If we were in the water it would be different. or an oil used. We can’t go dry my love.” He soothes her through his touch, he has her lie back and checks to make sure he didn’t tear her.

“I’m sorry Aymeric. I just felt in the moment.”

“I understand that my love. But you know the prep I do is for a reason. So I don’t hurt you by accident like this.” He rubs her gently, to sooth the ache from the poor penetration done. 

“I still want to...” She is met with his concerned stare, and Aymeric sits more upright.

“Will you let me lead then? Make it all the better?” Kiya nods and he has her on her back now, he tends to her, his mouth used to please her till her toes curl against his back where her feet press against it. Once Aymeric knows she is prepared to his liking and knows she is more accepting to his length. He takes her slowly, just to be sure she isn’t still in pain.

Aymeric gets her to keen out in pleasure as he moves within her. Pleasure across her face, he sighs in relief at her feeling it better than earlier. He is in bliss himself at the way she is to him. Soon he has her saying his name, he can’t help letting his mind drifting to that woman he met those years ago. The one that gave him such an angry expression is now beneath him looking at him in need and chanting his name as if it is all she knows how to muster.

Kiya holds onto him after they had peaked together. He jumps down from where the bed is with her in his arms to take her to the pools of water. To let her waist soak in warmth to ease the tension in her thighs and soreness in other spots from him being over eager.

“Funny how... you and I became so intricately bound together now. What were you doing at the Saucer then?” Kiya murmurs as she rests her head in his lap, Aymeric simpers a smile down at her, his blue eyes shining bright as he locks eyes with her vivid green ones. 

“Aye. We were there to bet on some races. Some foolery on our half before we went to respond to a dragon sighting.” Kiya’s eyes widen at his words remembering the story he told her from when he met Estinien.

“That was then?” He nods, Kiya feels a little bad about their encounter then. He tugs her cheeks a little.

“Do not look at me like that. While I lost those companions, it reshaped my thinking and well here I am now. A knight, married to a beautiful woman. Who also happens to be a powerful black mage.” He cups her face to lean down to kiss her.

She notices he does not use the titles. She smiles even more as when they began their pilgrimage they excluded all titles and their roles. Aymeric had donned a bow to leave his sword behind to fully focus on them in their marriage. She notices even more how they’re so comfortable now. 

“How do you feel? Not still sore?” Aymeric breaks her thoughts checking on her from earlier. She stung just a little bit still.

“A little bit.” Aymeric feels a little guilty. if he wasn’t so big he wouldn’t worry so much. He at least made her feel good erasing the pain she felt, but he had to be sure in their times together to make sure she doesn’t try to repeat that move.

“You my love, while I enjoy loving every ilm of you. You have worn me out from all the fun we did today.” He sees her grin, he collects her into his arms letting her cling to him so he can climb the ladder with her up to the bed.

Getting her into his arms to actually rest, he moves the book they neglected then lays where it was. He notices how she seems to beam happiness at him. Making many secrets between them in how they see the other in different ways each day.

Aymeric takes her leg hand to kiss her ring, a steady habit he has gotten into to do it every chance he gets to. He pets her face until she drifts to sleep again. He joins her afterwards making sure she is secure in his arms under a blanket.

[shiroi---kumo]

I promise you there will be more OCs, but these are the ones that live in my head and I have not put a design down on paper yet. So who do you want to see next?

[three-houses-text-files]

byleth/cyril

c-s support + paired endings

c

Cyril: Aha! Found ya! C: You’re always nosing around places, aren't ya, Professor? Can be real hard to find ya sometimes!

>Sorry about that.

C: No worrying about it! I just wanted to talk to ya about a thing today.

>Is something the matter?

C: Well, yeah, I wouldn't have been running all over the place looking for you if stuff was normal.

C: Do you remember how Lady Rhea asked you to come to the office this evening? C: Well, she told me that I should come to let ya know that today's a bad day for doing that, and you should go and see her tomorrow instead. C: That's pretty much everything I needed to say, I think... Oh! Except to ask you if you've seen Seteth around anywhere.

>I haven't, sorry.

C: Ugh, OK. I'm supposed to tell Seteth the thing Lady Rhea told me to tell you, but he's hard to find.

>Want me to tell him for you?

C: Nah, I'll find him myself. But if ya see him, then find me, please, and tell me where ya saw him, OK? 'Cause then I'll know where he is.

>Want to look for him together?

C: No, it's all right, thanks. But if ya see him, then please find me, and tell me where ya saw him, OK? Because then I'll know where he is and I can tell him.

C: I'll be in the stables if ya need me. Gotta put out the fodder before it's the next kid's shift. Don't want her thinking I left my work for her to do. C: Oh! But if I'm not in the stables, and ya need to find me, I'll be at the forest up north 'cause there's a buncha logs lying around up there. C: I figure I oughta chop 'em up or else someone might trip on a log, or we might run out of firewood. And if I chop, then it'll save other people time. C: If it looks like I'm done there, then the corridors need to be sweeped, so if ya see Seteth and ya need to find me, then I might be there...

>Can I help you with anything?

C: Nope. This is my job. I'm not giving it to anyone else, because it's mine and I'm gonna do it. C: Besides, if ya help me out, Lady Rhea might gimme an earful. C: I don't know why, but Lady Rhea sure does seem to like ya. She's always worried about what ya might be doing or not doing...

>Is that so?

C: Oh yeah. Not that's it's any of my business. C: Anyways, Lady Rhea asked me to do some jobs, so I'm doing 'em all. Even some she didn't ask for, but I know need doing, so I'm doing 'em. End of story. C: And remember, if you see Seteth around, come find me and tell me where you saw him, yeah?

>Seems like it'll be tough to find you...

C: Huh? But I just told ya where I'd be. If I'm not in the stables, I'll be at the forest. If I'm not... Oh, I see. You're right. I'm all over the place, huh? C: I don't wanna waste your time, Professor, so if ya see Seteth, how about ya tell him I was looking for him and then tell him all the places I'll be. C: Then he can spend his time looking for me instead of you. Yeah! That sounds like a good plan. C: A real good plan. Let's do that! See ya later, Professor.

>...

——————————————————————————————

b

C: ♪Keeping it clean... Sweeping it clean... No more trash... Nowhere, no how...♪ C: Oh darn. There's trash over there.

>Hard at work, I see.

C: Hey, Professor! The cathedral's a real important place for the Church of Seiros, so I always make sure it's all sparkling clean. C: The monks do some cleaning too, and they tell me not to bother—and sometimes they even say to go away—but they just don't clean as good as I do. C: I don't stop until everything shines.

>Are you a believer?

C: Nah, not really. C: And Lady Rhea told me it's OK if I don't show an interest unless I feel like it, and I haven't so far, but... C: I just wanna take good care of the things she cares about. C: If there's a thing she wants taken care of, then I'll do it better than anyone else. C: Whaddaya think? You'd go the extra mile for Lady Rhea, wouldn't ya? C: Don't ya feel the same? Since Lady Rhea really took a liking to you and all...

>I wouldn't go that far...

>It's hard to find the time...

C: Maybe you don't realize how great a person Lady Rhea is. C: She's always praying hard as she can for her followers all across Fódlan. She does it every single day! C: And even though she's always so busy, she tries to listen to as many people's needs as she can. C: When she'd seen the kids who lost their parents in Remire Village, she didn't leave 'em there. She got the church to take those kids in. Same as me. C: She's so kind. C: She's almost like a mom to all her followers, and just everybody that I can think of loves her.

>Is that so?

C: You really didn't know?

>I think it's about more than kindness.

C: Hang on! You trying to say ya know more about Lady Rhea than I do?

C: OK, maybe she likes ya more than she likes me... C: But I know that I know a whole lot more about her than you do. C: I know these things, OK? So don't go talking down to me like ya know better.

>I wasn't, though...

C: Huh? Well, just as long as we're all clear on that.

———————————��——————————————————

a

C: Phew! Time for a breather. C: Hey, Professor.

>You've been busy.

C: Yup. Noticed you have been too. Seems like it's been a real rough day for just about everybody, huh? C: I've been so busy I still haven't eaten. I hope there's still food left.

>Here, have some candy.

C: Whoa! Thanks, Professor!

C: Mmm-mm... This is really good!

>Here, have some meat.

C: How come you're carrying that around? Whatever. I'm hungry!

C: Mmm-mm... When you're hungry enough, just about anything tastes good.

C: What a day... C: I need a nap, but I still gotta get the dining hall cleaned up.

>You shouldn't push yourself too hard.

C: Huh, Professor, that's funny. You push yourself harder than anybody else. Ya make me look lazy! C: Besides, I don't even break a sweat doing this stuff. C: The day Lady Rhea comes home, I want her to see the monastery the way it was five years ago. C: That's why I do all this stuff—for her. And the harder I work, the better. C: I'm always real glad to be busy. All my work's like a gift I'm giving Lady Rhea. C: I've gotta make myself useful. Gotta repay my debt to her, ya see? C: Heck, I'd do more than I do now if there were hours in the day, but I can't go without sleep. Tried once. C: You must think I'm pretty weird, huh, Professor? C: I'm always on about Lady Rhea, and I'm not even from Fódlan. C: I bet most people around here think I'm kinda weird. C: But I'm real grateful for everything Lady Rhea's done for me.

>It's noble of you to show such gratitude.

>I don't think it's wrong to live for another.

C: That's nice of you to say. Real nice. C: Thanks, Professor. C: It's good to know you like me. Helps me feel even more at home. C: I've heard people say that good folks have a heart of gold. C: Not real gold, I mean. Just, they always care about everybody else. Even guys like me. C: Lady Rhea's incredible, but I figure you're just the same, Professor. C: OK. I guess I gotta give in and get some sleep. I'll get up extra early to make up for it. C: Good night, Professor...

——————————————————————————————

s

C: Oh, hey there...

>What are you doing?

C: Just...looking at the stars. I've been so busy, I haven't had much time for that lately. C: I don't know what to do now, anyway... C: With Lady Rhea gone, I feel like there's not much point in me being here anymore. C: I wanted to do so much more for Lady Rhea, but she wouldn't let me. C: She said I paid my dues already. More than I owed, she said. Told me to live for myself now...

>What do you want to do?

C: I don't know. Up till now, she's all I've been living for. C: That's the way it's always been, so I don't have any good ideas about what I oughta do next. C: I've got nowhere else to go. Not even back to Almyra.

>Why don't you stay here?

C: What am I supposed to do here? Can't stay when there's nothing for me to do.

>You could go on a journey.

C: I wouldn't even know where to try and go...or what I'd do when I got there.

>So there's nothing you desire?

C: Desire? Huh... I don't know. C: Only thing I ever really wanted was to serve Lady Rhea. C: I guess that's what I want. Someone I can help. I don't think I can live my life just for me. C: Do you think maybe, from now on... I mean, if you'd be OK with it, I could...

>I want you to have this.

C: A ring?

>Try it on.

C: O-OK... It's a real snug fit. C: But why are you giving me this?

>There's no running away now.

C: No running aw— Is this a cursed ring?! C: If I run away, I'll die?! Why would you— C: Oh, so I can't leave this place... C: You...really want me to stay that badly? C: Ya know what? I'm happy to stay! I'll work real hard and be super useful to you! C: I think it's kinda who I am, living like this, being real useful to other folks. C: Besides, I'll die if I try to leave, right? C: Actually, this ring could come off pretty easy.

>You want to take it off?

C: Nah, it gives me a reason to stay. That's the whole point, right? C: Heh, whether we stay or go, I'm stickin' with you. I've gone and fallen in love, ya know. C: To be honest, since the first day you showed up, I always did like ya. C: Think I can get a good night's sleep now, knowing I'll still be here tomorrow...  C: I'm gonna head to bed. Sleep tight. C: Love ya! See ya in the morning!

——————————————————————————————

paired endings

Byleth declared the founding of the United Kingdom of Fódlan at Garreg Mach and ascended the throne as its first leader. Cyril served as a chamberlain, supervising all general affairs. With the expansion of the kingdom, it was eventually decided that the queen would move to a new royal capital. Cyril wished to accompany her, but was ordered to enroll in the newly reopened Officers Academy. Though reluctant, he complied. A year later, after consistently demonstrating great wisdom and maturity, he won the queen's heart, and they announced their abrupt marriage. The move surprised many, but no one was as shocked as Cyril himself was pleased. (golden deer + church route)

Byleth took on the role of archbishop of the Church of Seiros, and Cyril served her in all things, just as he had served Rhea. As Fódlan stabilized, and the rebuilding effort came to an end, the Officers Academy finally reopened, and the archbishop directed Cyril to enroll there as a student. A year later, after consistently demonstrating great wisdom and maturity, he won the archbishop's heart, and they announced their abrupt marriage. The move surprised many, but no one was as shocked as Cyril himself was pleased. (blue lions route)

[aspected-benefic]

Prompt #2: Bargain

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

Many knew that the head of the Lawrence Clan, Solomon Lawrence, perished in battle - a clash of clan factions, or a heated family feud, as word of mouth murmured. Had more people known the truth surrounding his death, would my father's grave be as flooded with gifts as it was now? Bouquets of Nymeian lilies, books, framed photographs, candles unlit due to the wax melted to the very bottom. Trinkets and jewelry bearing both the sign of Halone and the Lawrence family crest made the tombstone shine above all the others. By comparison, my 'gift' of nothing but my own presence suddenly felt self-centered... ungrateful and unforgiving in comparison. Yet, here I was, by his grave like a lost pup waiting for a master that would never return.

A gentle brush of my hand moved away some of the collected snow. My eyes gazed upon the name upon the grave marker.

Solomon Lawrence. Clan Leader. Father. Uncle. Archbishop. A friend and leader to us all. May he rest in peace in Halone's hallowed halls.

Father.

Father indeed.

Father to everyone else, perhaps, but no father to me. Perhaps if I knelt by his tombstone a little longer, it would glare at me, just like father would?

Sigh. I shook my head. I didn't come here to berate him. By that same token, surely the tombstone wouldn't berate me for wasting its time? Even now, I could hear my father's voice - a particular growl he reserved just for me. A curt snap that asked what I wanted. After all, the faster I stated my business, the faster he could leave.

I closed my eyes. No, I had to be honest with myself. I came here to look for answers... and from a deceased man no less. Answers as to why my heart felt heavy after that fated day. To why I had lost the will to fight after that battle against you. And why my spear felt so heavy, as though lodged in stone?

The more I looked at your gravestone, the easier I could envision your face. Your scowl. Your clenched teeth from your particular scowl. If you were here now in person, what would I say to you? What would I ask of you?

"Ahem."

A lovely start.

A beginning seemed like a sufficient start. But where would I begin? 'Good evening, father? Do you remember the Executioner? The one you believed would change the clan for the better? She has perished now, and along with her, her ideals to turn Hydaelyn into fodder for her destruction. Do you still believe in her? In my opinion, the citizens of Ishgard still await the day for our stone walls to turn to gold.'

Unlike my father, the tombstone remained in place just as still as it had ever been. Yet, it gave just as much of an answer as my father would had he been alive.

Could I mention the way of the spear? How I trained like a dog in order to master it, only to have our first and only taste of combat together with you walking away as I was a complete stranger? Pfft. A stranger. Was that all I was to you? I barely ever saw you. You spent more time with everyone else than me. You loved others. Praised others. Exalted others. Yet, your only son may as well have been dirt on your shoe - something to snarl at when you realized it existed, then wipe it off like it was never there. No, dirt would have been closer to you, wouldn't it? It would have stuck around longer than you would have been around me!

I slammed my spear into the ground. The sudden shhf of metal slicing through snow and dirt filled my ears. A burning sensation filled me on the inside. Anger. Rage. All those emotions I attempted to bury within.

That day... that very battle... I knew what the Executioner had planned was wrong. Yet, you and the rest of the clan believed she was right, that she would usher the Lawrence Clan to the dawning of a new era. To that end, you became what she wanted you to become. A memory as fresh as though I stand in battle now. Your fangs bared, your scales gleaming, your claws bared and ready to strike. I'm sorry, father. I had no other choice. It was either kill or be killed.

I tried to pull my spear from the ground, but it may as well have been lodged in stone. The more I tried to pull on the spear, the more I saw the voidsent you became. The more I felt that surge of power within me and the roar of a dragon as this very same spear embedded in you. And the more I saw that image, the heavier my spear became.

My fingers slipped away from said spear. No use. I may as well have more success to lift a stone pillar.

The tombstone said nothing.

I was wasting my time, just like my father would always say. I was here to attempt closure, wasn't I? Considering a lack of response I would get, I may as well say whatever was on my mind. Taking one final deep breath, I opened my mouth to speak.

"Father," I said in a whisper, my voice trembling slightly, "of what means should I have taken for you to be proud of me?"

As expected, the tombstone had nothing to say. What was I thinking? Leaving my spear behind, I walked away.

((I did angsty this time since I did silly last time. My first thought was the bargaining stage of the five stages of grief and loss. I also debated real hard about putting in flashbacks to exactly explain all the context, but in the end, I thought to leave this as-is and just leave Ash to drop some hints. Thanks to @abeat for helping me out!))

[early20thcenturynerd]

Victoria, Princess Royal praying on her wedding day by Queen Victoria, 25th January 1858

“The 2nd most eventful day in my life, as regarded feelings, for I felt almost as if it were I that was being married over again, only much more nervous, — A thick fog, & a sharp frost early. — Whilst dressing dear Vicky came in to see me, looking, composed, & in a fine, quiet disposition. This relieved me greatly. We went down to breakfast with dear Alexandrine. Of course Fritz, whom I tenderly embraced, & who was much moved, was there too. The dear Princess also came in for the moment. — My Dressing room was arranged for Vicky & she began dressing at about 1/2 p. 10. Our hair was done by Nestor, one after the other. When she was ready she came through in her bridal attire, looking very pretty & nice. Her dress was of white moire antique, trimmed with 3 flounces of Honiton lace & wreaths & spray of orange flowers & myrtle. The wreath & veil were to match & the train was the same as the dress. My dress was of mauve moire antique & silver, trimmed with Honiton lace. I wore my Regal Diadem & the crown diamonds. My train was of velvet also trimmed with lace. Vicky was daguerreotyped in my room, & she & her dear father & I, together, but I trembled so that it has come out indistinct. Then, it was time to go. 

The sun shining brightly, 1000s out, since very early, — shouting, — ringing of bells, &c. — Albert, Uncle & the 2 Boys went 1st, then the 3 girls in pink satin trimmed with Newport lace, Alice with a wreath of cornflowers & marguerites, the 2 others only with sprays of them, in their hair. The 4 Boys wore Highland dress. The Hall was full of people. The flourish of trumpets & cheering of thousands, made my heart sink within me, & I could hardly command myself. Vicky drove in the carriage with me, sitting opposite. At St. James's Palace we want into a prettily arranged retiring room, where Uncle, my dear Albert & the 8 Bridesmaids were waiting. They looked so nice, in white tulle dresses with wreaths & bouquets of pink roses & white heather. 

Then went into the Closet where Mama (looking so handsome, in violet velvet, trimmed with ermine), & the Cambridges were. All the foreign Princes & Princesses excepting Uncle, the Prince, & Pce Albert had already taken up their places in the Chapel. A Procession was formed, just as at my wedding, only how small the older Royal Family had become! Mama came last, just before me, then Ld Palmerston, with the Sword Of State, Bertie & Affie, — I, with the 2 little Boys (on either side of me), which they say had a most touching effect, & the 3 girls following. The Chapel, though too small, looked very imposing & well, filled with so many Clergy, Officers, in bright uniforms, & elegantly dressed Ladies. 

The drums & trumpets played Marches, the organ playing others, as the Processions approached & entered. There was of course a slight pause between each, & the effect was thrilling & striking as one heard the music coming nearer & nearer. Fritz behaved with the greatest self possession, as he came in, bowing to us, & then kneeling down before the altar, in a most truly devotional manner. Last came the Bride's Procession, our darling ‘Flower’ looking very touching & lovely, with such an innocent, confident & serious expression, on her dear face. She walked between her beloved Father & dear Uncle Leopold, who had been present at both her Christening & Confirmation. 

My last fear of being overcome, vanished, when I saw Vicky's calm & composed manner. It looked beautiful seeing her kneeling beside Fritz, their hands joined, her long train born by the 8 young ladies, who looked like a cloud of young girls hovering round her, as they knelt near her. How it reminded me of my having similarly, proudly, tenderly, confidently knelt beside my beloved Albert, in the very same spot. The Children, (the 3 girls) were a good deal ‘énnu’ & Alice cried dreadfully. The Archbishop was very nervous. Both Vicky & Fritz spoke very plainly. 

When the service was over we tenderly embraced the young couple, & then Vicky went to her new Parents & we crossed over to the dear Prince & Princess, who were much moved. After this the Bride & Bridegroom left the Chapel hand, in hand, followed by their supporters, Mendelssohn's Wedding march being played, & we all went up to the Throne Room, where the Register was signed. Here there were general congratulations & shaking of hands, with all the relations. After all the Royalties had signed their names, the Clergy, Ministers &c. followed, & the young couple returned to Buckingham Palace together. I drove with Uncle & the Princess, whom I asked to call me ‘Du’. 

Tremendous crowds, & cheering & we went with the young couple to the celebrated window, from which they stepped out on to the balcony to show themselves, we, Uncle, & the Pce & Pss also coming out. We all went to the White Drawing room, where we were met by Hélène Orléans, her 2 sons, the Aumales & Princess de Salerno, then, came the wedding breakfast 'en famille’, in which were included Pce John of Holstein & our 6 other Children! The young couple sat together, opposite us, but hid by a splendid wedding cake. I, sat between Uncle & the Pce of Prussia, Ld St. Germans, who sat at the bottom of the table, was the only other person there. The Band played. At dessert, Leopold & the darling Baby, dressed in pink, like her sisters, with a little bunch of cornflowers & marguerites in her cap, came in. 

After luncheon we separated almost immediately, for the young couple to change their clothes. I also changed my dress, & at 20 m. p. 4, Vicky came to my room, to bid me goodbye, much ‘en larmes', poor dear child. She was dressed in white velour épinglé, mantle of the same, trimmed with grèbe & a white bonnet with orange flowers, & a fine lace veil, which she put down. Embraced & gave her my blessing, & she became calmer. In the Audience Room all the family & royal guests were assembled.

In embracing Fritz, I gave him my blessing & told him that I gave our child with perfect confidence into his hands. We accompanied the young couple to the door, being joined here by Uncle. The whole Court were there, having come to see them leave. After one more embrace saw them drive off with an Escort, & amidst much cheering. We ran up to look out of the window, but they had already disappeared! Jane Churchill, Sir F. Stovin, Col. Seymour & Herr von Schweinitz went with them. — My dear kind friend, the Princess came to see me, & we had a most pleasant, & satisfactory confidential talk about our dear Children. She is a great comfort & support to me. — We dined ‘en famille', & felt so lost without Vicky. Received a dear kind little letter from our beloved Child, full of peaceful happiness. 

There had been enormous crowds, such enthusiasm, flowers & illuminations everywhere. The Eton Boys had dragged the carriage up to the Castle & made an immense noise. — At near 10 we went into the White Drawingroom, where all were assembled, Alice & Affie also appearing, & the Maharajah. I wore white & gold moire antique, trimmed with red velvet bows, a diamond diadem & ornaments, including the Koh i Noor. 

A State Concert took place in the Ball Room. The following pieces were performed: Part of Handel's Coronation Anthem, — Quartette 'Placido e il Mar’ by Mozart; (Mlle Cl. Novello, Guiglini, Weiss, &c. —) — Chorus, ‘The Heavens are Telling' from Haydn's 'Creation'; — 'Della sua Pace' from Don Giovanni; Mozart; (sung by Guiglini) — Choral Fantasia by Beethoven (all, singing, & Mrs Anderson at the piano.) Bridal Procession & March from Wagner's, 'Lohengrin'; — Air from Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable, 'Toi que j'aime (sung by Clara Novello); — Finale from the 'Loveley' (solo, sung by Miss Pyne); — Serenata 'The Dream', composed specially for the wedding by Costa, & led by him (Tolos, Clara Novello, Sims Reeves, Weiss, &c — singing).

Everyone I spoke to, was most kind & feeling & all the Prussians & Princes so pleased & impressed with the ceremony. Only got to our rooms at 1/2. So thankful all had gone off so well. We thought much, on retiring to rest of our young couple, praying God to bless them & bring them much happiness.”

- Queen Victoria’s diary, 25th January 1858 (161 years ago today)