#Scone Abbey

[scotianostra]

On August 9th or 9th 1296 the Scottish Coronation Stone was removed from Scone Abbey.

The Stone of Destiny was taken on the orders of King Edward I of England, and was transported to Westminster Abbey, where it was used to crown English monarchs until it was returned to Scotland in 1996.

The Celtic name of the stone upon which the true kings of Scotland have traditionally been crowned is Lia Fail, “the speaking stone,” or the stone which would proclaim the chosen king.

Originally, the stone played a part in the crowning ceremonies of the Scots kings of Dalriada, in the west of Scotland, an area just north of Glasgow now called Argyll.

Kenneth I, the 36th king of Dalriada, united the Scots and Picts kingdoms and moved his capital to Scone from western Scotland around 840 AD. The Stone of Destiny moved there too. All future Scottish kings would henceforth be enthroned on the Stone of Destiny atop Moot Hill at Scone Palace in Perthshire.

The stone in question is no ornately carved megalith; just a simple, oblong block of red sandstone. It measures 650 mm in length by 400 mm wide, and 27 mm deep, with chisel marks apparent on its flat top.

So where did this magical or mythical stone originate from, and why was it held in such reverence by the kings of old?

One legend dates back to biblical times and states that it is the same stone which Jacob used as a pillow at Bethel. Later, according to Jewish legend, it became the pedestal of the ark in the temple. The stone was brought from Syria to Egypt by King Gathelus. He then fled to Spain following the defeat of the Egyptian army. A descendant of Gathelus brought the stone to Ireland, and was crowned on it as King of Ireland. And from Ireland, the stone moved with the invading Scots to Argyll.

What is sure, however, is that the Stone of Destiny remained at Scone until it was forcibly removed by English King Edward I (“Hammer of the Scots”) after his Scottish victories in 1296, and taken to Westminster Abbey in London.

Still another interesting legend surrounds this mystical stone. This one suggests that as King Edward I approached the Abbot of Perth, the monks of Scone hurriedly removed the Stone of Destiny and hid it. He replaced it with a drainage cover stone of similar size and hid the real stone on Dunsinnan Hill. It was the drainage cover which the English king carried off in triumph back to London.

Perhaps this legend is not so far-fetched. It could help to explain why the coronation stone is so geologically similar to the sandstone commonly found around Scone.

On St. Andrew’s Day, on November 30th, 1996, ten thousand people lined Edinburgh’s Royal Mile to witness the return of the Stone of Destiny to Scotland. It had been away for 700 years.

[gaylittleguys]

after careful research the best places to get really good cheese scones seem to be cathedrals and abbeys

[abbeykitchenmouse]

The abbey poetry circle has declared that my poems lack proper structure and any semblance of a reasonable meter. I say they're a bunch of overstuffed plagiarists with hardly a drop of creativity in their ale addled heads. I certainly won't be letting them read my recipe books anymore and if I catch another one of them stealing my scones I'll sell their sinew to the bandits as cord and render their fat for breakfast in the morning.

[vonlipwig]

I'm in the middle of a Downton Abbey rewatch and I forgot how absolutely wild the juxtaposed plotlines are. Every episode is like: Daisy accidentally put salt instead of sugar in the scones; Lady Mary has ruined Edith's life again; a small village boy is suspected of scrumping apples and Carson is determined to catch him in the act; Mr Bates is implicated in yet another murder trial and has been charged with 15 to Life; the Dowager Countess hates Matthew Crawley's new tie; Barrow is a hair's breadth from being fired for being gay; Mr Molesley can't find his left shoe. Scene-by-scene whiplash. Incredible.

[death-andtaxes]

As funny a concept as this may be. I'd much rather we became a republic but continued to use the Stone Of Destiny to ceremonially legitimise the appointment of our First Minister. This has the added benefit of never having to loan it out to another fuckng english monarch ever again.

it’d be fucking hilarious if Scotland went rogue and invited Harry to be its king. 

[spooky-pomegranate]

Eyes on Fire (pt 2)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+)Word Count: 3.4k (Part 1) (Read on AO3) (Part 3)

Summary: Hoping to escape the headaches of Imperatrix's life you spend time in a forbidden section of the Abbey. Meanwhile, a sleepless Papa Secondo goes for a walk in the early morning hours to clear his mind.

(Dividers by @wrathofrats)

There was only one place you wanted to be...

A place far away from Papa’s dining room, the bustling great hall, and the dormitories flooded with siblings preparing for a night full of debauchery and sin. You wanted to be in the one place that felt most like home with the people who felt most like family. So you climbed. Stride by stride you moved down ancient and worn stone steps covered in cobwebs and dust as you made your way toward the ghoul dens.

The Abbey had stood on the same grounds for hundreds of years. In that time many improvements had been made. A swimming pool was added in the 1890s, the great hall was expanded in the 1920s, and more recently the kitchens had gone under a total rehaul, with new top-of-the-line appliances and expresso machines flown in from Italy. But the one place the ministry hadn’t touched in all those years was the space below.

The basement of the Abbey was a restricted section for all siblings. Partially because it was a bit unsafe and partially because the ghouls were too much of a handful to be trusted with nice things. There was no electrical power down below. The stone walls in the basement were lit only by candle sconces that threw around long casting and eerie shadows. To those unfamiliar, the basement probably looked more like a crypt than it did a home for hell-spawn creatures. But the ghouls liked it that way and so did you.

At the bottom of the stairs, you snatched a candle from one of the wall scones. For some reason lately, there had been an influx of rats scurrying around the Abbey. The last thing you needed was to accidentally step on one. That might just send you to orbit.

By candlelit, you followed the halls through their maze of twists and turns before stopping in front of a massive set of wooden double doors. A large bronze knocker cast in His image hung from the center. You picked it up and slammed it against the splintering wood door three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you heard a familiar voice call from the other side. “Hold onto your granny panties would ya.”

The door groaned in a heavy sigh as it opened. A scrawny maskless ghoul stood in the entryway. Two white horns protruded from the crown of his head and ashen black skin covered his body. When his orange eyes met yours his spaded tail flicked from side to side.

“Hey! What’s up little snack pack?”

“Hey, Dew,” you sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing babe.” The fire ghoul bowed with a flourish and waved for you to enter. “Right this way little lady. You look like shit by the way.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped past the ghoul. The main room of the ghoul den was decorated in what a generous person might call an “eclectic style.” Mix-matched furniture from varying decades was strewn around the room in random places. A few soft carpets were layered on top of one another to confront the cold that seeped into the stone floors during the winter months and much like the stairs leading to the basement, candles burned on the walls basking the place in a soothing warm and yellow light. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even that clean. But maybe because this was the only place in the Abbey that wasn’t dripping in opulence, it felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. And you needed that right now.

In the center of the room, Cumulus and Auoroa lounged on a lime-green sofa. On a small coffee table in front of them, snacks and drinks were laid out. They waved for you to join them.

“Hey guys,” you said, plopping down on the couch between them with a huff. Dew grabbed a guitar from a table by the door and sat in a chair across from you. Aimlessly he started picking at its strings.

“Hey, love,” Cumulus said smiling from your left. Like Dew, her skin was the color of burnt embers but her eyes differed. They were a beautiful soft gray. The same color as the sky before an evening storm or the pebbles on the beach by the lake south of the Abbey. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in that shiny new suite of yours? Mountain told us it was real pretty.”

“Honestly today’s been a day,” you answered, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to hang out if that’s alright. Unless you guys had plans. Then I can fuck off.”

“Nah. No plans,” Aurora assured you, popping a chip into her mouth before offering you one. “We were just gonna practice for a bit. Unless you wanna talk about your day?”

“God no,” you answered, taking the chip. “Listening to you guys sounds really nice actually.”

“Oh thank Satan,” Dew huffed. Both Cumulus and Aurua shot the fire ghoul daggers and he stopped strumming the black and white guitar in his lap. “What?! Don’t lie you both wanna sing. You have been begginggggggg me to practice with you. ‘Dew please play with us,’” He impishly sang. “’Dew no one plays like you. Please Dew. You’re so talented with your fingers Dew.’”

“No one said that,” Aurura grumbled, throwing a chip at him. It landed squarely in between his eyes.

“Also we don’t sound like that. Plus if she’s having a bad day some humans like to talk about their feelings,” Cumulus added, picking up another chip and throwing it at Dew. “It’s called empathy dipshit.”

Dew stuck out his tongue and you laughed. You were surrounded by idiots. Sweet and loveable idiots. You were feeling better already. After a few more minutes of juvenile bickering, the hellspawns eventually settled down and started to play.

For as long as you’d known Dew he’d been a cocky shit, always bragging about his skills with a guitar. But as you listened to him play you knew he’d earned every brag he’d ever boasted. He was a magician with strings. Plucking and picking with a mesmerizing mastery that had to have been a gift from Satan himself. But the ghoulettes were just as spellbinding. Their harmonizing voices bounced off the high-bowed walls like sirens, lulling you into easy relaxation. At some point, you decided to crawl off the couch and lie on the floor, curling up in a pile of pillows and blankets and letting the music soothe you.

“That’s really pretty…” you murmured half-asleep, during a short break in the music.

“Mhmm. It is,” Cumulus purred from her spot on the couch.

“What’s it mean?”

“You don’t speak Latin?” Dew asked incredulously, before taking a long draw of some water Aurora had passed him.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked back at the fire ghoul. “Eh. I’m a little rusty.”

“Through hardships to hell.”

“What?”

“That’s what it means,” Dew answered, setting his water aside. “Per aspera ad inferi. It means through hardships to hell.”

“Oh,” you said shirking back to the floor and into your covers. It hadn’t occurred to you that this song might be incredibly personal to the three ghouls. They had quite literally crawled through hell to be here in this Abbey and serve the ministry. They had come from the real below.

“Did you guys come up with that?” You didn’t know much about their journey. You’d always assumed it wasn’t your place to ask or to know, but the song… it had been so haunting and yet… so strangely familiar. Even though you hadn’t understood the words, the music had clung to you. Like thick sticky syrup, it had swirled into your blood and mixed in your veins. You felt an inexplicable connection that was as old as time.

“No. We didn’t write it,” Cumulus said quietly.

“Who did?”

The three ghouls looked at one another. Seconds passed like minutes.

“Papa.”

There wasn’t much point in staying in the dens after that. You’d come down here to escape thoughts of Secondo only to be reminded of him all over again.

The climb back toward your suite didn’t take long. The Abbey was quiet this late at night. The hallways were empty of their regular hustle and bustle. Most siblings were asleep in their beds or tangled up in the sheets of another. You reached your door in record time. You pulled out your brass key and slid it into the door... but it was already unlocked.

You heard the crackling of your fireplace before you saw him. He was seated with his back to you in one of the tufted leather armchairs across the room. There were no lights on and you couldn’t see his face from the doorway, but none of that mattered. You knew who it was. Only one person owned the tense curve of those broad shoulders. It was him. It was Secondo. He was here in your room.

“Do I repulse you, sorella?” His voice boomed over the fire.

You froze in the doorway. Legs cemented to the ground, heart ready to bound out of your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to expel you from the church? Was he going to smile as he tossed you out on your ass?

“Speak up sorella,” Secondo commanded. “I will repeat my question. Do I repulse you?”

“N-no, Papa,” you managed to squeak.

“Come here. I want to look at you while we have this conversation.”

Fuck. So this was it. The sadist was going to make you leave right here and now in the middle of the night. You moved across the room and into the dancing firelight.

After what had happened in the dining room you weren’t prepared to meet Secondo’s eye line again. So you delayed it. Slowly you looked him over, starting at his feet and working your way north.

Secondo wore a pair of black Oxfords, buffed and polished so pristinely that you saw your reflection staring back at you. A few inches higher black socks peaked out from underneath a pair of crisp black slacks. And on his steadily rising and falling chest, he’d opted for a button-down of a matching color. A black and emerald Grucifix hung from his neck. Head to toe he was dressed in black.

He looked like an undertaker. You closed your eyes. You weren’t ready to be laid out on his slab.

“You will answer me honestly, sorrella. No lies to your Papa.” It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway.

You opened your eyes and looked at Secondo’s face. Since dinner, he’d washed away his sacred paints. A pair of dark aviators were perched on his crooked nose. He looked every bit like the Papa the siblings whispered about. An angry, bitter man, full of rage waiting for a spark to ignite his fire.

“You won’t partake in the offerings?” He questioned.

“No, Papa.”

“It is late, sorrella. I will not drag this out. Tell me your reason and do not lie.”

Secondo was right.

It was late. The clock in the corner of your room had finished its 24-hour cycle and the hours had reached into the early morning. But you were sick of having this conversation. You were sick of defending yourself. Fuck it. If Sister Imperator hadn’t told him you would—cards on the table.

“I don’t like to be so casual about who I have sex with.”

For a moment Secondo looked confused before he burst into a fit of laughter. Bending at the hip, he slapped his gloved hands on the arms of your chair. “Say that again sorella. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You wanted to slap him. Anger pooled in your stomach. Your fist clenched at your side. “I believe sex means something more when there’s more than just a physical connection.”

Secondo laughed again and you bit your cheek. “You know you sound like a Catholic when you say these things. ‘Means something more.’ Are you going to tell me that the next sister I sleep with I should marry and that I should make as many babies with her as possible?”

Secondo rose from the chair and stepped toward you. Inches separated you. You could smell his cologne. Rich and deep. Sacramental incense lingered on his clothes. He stared down at you over the ridge of his nose. His brows cast long, and angry shadows over his already glowering features.

“Do not confuse our rituals for something deeper, sorrella.”

“Of course, you would misunderstand me.”

The words slipped from your tongue before you could think twice. But you didn’t want them back. You meant it.

You’d seen Secondo.

You’d watched him as he moved through the Abbey every day and every night. He only ever thought of himself. He was a taker, never minding what others needed. What others wanted. So why would a conversation here and now be any different? Why would he consider any other person’s perspective but his own? He didn’t even remember what he’d said to you. How he’d hurt you.

“Watch your tone diavolessa,” he growled. “I am your Papa.”

Exactly right, you thought. You are my Papa but you are not my owner. My maker. My master. You have no right to claim me or to force me to do anything. I own my destiny. Not you. You took another step closer to Secondo, the front of your habit brushed against his dress shirt. Unafraid you tilted your chin up. Fire blazed in your eyes. Heat emanated from his chest.

“Apologies, your dark excellency. I will ask Sister Imperator to move me back to my former post in the gardens.” You didn’t want to give up your new apartment but you’d rather fight for lukewarm water in the communal showers than deal with him another day longer.

“That is…” Secondo paused and you closed your eyes bracing for the blow. Send me away. Do it. Send me back to the land of the undeserving and misguided. Do it now. I’d take them over you. I’d take anything over you. “Thatisunnecessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, Secondo brushed past you and walked out your door.

There was no point in going back to his quarters. Secondo wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept well in days. Tonight would be no different. There was too much on his mind.

He needed to clear his head.

So Secondo stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp and cool. Fall would be here soon and the flowers would shrivel. But for now, life still breathed in the grounds and the air still smelled sweet. Secondo followed the dirt path from the south entrance of the Abbey down to the gardens. His older brother had taken meticulous care of them since his retirement, practically spending every waking hour pruning and pampering his beloved piccoli fiori. Primo’s obsession had grown so strong that he’d even moved out of the Abbey’s suites and into a small log cabin on the edge of the ministry’s grounds so he could be closer to his work.

But Secondo hadn’t minded.

It made Primo happy and he could still find his brother for a chat whenever he needed to. If it weren’t for the early morning hour he would have sought out Primo for one of those talks now. The old man was more of a comfort than his father had ever been and his mind had been a mess for weeks. But the sun was almost up. Surely Primo in his old age was sound asleep somewhere. So Secondo chose to stroll the grounds alone and linger in the messiness of his mind.

He wandered through rows of vibrant roses and multicolored hydrangeas, passing various fruit trees and flowering cherry blossoms until he reached something he had not seen before. Underneath a centuries-old weeping willow, Primo had planted something new. In tightly packed rows narrow plots of spectacular white and pink flowers bloomed amongst leathery deep green shrubs. It was beautiful. The shrubbery looked like rhododendrons, but the flowers… Secondo had never seen anything like it. They resembled the cooper bells that hung in the Abbey’s highest towers.

He needed to smell them.

Secondo crouched down on the dirt path and reached for their pretty petals.

“Careful fratello.” Secondo quickly dropped his hand. “She is not so friendly this one.”

Clad in a red robe, Primo emerged from the dark path. His hands were clasped behind his back and he eyed his younger brother with a loving smile.

“Shouldn't you be asleep fratello?” Secondo asked, pushing off the ground with a groan that denoted his age and stood to his full height. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Ah, I was going to ask you the same,” Primo’s smile widened, strolling over to stand next to Secondo. “Do you like the fiori? They are beautiful, no?”

“Si. They are,” Secondo answered truthfully. “New additions?”

“Not entirely fratellino. Many moons ago these flowers used to surround our little Abbey. If you would indulge un vecchio uomo I would like to tell you their story.”

Secondo nodded, “Of course, Primo.”

The elder Emeritus led his younger brother to a stone bench under the willow tree. They sat down together. Secondo looked over the rows of flowers as his brother began to tell his story.

“Before you and I, walked these grounds there was a beautiful sibling who cared for the fiori and impianti. She came to the church with an extensive knowledge of botany and quickly thrived here. From the things she grew, she established the first apothecary in the ministry. She helped many siblings. She was happy and content. Eventually, she fell in love with a brother and he with her. But one day when the sister walked these grounds she witnessed a betrayal. Her mate with another. Her heart was broken. But the sister would not let this indignity stand. She introduced a colony of bees to the garden and let them feed on the nectar of these very beautiful fiori.” Primo’s gloved hand pointed to the rows of pink and white bell flowers in front of them.

“And then the ever-patient sister waited. She waited and pretended everything with her lover was bene, while in the night he continued to be with another. But after a time she returned to the garden and to her bees. She collected their honey knowing their nectar had been poisoned by these beautiful fiori. One evening the sister made her lover a pot of tea and added a spoonful of her wicked honey. As he drank the brother’s lips began to burn. Pain flamed his mouth and throat. He withered and convulsed in pain for hours. The legend diverges here. Some say the brother died. While others claim he recovered but fled the ministry in fear of his beloved’s vengeful wrath. In both versions of the tale these flowers were ripped from our grounds.”

Secondo sat quietly trying to make sense of his brother’s story. Ever since he could remember his elder brother had used longwinded tales to teach him lessons of the world or of the church. But tonight for the life of him, he could not figure out what Primo was to say. What did these poisonous flowers have to do with anything?

He was too tired. A puzzle was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“Why are you telling me this brother?” Secondo asked exasperatedly. “You know I don’t care about these plants the way you do.”

“Ahh,” Primo hummed. “That may be true but tastes change fratellino. Things we once thought were insignificant can become valuable to us, no?”

“Primo I don’t under-”

“It’s nice to have beautiful things around, even if we cannot touch, si? Even if we cannot taste?”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. “What have you seen fratello?”

“It should not matter what I’ve seen. You must see for yourself.”

Secondo angered. Standing quickly he spun and stared down at his brother. “How quickly you forget what it is like Primo!” he shouted. “I need guidance. I don’t need this. I don’t know why I bother when you only speak in riddles.”

Secondo turned his back and stormed away from Primo, but before he got lost amongst the roses he heard his brother's voice.

“He has not forgotten you nor have I. Patience fratellino. Plans are already in motion. You will not be denied.”

(Follow along on AO3 here)

(Part 3) (Back to Part 1)

[crocutaborealis]

I can't draw but my Redwall OC is Don Salvador, an enormous plate armoured plague rat. After a wicked life of pillage, he is cured of the plague by a vision of Martin the Warrior and guided to the abbey, where he redeems himself by taking up his huge zweihander in defence of the innocent (perhaps from his former partners in crime.). After Redwall is saved, Salvador hangs up his sword to become a quiet, jolly friar, his pockmarked visage and hints of an old mercenary life serving only to ward light-fingered dibbuns from his scones.

[trivia-polls-daily]

No cheating, please! Answer the trivia question to the best of your ability, then check below the cut! Please do not give away answers in comments or tags!

Answer below:

On Christmas Day 1950, Westminster Abbey was broken into by a group of Scottish students, who then removed the Stone of Scone and returned it to Scotland.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stone_of_Scone

[master-john-uk]

The Stone of Scone has now been safely installed on St Edward's Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey.

[wonder-worker]

"There are indications that [King William the Lion of Scotland] relied on Queen Ermengarde and allowed her to play an increasingly influential part in public affairs. A resentful Glasgow canon was to allege that in 1207 Walter, a royal chaplain, obtained the position of bishop of Glasgow after bribing not only the King’s chamberlain but the Queen herself. There are signs that her relatives also profited from their relationship with her: Richard de Beaumont, possibly a brother or nephew, acquired a sizeable estate in the Crail area. Ermengarde appears to have acted as mediator when William was negotiating with King John of England in 1209, and she certainly did so with great aplomb when her husband met John at Durham in February 1212. According to Bower, she showed herself in their discussions to be ‘an extraordinary woman, gifted with a charming and witty eloquence’. As a result of her efforts, the peace between the two countries was renewed, and it was agreed that her son Prince Alexander should be given an English wife.

That same summer, William fell ill, and there are signs that Ermengarde exercised considerable influence during his sickness. The King was nearly seventy by now, and although he recovered, his health remained poor. He was well enough to travel as far north as Elgin in the summer of 1214, but the lengthy journey brought on some sort of collapse and he was taken south again to Stirling by very easy stages. Ermengarde was probably with him when he saw his lords for the last time and urged them to accept his sixteen-year-old son Alexander as king. He died in Stirling Castle at the beginning of December 1214.

Next morning, the prelates and nobles urged the Queen to supervise the arrangements for the funeral, but she was ‘in a state of extreme mourning and worn out with grief’. Try as they might, they could not rouse her from her sorrow and so they hastily took Prince Alexander to be crowned at Scone while Ermengarde remained with her husband’s body. William was then buried in his abbey of Arbroath. Ermengarde lived for another twenty years, devoting her considerable energies to raising money to found a Cistercian abbey at Balmerino in Fife. She purchased the necessary land for a thousand merks and oversaw the construction of the building, which was made of local red stone. Monks from Melrose settled at the abbey on St Lucy’s Day, 13 December 1229 and both Ermengarde and her son Alexander frequently stayed there. When Ermengarde died on 11 February 1233, she was buried before the high altar at Balmerino. It is a pity that the records do not tell us more about this effective and influential Queen Consort."

-Rosalind K. Marshall, Scottish Queens 1034-1714

[thelampisaflashlight]

Thinking out loud and dropping some Earth Sprite lore here cuz yeah.

Here's a scone for your troubles.

So unlike other elements, earth sprites aren't free roaming. These guys are bonded to an actual living organism, such as a tree, a certain bush, a flowering plant, ect.

Not every plant necessarily has a sprite. They pop up more commonly in places near sources of magic, whether that be a certain location or a person/ghoul with considerable influence. They like places where the roots can mingle and communicate with the roots of the plants around them. Because of this, we don't generally see sprites that are bonded to potted plants.

The size of an earth sprite is determined by the depth and width of the root system of the plant it belongs to. A smaller plant means a smaller sprite. A bigger plant means a bigger sprite. Which means, yes, those expansive forests that are really a single organism with one massive root system are bonded to one truly gigantic sprite, such as the one that lurks in the huge Aspen grove that's outside the Abbey walls.

Earth sprites are usually pretty elusive. It's not that they're aggressive or disdainful towards people, they're just very shy. They're curious, but from a distance. They do let themselves be seen sometimes, but they prefer to follow you and investigate from a distance until they either decide that you're not interesting anymore, or until they've worked up the courage to come a little closer.

Mkay, I think that's it...for now.

💙

Oooh~ they're a little like dryads!

Also I know you said they don't typically hang around potted plants, buuut I needed to doodle a little something:

They're little rose bush sprouts for the garden, so they're going to grow quite a bit. I just think Bea would be beside herself.

<3

[scotianostra]

On 26th May 1819, the Honours went on public display in the Crown Room in Edinburgh Castle.

The ‘Honours’, our Crown Jewels, were first used together at the coronation of the nine-month-old Mary, Queen of Scots in 1543, the Crown almost certainly dates from before 1540 when it was remodelled by order of James V. It was last worn at the coronation of Charles II at Scone in 1651, the last time a monarch was crowned in Scotland.

Made of solid silver, the Sceptre is surmounted with three figures supporting a crystal globe, a cut and polished rock crystal, with a Scottish pearl on top. A gift from the Pope, possibly given by Innocent Vlll to James IV in 1494, again it was remodelled by James V who even added his initials to the sceptre, the Stewarts were a vain lot.

The Sword of State was presented to James IV in 1507 by Pope Julius II and has a blade a metre long.

Following the Treaty of Union in 1707, the ancient Honours were not seen for a century. Rumours circulated that the English had removed them to London. However Sir Walter Scott asked for permission to seek them out in in 1818. And as he suspected they were found in a chest hidden away.

They have remained on secure display ever since, except for the duration of World War II.

The Honours have since been joined by other royal regalia and jewels of a personal nature – the Wand (found in the Chest in 1818), the Stewart Jewels (presented by William IV in 1830) and the Lorne Jewels (bequeathed by Princess Louise in 1939) – and by the Stone of Destiny (see separate Statement), which was returned from Westminster Abbey in 1996 after it as stolen by Edward I (Longshanks) Scotland ove700 years before.

Below is a lengthy rundown of the Honours as marked down in history, please note though that the earliest dates are only noted in history some of the original Honours were lost by the English.

574: First reference to a royal sceptre, by Cumméne ‘the White’, seventh abbot of Iona, in connection with the inauguration by St Columba of Aédán mac Gabhráin as king of the Scots of Dál Riata.

1097: King Edgar is depicted on his seal wearing a crown, and holding a sceptre and sword.

1157: David I is depicted in a posthumous charter holding an orb in place of a sceptre.

1182: William I ‘the Lion’ is presented with a golden rose by Pope Lucius II.

1296: Edward I of England strips John I (Balliol) of his crown, sceptre and sword and takes them, together with the Stone of Destiny, to England, where they are subsequently lost or destroyed.

1306: Robert I (Bruce) is enthroned at Scone with a new circlet of gold.

1329: Pope John XXII formally recognises the right of kings of Scots to be formally crowned and anointed, hitherto denied them on account of English opposition.

1331: David II, Robert I’s heir, is formally crowned and anointed at Scone.

1484: Coin evidence (a silver groat) indicates that the crown, hitherto a simple open circlet, has by now become an ‘imperial’ crown (ie, closed with arches).

1486: James III is presented with a golden rose by Pope Innocent IV.

1491: James IV is presented with a golden rose by Pope Innocent VIII.

1494: Tradition has it that the Sceptre was presented to James IV by Pope Alexander VI. However, it is possible that the Sceptre was presented with the golden rose in 1491.

1503: James IV is depicted in the Book of Hours , made to commemorate his marriage, wearing an ‘imperial’ crown. Also, first mention of a crown bonnet.

1507: The Sword of State is presented to James IV by Pope Julius II. A consecrated, or blessed, hat is presented at the same time.

1532: The bonnet is renewed and the crown repaired by Thomas Wood, goldsmith.

1536: The Sceptre is lengthened and embellished for James V by Adam Leys, an Edinburgh goldsmith, perhaps in preparation for his first marriage, to Princess Madeleine de Valois. This enhancement is formally acknowledged when the Crest above the Royal Arms is amended, the Sceptre replacing the Saltire in the lion’s left paw.

1539, the crown is refashioned to its present form for James V by John Mosman, Edinburgh goldsmith. James wears it for the first time at the coronation of his second wife, Mary of Guise, in Holyrood Abbey. The purple velvet bonnet, made by Thomas Arthur, has not survived, but its four delicate ornaments have.

1543: Mary Queen of Scots is crowned in Stirling Castle, the first sovereign to be enthroned with all three Honours. 1

560: Queen Mary receives a golden rose from Pope Pius IV. 1567: James VI is crowned with the Honours in the Kirk of the Holy Rude, Stirling.

1571–73: Substitute Honours are used at sittings of Parliament, because Edinburgh Castle is in the hands of the supporters of the exiled Queen Mary.

1615–16: The Crown Room is created, part of the wholesale remodelling of the Palace in preparation for James VI’s ‘hamecoming’ in 1617. The present Crown Chest is very probably also made at this date.

1633: Charles I is crowned in Holyrood Abbey with the Honours

1638–39: The Honours are taken to Dalkeith Castle for safe-keeping during the conflict between Charles I and those supporting the National Covenant.

1650: The Honours are removed from the castle, possibly to Stirling Castle, for safe-keeping, prior to Oliver Cromwell besieging the castle.

1651: Charles II is crowned with the Honours at Scone. Following the ceremony, the Honours, unable to be brought back to Edinburgh Castle, are taken to mighty Dunnottar Castle, Kincardineshire, seat of the Earl Marischal.

1652–60: The Honours are smuggled out of Dunnottar and buried under the floor of nearby Kinneff Kirk. On Charles II’s return to the throne, the Honours are returned to Edinburgh Castle: all except the Sword belt and Crown cushion.

1687: James VII has the crown bonnet changed from purple to red.

1707: Following the adjourning of Parliament after the passing of the Act of nion.

1790: The Sword Belt is discovered hidden in a wall at Barras, near Dunnottar Castle, by Sir David Ogilvy.

1794: Lieutenant-Governor Major Drummond briefly opens the Crown Room in search of old Parliamentary records but, because he lacks the necessary royal warrant, does not break open the Crown Chest.

1818: Walter Scott and others, with a royal warrant from the Prince Regent, officially break into the Crown Room, break open the Crown Chest and there rediscover the Honours, together with a wand, or baton of office. A second royal warrant appoints the Commissioners for the Keeping of the Regalia (Keeper of the Great Seal, Keeper of the Privy Seal, His Majesty’s Advocate, the Lord Clerk Register and the Lord Justice Clerk). Scott’s friend Adam Ferguson is appointed Keeper of the Regalia, with a ‘grace and favour’ flat above the Crown Room.

1819: The public are invited to inspect the Honours in the Crown Room, on payment of an admission fee.

1822: George IV (the former Prince Regent) formally visits Scotland, and the Honours are taken to the Palace of Holyroodhouse for the duration of his stay.

1830: The Stewart Jewels, bequeathed to George III in 1807 by Prince Henry, Cardinal York, the last Stuart claimant to the throne of Great Britain, are entrusted by William IV into the safe-keeping of the Keeper of the Regalia for display in the Crown Room.

1837: The Turkish Ambassador is denied entry to the Crown Room because he does not have an admission ticket!

1842: The Honours are temporarily removed to an adjacent room so that they may be better viewed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

1848: The present panelling is installed in the Crown Room by the Edinburgh firm of Charles Trotter, cabinetmakers and joiners.

1871: The Honours are redisplayed behind a cage of ornamental bars, for their better security.

1892: The Sword Belt is returned to the Crown Room from Barras Castle, Kincardineshire, by Rev. Samuel Ogilvy Baker, a descendant of Sir David Ogilvy.

1905: The old Crown Cushion is presented to the State by Sir Patrick Keith Murray, who states that it had been retained at Dunnottar by his ancestor, Sir William Keith, 9th Earl Marischal, after the Honours had been smuggled out in 1652

1911: The Sword is taken to St Giles’ Cathedral for the official opening of the Thistle Chapel. Gyp, the Crown Room dog, dies and is buried in the Dog Cemetery below St Margaret’s Chapel.

1939: Princess Louise, Queen Victoria’s fourth daughter, bequeaths the Lorne Jewels, presented to her by Clan Campbell on the occasion of her marriage to the Marquis of Lorne in 1871, to the Scottish nation, and they are added to the display in the Crown Room. Shortly thereafter (1 September), the Crown Jewels are taken down to the basement of the Palace to protect them from aerial bombardment by German planes.

1942: The Honours are secretly taken out of the basement and buried in David’s Tower, where they remain for the duration of WWII.

1953: The Honours are presented to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth at the National Service of Thanksgiving in St Giles’ Cathedral that follows the Coronation in Westminster Abbey.

1971: The Sword of State is used for the first time at the ceremonial installation of a Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Scotland’s premier Order of Chivalry, held in the Thistle Chapel, in St Giles’ Cathedral.

1980s: The post of Warden of Regalia is abolished. 1

987: The Sword of State is used alone for the final time, in St Giles’ Cathedral for the tercentenary anniversary celebrations of the Order of the Thistle. Thereafter, in view of its parlous condition, its ceremonial role is restricted to National Services of Thanksgiving

1993: Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth formally opens the Honours of the Kingdom exhibition, including the extensively refurbished Crown Room and redisplayed Honours. The present Crown Cushion is made specially for the occasion. The Crown Chest is relocated from the Crown Room to an adjacent exhibition space and displayed alongside one of the original padlocks, broken in 1818.

1999: The Crown is formally taken to the State Opening of the Scottish Parliament, the first in the modern era.

2022; The Crown of Scotland was placed on Elizabeth II's coffin at a service in St Giles' Cathedral.

2023; The Honours of Scotland were presented to King Charles III in a ceremony held in St Giles' Cathedral. The ceremony was formally described as a National Service of Thanksgiving and Dedication to mark the coronation of King Charles III.

[duchessofostergotlands]

With the Stone of Scone leaving it is a good time to remind everyone that it was stolen from Scotland by King Edward I and kept for centuries until 1950 when a group of four Glasgow University students snuck in to Westminster Abbey and took it back. It’s an amazing story and a miracle they managed to pull it off given how absolutely terrible their plan was (for example, before they even got out of the Abbey they dropped the stone on the ground and it split in two):

[ayeforscotland]

what's your thoughts on them taking the stone of scone to westminster abbey for the coronation of the new parasite-in-chief? (and the BBC calling it the stone of destiny? 💀)

I don’t particularly care about it from a “This is a very important stone” standpoint but I absolutely want to antagonise Westminster over it.

Either that or we say we’ll give them it if they give us a referendum lmao.

[potionwine]

@reflectionsofacreator hello my dear, extremely ashamed to admit I can't do the ao3 fic meme because I never posted my stuff on there because intense self-hatred and constant desire to blitz everything that ever originated from me, but this isn't therapy don't worry I DO HOWEVER remember I owe you a previous ask meme so I shall pay off my arrears now:

Last Song: Born To Die, by Lana Del Rey; In Ashen Grip, by Soken Masayoshi; Fly Away, by POE (WOW I WONDER WHICH CHARACTER IS THE THEME THAT RUNS THROUGH ALL THREE PIECES)

Last Film: I honestly cannot remember... omg... around September last year I played FFXVI... and since completing the game all my free time has been... non-existent... I write slower than a snail... life never stops and there aren't enough hours in a day...

Currently Reading: I remember at the time you tagged me in the meme I was reading Suzanne Collins' The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes because the movie came out not too long ago. I'm now working through Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey and also reading the Skip and Loafer manga. I've a huge amount of reading material backed up and no energy for most of it :(

Currently Watching: nothing; my very limited energy is fully depleted daily just to stay afloat because work ramps up fiercely towards the end of the year >:(

Currently Consuming: homemade honey lemon tea (technically not 'tea' though). Have been experiencing a renewed and extended period of night coughs, because shit health due to permanent complications from covid, so splurged on a jar of manuka honey from Aotearoa New Zealand. Manuka honey is so expensive yet some brands have the temerity to taste horrid despite the cost? Outrage. So I did my research but there was still some risk—fortunately this brand did not disappoint, and combined with a quarter of lemon and boiled water = perfection

Currently Craving: chocolate, always. tea, always. and things that befit a proper afternoon tea, like scones with jam and cream, or a victoria sponge, or a roll cake. hhhhg.

[siriusist]

+ So I've got a lot of opinions about the latest episode of Season Two of The Gilded Age

First off, this is possibly the best written episode of both seasons. Actually one with an actual twist, consequences, and drama.

My biggest criticism of this show is despite the clear money invested in it, the clear quality of actors they have, and the inherently interesting characters, I think we can all agree the writing is subpar for how well funded the show is. And I was always trying to put my finger on to why.

Despite the jokes I've seen of everyone saying it's an inherently boring series where nothing ever happens aside from "MRS. CRUMBIBLE'S SCONE WARS ARE OCCURRING," I think it boils down to one thing inherently, and it's that up to this finale, actions, for the most part, have not had consequences.

And what I mean by this is this: In a well-written show, say, early season Game of Thrones, or the first episode of Downton Abbey (Another Julian Fellowes production), actions have consequences. If a character does something, there are ramifications for them choosing to do this thing, that reverberate throughout the rest of the series.

For example, in the first episode of Game of Thrones (Spoiler Alert)- Jaime Lannister pushes Brann Stark out of the tower when he sees Jaime and Cersei having sex to protect their secret.

In The Gilded Age, what has been happening with the plots, is a problem presents itself, a solution is quickly offered, and then that is a thing that happened and resolved itself.

So if Game of Thrones was to follow Gilded Age writing logic, Brann would be pushed out of the window, but Brann would hit his head on the way down to the ground, have amnesia, and forget that Jaime and Cersei were sleeping together.

Even within Downton Abbey's first episode, Mary finds the visiting nobility dead in her bed, and everything is an offshoot of them hiding the body, trying to protect her reputation, and dealing with the aftereffects of the issue. In a Gilded Age episode, if someone was found dead in bed, someone would blame it on "the drink," frame that person as a secret alcoholic, and that plot line would be tied up and basically forgotten besides one reference the next episode. They basically treated most episodes like one-off plot lines that are forgotten or barely mentioned next episode except in passing.

This is the first episode where we've had fucking CONSEQUENCES for things that happened two or three episodes ago. Oscar has been constantly trying to scheme young women out of their fortunes, only to find he's the one being schemed- and worse, he used his mother's money and the family fortune to do it with.

This is an action that has CONSEQUENCES. It's not Mrs. Turner trying to fiddle with the food at a dinner, only to be swiftly caught and for nothing really to move the plot forward. The Van Rhijn Family now has several issues to deal with because of this:

They need to go find Maude Beaton (Whomever she is), and get the money back.

Now that they have no money, Ms. Brook has to actually marry wealthier (Probably to her great happiness), if they're to actually garner some of their fortune back.

Do the Van Rhijn sisters now have to work? Will they have to let go of staff? How will they pay people?

Can they afford to "keep up appearances?" How long will it be before the other society folk will notice something is amiss?

The same with Mr. Russell being turned on by the other tycoons- that is something that has a direct effect on him, and his business, but also the safety of his family's position. If the tycoon's efforts are now actively working against him, how long can Mr. Russell hold out at being the "nice" tycoon, even if it is for an ultimate economic profit?

And I don't think it's a question about "small rich person things" being inherently boring. In terms of the soup debacle with Mrs. Turner, what if instead of the spiked soup being given to the British nobility and tasting bad, what if it was something that was given to someone else at the table, and that person had a worse reaction? (Somehow died, etc.?). What if it was someone Mrs. Turner relied on, like her husband, and she was suddenly accused of his murder? Suddenly, instead of her enjoying "labour free" money all in her own hands, she's being blamed for something that she ironically was plotting for, but never wanted to occur, because she effectively killed off her meal ticket and everyone would suspect her first?

My point is, there are SO many better ways to advance these characters, and I'm happy we FINALLY got a solid writer on this episode to help move these plots forward, even if it took two fucking seasons for anything to pay off.

(So please renew it with a proper writing team, HBO- because in short- we're finally actually getting somewhere with consequences for people's actions).