#all shall fear the royal wrath of the master crown

[lowrezbonuslevel]

kirbytober day 6

room of eden or whatever. ugh. you leave for a few years, destroy a couple of civilizations, and along the way someone has the bright idea to wreck your backyard. do you KNOW how much effort goes into a landscaping job like that? this is why you mortals can't have nice things. well, also because i like to burn your nice things. but YOU GUYS started it!

Prompt list (Day 6: Garden/Royalty)

[kpopsnowball]

The forum, the royal court accomplished over more than 1000 years back still displayed its glory because the present day royals still respected its essence of impartial, cut throat and pure justice. They truly believed in maintaining the etiquette even though it was the 21st century now. Afterall it’s not the throne running the royal blood instead it’s the royalties running the throne. Deep meaning, serves the purpose.

The Royal Family. The name itself made people bow down to them. The royal blood, the tag not different from any ordinary but it was their ancestors what made the common man respect them. Even their generations did good deeds and strived to make their royal blood live not in the fake glory but in it’s true pride. Being it the 21st century yet the traditions of royals had still been the same. The only change was their modern attire rest everything had been passed onto to the next generations similar to that of their throne. The traditions and rituals of royals have been strict and always kept no room for opposition. The sin for argument was simply being thrown out as rogue. They had their own set of laws and rules. Everyone were abide by the laws.

The Royal court, a special established building formed for maintaining the laws and orders was created 300 years ago. The main purpose of it was to maintain decorum in the working of their bloodline and to look after the word around the world. The main person in power to make decisions being the King or the Queen. Many people believed it be injustice because the court is for justice but the monarch system was followed. But to be honest, the royals never took advantage of their crown and made sure that fair chances and justice shall be given to the victim and the guilty.

“Her Royal Majesty, the queen have marked her gracious presence in the forum. We are obliged to have her royal majesty in the evening summit of the Royal Chambers. The summit shall commence now.” The Royal secretary, the chief of the court of justice announced the mark of the yearly summit and moved back to his place while placing the book record on the table in front of her royal majesty.

The royal court, circular in inner infrastructure with the worshiped throne placed in the back centre of the room along with lines of chairs emerging from its two sides placed in semi circular outline, lining the edges of the circular shaped forum. Each chair belonging to princes, managers and secretaries. The ordinary blood victim and guilty were abandoned from entering the blood tagged forum, another established court was made for them.

“Before we start, I want every further discussed information to remain confidential in the forum and between the Princes. I hope I made myself clear now” the queen, domineering, bold and fearless demanded while examining the records, a small frown taking place over her features. She was the current queen of the bloodline, a queen without a king in her late 50s yet her glory overpowered by her dominance made people quiver in fear. The crown on her head gave birth to many renowned rulers for hundreds of years. Her face wrinkled showing her age yet her sharp features with small almond shaped intimidating eyes made people bow their heads in front of her.

“Your royal majesty, I deeply apologise for the delay but Your Royal highness, Prince Knight have not marked his gracious presence yet” the royal guard informed with a bow and marched back, leaving the forum.

“This is disrespect to the forum. Consequences will be taken against Prince Vincenzo Knight. I will personally look into this matter. The forum shall begin now” the queen ordered with a displeased expression. Her own son abandoning the forum made her blood boil. She thought of taking strict actions against him. Even if it was the 21st century, decorum of the forum and the royalty shall always remain, she thought.

“Your royal majesty, two of our companies in London are facing a major financial crisis right now. Growth rate for past two years have been increasing by 24.7% but for past few months, the loss incurred is been rising from 6% to 21.9%. The senior manager has been requesting your royal majesty to look into this matter because of the sudden loss. No exact reasons are known and the company is suffering from major crises. Other companies are doing comparatively well but the overall margins of loss are increasing every month. Financially, our companies in London, New York and Japan are requesting for our immediate help. Thank you your royal majesty” the executive secretary stated the facts and with a bow returned back to his positioned chair.

“Prince Antonio Rodriguez, what do you think of this situation?” The queen directed her attention to the Prince, the one who was the master of finances making him gain the tag of financial advisor just at the age of 23. His wisdom and knowledge unparalleled, a true prodigy of his field but the royal majesty was displeased when she found him engrossed in his phone, making her finger twitch in anger. Afterall the queen she was, she was not a person to be neglected.

“Prince Antonio!” The queen raised her voice, making your royal highness flinch a bit.

“Mom, you surprised me! Why are you shouting?Relax” he said looking up, his dark brown eyes boring into hers, the past amusement vanishing. He was piqued by her dictatorial behaviour.

“Prince Antonio where is your attention? I have been calling you”

“And I have been telling you that I am not a Prince” he pounced back.

The queen was infuriated now, her patience low as the melting point of ice.

“The Summit is dismissed for now. I want to have a word with the Princes”

The Royal Secretary, managers and the guards immediately left the forum, a cold sweat breaking down their spine, the wrath of queen was not a joke to make. Now, only the three of them were alone in the room, the third person still not making his presence seen even of when he was physically present.

“Prince Christopher, may I have your attention please” the queen mocked him. He looked up to her from his book, his dark brown eyes covered with lenses stared at his mother, void of emotions and arched a perfect eyebrow. A staring competition took place between the mother and the son, sighing he gave up and stood up from his positioned chair towards his mother who was sitting on her throne.

“Yes mom. You have all my attention now. Tell me what’s the matter”

“Chris I bet your book would be more interesting than her talk” Antonio scoffed and walked towards Christopher and stood besides him. Christopher scowled at him and gave a warning look to stop and in response the man threw his hands in air as a defeat but his eyes still challenging.

“Antonio this is not a way to talk. You need to maintain your etiquette” the queen said, curling her fingers in a tight fist, her anger clearly visible in her sharp eyes.

Scoffing, “Etiquette? Why? Why should I maintain that? I don’t want to and it’s my choice” the man was clearly disturbed by his mother. He did not like her being controlling over him. Even though she did not do anything in the past hour yet he always searched for a reason just to oppose her, afterall he knows what happens behind the royal doors.

“Antonio! I won’t hear a no. I did not ask you for your opinion! It’s my order and you have to follow that Do you get that?!” the royal majesty was now beyond angry, she liked submission and despised domination over her, her hand tightly holding the handle of the throne now.

Antonio was about to pounce back but Christopher immediately placed his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. The man gave a warning look to Chris to stop and let him go but Chris shook his head and asked him to calm down. Antonio was actually a chilled out person but sometimes anger would take the best of him whereas Christopher was quite opposite to him, being quite, composed, but not shy, his dating history was longer than Antonio. He was the calmer and composed one in the Princes. The master of general knowledge. A book worm in particular but with a sharp wit.

“This is not the right time Nio. Stop okay? We need to discuss about him first” Chris whispered to the man besides him, calming him down but his features turning tense with the mention of him.

“She would never agree” the man whispered back to his brother, traces of pain visible over his features. They truly knew their mother.

“Let’s jus-”

A loud bang was heard interrupting their conversation. The huge antique carved door which was above 25 feet long was banged open, viewing a man in all black biker outfit clad tightly to his body, showing his muscular lean body paired with black boots, his one hand holding his helmet and the other pulling his hair back.

“Our queen was missing you a lot Vince! Show her your gracious presence your Royal highness” The past pain vanishing, Antonio mocked but in playful way earning himself a scowl from the man.

“What’s up with people scowling today” he whispered to himself.

“Vincenzo this is not how you should dress and behave in the forum. Do I need to make you all learn your manners?” The queen was clearly annoyed with his sons. Their behaviour and manners were questioning her upbringing.

The man did not reply and simply walked towards his positioned chair and unzipped his jacket and threw on the chair, revealing a tight black tee clasped on his body showing off his strong firm abs.

“Vincenzo! Do you hear me? I am talking to you!” The queen shouted in the forum, making her voice echo. The man did not even budge, he was busy removing his watch and wiping off the sweat from his head.

Christopher nudged Antonio and with his head motioned him to move back. Both the brothers moved to a corner, Christopher started reading the record book kept on the nearby table, a true bookworm he was whereas Antonio crossed his arms and was enjoying the show with a smirk. He knew what was coming next.

The queen was very annoyed now, she strode towards Vincenzo and pulled his arm to face him towards her but immediately the man harshly pulled his arm back with a deep scowl on his face, his eyes fuming making the queen turn even more mad.

“Don’t you dare show me your eyes, you better know your place”

“I definitely do. Queen” the man spoke for the first time he entered, venom lacing his last words.

“I am your mom rig-”

“You have lost that title years ago for me” Vincenzo beat it to her, his eyes burning in agony, the one buried for many years. Christopher immediately diverted his attention to the scenario unfolding in front of them. He looked at Antonio and both shared a bit surprised look. It was not new for them to hear this, but after years they have heard that sentence.

“As much as you try, you can’t change the fact that I am your mother Vince” the queen replied, devoid of any emotion. Her mind completely blank.

“Don’t call me that, I hate to hear it from your mouth” Vincenzo took a threatening steps towards his mother but the queen she was, her legs stood still, her eyes fuming now at the insult.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she said,

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I want to see regret in your eyes”

“And what if you don’t my beloved son” she smirked, evilness visible in her eyes.

“I will make you, your royal majesty” he smirked back.

She threw her head back and started laughing viciously, clapping loudly.

“Tsk tsk tsk, How would you do that son? Making air castles hun? You know that I am your queen right? The ultimate power. You won’t be able to go above me dear” a complete evil rant, it was not new for them to hear because they truly knew her colours, she was about to continue her evil motives but immediately the man’s next words froze everybody in the forum. The two brothers at the corner completely surprised and the fearless, dominating royal majesty going completely blank, a shiver running down her spine. And that was the last thing she wanted.

“What if I free him queen?”

© 𝐊𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 | 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

★𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @urowngoddess @purplepsycho03 @koishua @rr0zu @soleilsuhh @bluejaem @kunrengui @najatheangel @emuava @moon-jun @crescentjen @dundun-baby @sunryu @melonmochimoon @reiichann 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝.

★ 𝐀/𝐍: It was very amazing to write the first chapter. I actually searched a lot about the royal court and royal dress of the queen. The information I found was soo beautiful and I would definitely include it in my upcoming chapters. I wanted this chapter to be a bit of introductory to my characters and soon more things will also be revealed.

★ Please consider to leave a feedback or a reblog because it really helps me to learn and grow as a writer. Thank you soo much. Sending you lots of love and happiness❤️

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐬

[hitbythunder]

Among the Gods of Asgard -7

A dark!Thor x Reader, minor Loki x Reader story with all the drama and angst you’re craving. Including Alexander Skarsgard as Balder. –> Read also on AO3

WARNING: dark story, manipulative Thor, heavy rape/non-con elements, no happy ending in sight

____________________________xXx____________________________

Bright rays of midday-sun illuminated the vast hallway as the youngest prince strode towards his chambers. Suddenly loud horns were audible outside, a fanfare announcing important news. Halting in his tracks, the raven-haired god listened to the familiar noise coming from the main gate of the palace, the prospect of today's chess session with the mortal maid receding into the distance. Thor and Balder have returned...

On proud steeds, the royal brothers and their comrades rode towards the large stone steps leading to the main entrance of the palace. A top of the smooth stairs, several guards and servants had already gathered to tend to both masters and horses. The crown-prince didn't hurry to descend however, stalling time to let his gaze scan through the crowd of mortals surrounding him, Balder and Sif. But before he could make out this one particular maid, the flock of servants split to make way for the queen to welcome her sons, Idunn at her heels. In a tender embrace, Frigga greeted Thor and then Balder, barely able to enclasp her beloved boys like she used to when they were children - especially her eldest had grown into a mountain of a man. And while the queen praised the Norns for safely returning her sons, Thor couldn't help but look out for the girl once more, more eagerly this time but still very subtly. A sinister spark flashed in his ocean-blue orbs as the abigail and a group of maids stepped forward, her being among them but refusing to look at him.

There you are, little one...

"Welcome back, your highnesses!" Gerlinda bowed lowly in respect, then commanded the slaves at her back in a shrill voice to get moving. Instantly they surrounded the gods and the goddess and helped them out of their thick fur capes which had served them well on the winter-struck Vanaheim. In dismay, Thor watched how warmly _________ smiled at Balder when he handed her his leather gloves, putting them gently into her small hands. Her smile was honest and warm, as if she was really happy to see the god again, like he was the sun returning after a few days of rain. Balder's expression was a mixture of joy and puzzlement as he looked down upon the small mortal. The sight wasn't as pleasing as when she had shuddered in fear like the other night in the baths, but Thor felt a pang of jealousy nevertheless - not that he would recognize, let alone name the feeling as that. That would require some self-reflection. It only made him more determined to pursue this newly awoken cravings for the little mortal.

"....Your journey was a success, your highness?" Thor's mind had drifted off already when Idunn addressed him and thus he quickly forced himself to focus on what lay in front of him - the goddess wore a lovely dress as usual - and she didn't mind the crown-prince's gaze to bounce nonchalantly down onto her bosom before looking her at the face properly. Neither did Thor, actually, but then he proceeded according to etiquette, elevating Idunn's hand to plant a faint kiss on the knuckles like a gentleman would. His full lips felt soft and tender against her skin, contrasting to how he usually handled her elsewhere. "Indeed it was, Lady Idunn, for all parties involved!" he replied with a cunning smile a woman could easily faint at. Oh he could be such a charmer. Frigga had taught her sons how to treat a lady and sometimes - mostly to conquer those ladies - Thor would recall her lessons and played his part well. A good son ought to make his mother proud.

All the while, a pair of hazelnut eyes rested on him, watching his every twitch from behind and searching for signs of concern, let alone betrayal. Sif could be terribly jealous and didn't cope well with competition - especially female one. Thus the Prince did well to keep each of his liaisons unaware of the other, starting by acting rather detachedly around them when both were in his presence. Thor wasn't stupid - maybe not a mastermind like Loki - but he knew how to manage two women at a time. So far, neither of them had noticed the other, and the blonde took great care to keep it that way. To avoid the wrath of a woman had been one of the All-Father's advices - from well learned experience, so the brothers assumed. "We are all glad to have you back, my dear!" The soft hands of the queen slung around the crown-prince's massive arm, diverting his gaze from Idunn to the right. Frigga loved her sons above all, her radiant smile infectious to the beholder.

"Me too because Vanaheim lacks the beauty of our city of Asgard!" Thor replied joyfully as the group of gods began to walk inside, him leading the queen, the slaves following soundlessly behind. And while the blonde was engaged into chatting with his mother, being rather restricted to it, he felt the eyes of a maid resting on him and almost boring into his flesh from behind. Obviously ________ knew that he was unable to interact with her directly now and chose to torture him, daring him to turn around and return the staring. And oh, the urge to do so was really itching. Just you wait, little minx!

xxx

In the evening, the great hall was filled with joyous gods and Asgardian nobility to feast in honor of Thor and Balder. The numerous guests were drinking and chatting vividly while an army of servants scurried between the benches and tables to satisfy each one of them, keeping their goblets as well as their plates filled. At occasions like this also a part of the personal slaves was on duty too, keeping their deity replenished. On the high table at the back of the hall sat the royal family, Odin at the center, and even he seemed to be in good spirits tonight, a content smile peeking behind the snow-white beard and even reaching his grey eye. When he rose the crowd grew quiet instantly so that they wouldn't miss a single word of the All-Father as he praised his two eldest sons for securing the important trade treaty with Vanaheim. The combination of Balder's diplomatic charm and Thor being himself - threatening the Lord of Vanaheim to crush his skull if he declined - had produced the desired outcome and another decade of fruitful business between the realms was guaranteed.

"...another deed which proves that my dear son is on his best way to becoming a ruler!" Odin said towards the end of his speech, the lines painting a triumphant smirk onto the crown-prince's face. "Thus drink and eat to your heart's content, for tonight we shall celebrate!" Following their ruler, the guests raised their goblets filled with delicate Asgardian wine.

"Hail Prince Balder and Prince Thor, the future king of Asgard!" Njord, the god of the sea, called out from the right side of the hall, the crowd tuning in to his booming voice.

"Hail Prince Balder, hail Prince Thor!!"

Again and again they yelled, Thor reveling in the shouts becoming louder each time - his ego was sky rocketing by now, judging from the self-satisfied smirk on his bearded face. Like the one he wore when he had forced her to 'wash' him, ______ recalled as she watched the scene from behind the high table. Balder had of course taken her and two other maids with him tonight, an honor for any mortal. Yet it felt like walking on thin ice nevertheless. While everyone present was focused on Thor, who sat at the king's right side, the perceptive maid didn't fail to notice the tensed look on Loki's face on the other end of the table. Although he was smiling as he held up his goblet, his emerald eyes glinted dangerously and remained untouched by the joy his lower face might suggest.

The evening passed smoothly and without incidents since each slave feared the consequences of unintentional misbehaving or clumsiness.

The maid flying across the room, remember? _________ imagined herself sharing this fate each time she refilled Balder's goblet, approaching the god from the right side in order to remain some distance to the crown-prince - it wasn't much actually, because the royals sat the following: Loki, Frigga, Odin, Thor and Balder. Still, the mortal did everything in her power to avoid the Thunderer, be it any interaction or mere staring, and Thor loathed it already. What a tease...

Tables were turned literally, however, when Odin and Frigga retired for the night and soon later, the royal brothers were in the company of Sif, Idunn and the Warriors Three, fine warriors from an insignificant lineage of gods. During the rearrangement, Thor had somehow managed to win a seat beside Loki and (more importantly) opposite to Balder, which allowed a full view of the mortal maid in the background. Smirking into his goblet, Thor watched _________'s every move, pretending to look at his brother while chatting when in fact his gaze was hungrily roaming over the little maid. The slender hands struggling to hold the heavy jug of mead. The first sign of a decollete showing as she bent forward to pour the liquid... Thor was beyond horny, his crotch calling for attention, when his little brother interrupted his fantasizing. "Pondering over a lost cause, dear brother?" Loki put in as he noted the other god's tensed expression, leaning over slightly as Thor replied only with a puzzled look. "Or why the strain on your face? You of all people ought to enjoy yourself tonight!" The Thunderer didn't notice the bitterness dripping off the Trickster's tongue at the last sentence, smiling warmly at his beloved little brother in return. "A lost cause?... Not really!"

Not lost at all...it has barely begun!

"... But you're right, forgive me my brooding! Let's have another round!!" the crown-prince yelled joyfully, his friends tuning in so that Loki had no chance to dig deeper into the matter, his curiosity being smothered at the very beginning. A stark contrast to Thor's lecherousness, which refused to be quenched by another few gulps of mead, no, it would need something far more pleasant than that. Spurned by his need, Thor excused himself five minutes later, after shooting a hinting, almost demanding glance towards Sif. Then he left the hall. The dark-haired goddess slipped away inconspicuously slightly afterwards to follow her prince, complying his unspoken request.

Clandestinely, the goddess vanished in a dim-lit empty corridor a little away from the feast where the predator already waited for her, grabbing her impatiently and rudely once she was within his reach. Sif barely had the chance to apply some lube, preparing her entrance for what stretch it would suffer shortly, before the Thunderer took the lube from her, turned her around and impaled her on his swollen, throbbing cock. Hidden in the shadows of a row of columns, Thor rammed himself deeply into Sif, jamming his hips against her butt as if he had been abstinent for a month, the surroundings blurring as their bodies heated up with the flames of desire - desire for the small body of a mortal. Oh, all this wild lust raging inside him because of that one maid - it was unbearable. And the god knew he wouldn't reach the apex he yearned for with Sif around his member. But Alas, he was impatient and she more available...

xxx

In the meantime, Balder and Loki had a heated discussion about the negotiations for the peace treaty, which in Loki's view hadn't been closed off as quickly as he could have done it. "Truth be told, little brother, you are the better diplomat but tell me..." The mead began to affect the blonde god as he lazily leaned onto the raven-haired one, smiling softly. "...how would you have kept Thor from smashing things - or rather some Vanir - while pushing the treaty through?"

Loki's face lit up with a smirk in reply, his emerald green eyes sparkling as he imagined his elder brother struggling to manage Thor's temper. The two blondes had always been a rather vivid duo, spurning each other instead of calming. (Well that was true for all three of them).

"Ah yes, our dear brother can be a wild card but there is a fairly simple trick to channel his temper!"

Now the Trickster had the attention of all the gods present at the table, each turning and listening carefully as not to overhear the soft silken voice of the prince. Loki enjoyed every second of it and __________ couldn't help but grin as she watched the scene, her gaze lingering on Loki a tad longer than what was considered appropriate. The black leather armor he wore was highlighted by a golden chest-plate and vambraces, green silk flashing on the inside of the high collar and providing a neat contrast to the waves of raven-black hair. He looks so radiant tonight.... the maid though to herself as she lost herself somewhere between those emerald eyes, when suddenly the gods started laughing at the pointe of Loki's joke  - which she had totally missed as mesmerized as she was by his appearance.

"...Maid!" Balder's voice over-tuned the fading laughter of the others and it was then that the girl focused again, quickly stepping closer to her master.

"Yes, your highness?"

"Fetch us some more mead, so that my brother's tongue may remain moist enough to tell more of his splendid jokes!" Balder commanded in a joyful tone, patting Loki on the shoulder who then quickly shot a glance towards the mortal, their eyes meeting briefly yet long enough for the Trickster to wink at her.

"As you wish, your highness!" _________ replied and went off in a rush to hide the deep red on her cheeks.

The maid was brought down from the clouds again when she realized that all the wine jugs stored near the high table were empty. Additionally none of the general staff slaves was around to help her out which meant that she had to walk to the kitchens herself and refill the jug. Believing that Thor was still at the toilets, she decided to take a detour as not to run into him - in the light of that the longer route didn't matter much.

Thus the mortal left the hall with a metal jug in hand and, as fait would have it, she chose a certain dim-lit hallway where two gods were currently 'indisposed.'

Unfortunately, the panting and grunting reached he girl's ears when she stood right in front of the indecent scene, her whole being transfixed by it: Thor fucking Sif from behind, his bare massive arms flexed as he held onto her hips to maneuver the goddess along his shaft. Both still had their light sleeveless leather armors on, their pants slightly lowered just to allow the penetration. Rocking back and forth, Thor pressed the moaning woman against the stone wall, a grunt escaping him at the better angle.

The sight was overly arousing and the little mortal just couldn't tear her eyes away, neither would her body obey the distant call of her mind to run.

The blonde god was wrapped up in the approaching bliss when he noted the silent observer, sensing her familiar presence, and lifted his gaze to meet hers. Heavy laden with lust, those dark blue eyes stared at the mortal, his cock hardening more now that he knew she was watching, and then the god raised his arm to point directly at her. The message was unmistakable: I will ravish you, all of you and nothing will stop me!

An ice-cold shudder rushed along _________'s spine at this unspoken threat, electrifying each bone and nerve, causing her hold on the jug to loosen. And loosen....

Suddenly the sound of metal clashing onto the stone floor cut through the air. Instantly, as if the blurring curtain surrounding them had vanished, Sif halted dead in her tracks and soon found the source of the disturbance. A sinister smirk spread on the crown prince's face as he realized the opportunity unfolding in front of him.

[olivia-longueville]

Coronation of Anne Boleyn

Anne Boleyn emerged from the Tower of London at 5pm on Saturday the 31st of May 1535.  She had spent the previous days in the queen’s chambers in the Tower.  According to contemporary sources, the last day of spring was bright and warm, and the sky was an unbroken azure, spreading out above Anne in a serene canopy.  It must have seemed to her that nature itself foreshadowed her success as the soon to be Queen of England and Henry VIII’s wife.

Anne was dressed in the French fashion.  The coronation procession from the Tower was en-route for Westminster.  It was headed by twelve servants of the new French ambassador to England – Jean de Dinteville, who was King François I’s maître d’hôtel.  This illustrates Anne’s pro-French preferences, which her numerous foes considered unpatriotic, calling her a Frenchwoman.  This, nevertheless, was true in many aspects because Anne loved France, French culture and fashions.

Then appeared the gentlemen of the royal household, who were by tradition the eyes and ears of the reigning monarch whom they served.  Next came the nine judges clad in their scarlet gowns and hoods, followed by the Knights of the Bath.  Then moved the state council, the ecclesiastical magnates, and the peers of the realm.  At last, behind them emerged the queen’s fabulous litter.

Eric Ives describes Anne’s appearance and her attire:

“She {Anne} was dressed in filmy white, with a coronet of gold.  The litter was of white satin, with ‘white cloth of gold’ inside and out, and its two palfreys were clothed to the ground in white damask. In ravishing contrast was the queen’s dark hair, flowing loose, down to her waist.  Over her was a canopy of cloth of gold held up by the barons of the Cinque Ports.  Then came her own palfrey, also trapped in white.  Twelve ladies in crimson velvet rode behind.”

Several more riders and carriages, as well as thirty gentlewomen on horseback, each of them richly attired, were followed by the king’s guard in two files, one on both sides of the street.  All of the servants in the livery of their masters or mistresses were at the end of the long procession.  Most definitely, many of them did not support Anne and viewed her as the usurper of Catherine’s place in the king’s affections, but they participated in the coronation out of duty and fear, for they would find themselves on the receiving end of the king’s wrath.  And Anne was truly magnificent!

Observers reported that some notable people were missing in the cortege.  Neither the king’s sister, Princess Mary Tudor, nor her daughter, Frances, was present, nor Lady Elizabeth Stafford, Duchess of Norfolk.  Anne’s step-grandmother – Agnes Howard née Tilney, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk – rode in one of the carriages, along with either Anne’s mother, Lady Elizabeth Boleyn, Countess of Wiltshire, or Margaret Wotton, Dowager Marchioness of Dorset.  However, the absences of the king’s sister and her daughter, Frances, can be easily discounted: Princess Mary Tudor had suffered from consummation for months and was very ill at the time of the coronation, while her daughter was barely out of childhood.  The Duchess of Norfolk could have chosen to stay away from her ruthless husband, from whom she had separated in 1534 after their notorious quarrel.  Thomas More, another doubter, was also missing, as he deliberately refused to attend.

For the inhabitants of London, this was their first glimpse of the scandalous, extraordinary woman who had changed the life of the country.  For Anne, the coronation procession was her first chance to see the reaction of the English people to her new station.  Hostile accounts disparaged everything: according to a report that reached the Imperial court in Brussels, the crowds did not cheer and take their hats and toques off when Anne passed.  Some say that later, Anne complained to Henry about the cold reception with gloomy throngs on the streets.  At the same time, Eric Ives thinks that spectators were ‘more curious than either welcoming or hostile’, so perhaps the most negative things from the coronation reports should be given little credit to.

Disappointed by their reaction, Anne must have felt a blend of dejection, anxiety, pride, and triumph.  Regardless of their opinion of her, her beloved Hal chose her to be his queen, and soon she would give the country a long-awaited male heir.  Anne was heavily pregnant at the time of the coronation, and I can imagine her placing a hand on her swollen stomach, hidden by her gown, as she thought of a Tudor prince she presumably carried.  Defiance was one of her most controversial qualities, and she had committed her first act of defiance of social norms years ago, when she had accepted the monarch’s marriage proposal while Henry was still married to Catherine of Aragon.  As she contemplated the sullen people who did not want her to be their queen, she probably decided that if defiance was her destiny, she would be defiant again against all the rules if necessary.

What shall this day bring to me, June?

A brilliance with every summer hue:

The cloud-white dream of happiness,

Shot with the primrose sunshine through…

Or shall my coronation bring me pain,

People do not want me, their stillness say it,

The day will see me crowned despite them,

Yet, making ancient rhyme of lovers sore,

As if my joy is dead, my sadness lingers yet.

Oh, Henry!  They love you, their dear prince,

Will you work to make them favor me too?

Some say your love is like a flight of doves –

With wanton wings, with promises and ways,

But flashing white against the sky only to die.

You may love, and sigh, and soon forget?!

I do not believe!  You are my Hal forever!

A thousand roses will blossom red for us,

And a thousand hearts will be gay, I pray,

For the summer of love lingers just ahead,

And our boy is on his way to a Golden age,

Fate will have him born in autumn for us.

The moon and the stars will weave new spells

Of love – for my Hal, for me, and for our boy,

The music of marriage bells will sound to us.

Oh, sadness – stay behind and die in May!

I’ve started writing a lot of poetry as of late, and I cannot explain why I need it. Now I can write both prose and poetry, and it is not difficult for me at all.  In this poem, which I composed to describe Anne’s feelings during her coronation procession, I strove to stress her strong faith in Henry’s love and in her happiness with him, and to remind of their expectation that the child in her belly was a boy.  The reference to England’s Golden Age foreshadows Elizabeth I’s glorious reign, but at that time, Anne and Henry could not know about it.  I hope you like this poem.

Soon the coronation party made its grand entrée into the City of London.  During the reign of Henry VIII, this historical place was mostly confined to that small area with a population of about 100,000 people.  The City was the center of business and finance, where trade guilds and livery companies elected the Lord Mayor every year.  Since the days of William the Conqueror, the City has retained its independence from royal interference.  Thus, Anne’s coronation procession was a significant event aimed at showing the king’s second spouse to the population of London.

There were 6 traditional points for pageants through the city and additional 3 locations, each of them opulently decorated for Anne as a sign of King Henry’s undying devotion to her.  On the 1st June of 1533 after what must have seemed an eternity of waiting, the coronation procession entered Westminster.  The witnesses began assembling in Westminster Hall from 7am, but it was just minutes before 9pm that Henry’s wife appeared there.

Anne must have breathed out a sigh of relief as they approached Westminster Abbey, where she would finally be crowned; she was in a family way, so she must have been tired, in spite of her exhilaration.  Climbing down from her litter, she and her ladies set out along a route carpeted with cloth of blue ray all along the several hundred yards between the dais of the hall and the high altar of the abbey.  Anne was watched by all the peers of the realm and foreign ambassadors, aldermen and judges in scarlet, the monks of Westminster and the staff of the Chapel Royal, all in their sumptuous copes, as well as four bishops, two archbishops and twelve mitred abbots in full pontificals.  The abbot of Westminster had his complete regalia.

Ives describes Anne’s appearance in Westminster in these moments:

“Anne was resplendent in coronation robes of purple velvet, furred with ermine, with the gold coronet on her head which she had worn the day before, though it is not clear that she followed tradition by walking barefoot.  Over her was carried the gold canopy of the Cinque Ports, and she was preceded by the sceptre of gold and the rod of ivory topped with the dove, and by the lord great chamberlain, the earl of Oxford, bearing the crown of St Edward…”

On the way to the high alter, Anne was supported, according to custom, by the bishops of London and Winchester.  The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk carried her long train, and a myriad of her ladies and gentlewomen, each of them accoutered in scarlet with appropriate distinctions of rank.  Perhaps having an enigmatic expression on her face, Anne seated herself into St Edward’s Chair, draped in cloth of gold.  The grand chair was situated on a tapestry-draped dais two steps high, which was itself set on a raised platform carpeted in red.  For a few moments, Anne sat there before she stood up, and the official ceremony of her coronation started.

A solemn mass was performed by the bishop of Westminster.  Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, who supported and adored Anne, prayed over her as the royal wife prostrated herself before the altar, despite her pregnancy.  She was anointed by Cranmer before she walked back to St Edward’s Chair, where the archbishop crowned her and handed to her the sceptre and the rod of ivory.  It is remarkable that Anne was the first female monarch who was crowned with the crown of St Edward, which was previously used to crown only a reigning ruler.  This was King Henry’s obvious attempt to make others see the significance of his marriage to Anne.

A bit later, the heavy crown of St Edward was replaced with a lighter one, of course for the queen’s convenience.  The service continued: Anne took the sacrament and made the offering at the shrine of the saint.  As his beloved cemented her place in history as the new Queen of England, King Henry watched the ceremony from the special stand from behind a latticework, which had been erected in the abbey so that the sovereign could see everything incognito.

This mystique of monarchy belonged to Queen Anne Boleyn.  At that time, she could not predict that in about three years, she would die on her husband’s orders for crimes she did not commit.  Her emotions must have alternated between celestial delight, unutterable joy, and a feeling of unprecedented triumph.  It seemed to Anne that a golden future stretched before her, a future composed of nothing but hope, new victories, and contentment.

The sun has shone upon all of me and fed

My heart and soul’s rhythms with light,

Raised me from dust to a rose, big and red,

Now I’m Henry’s queen, my life is bright!

A white star-flower of joy I will encounter

As sweet darkness envelops the earth

This night – no, not my wedding night,

But the first night of me being a queen.    

In the dark, my Hal is still my sun of life,

He will guard my body and sleep tonight,

Holding all the starts in the sky true to us,

Reassuring me that we will defeat any foe.

In the morning, as I will open my eyes again,

From heaven, Hal’s sun will stoop to breathe

A flower of our love into the air in our room.

Surely, my life is now not beneath my Hal’s,

For I became his true queen in Westminster,

Beloved forever and feeling his kindness,

His care for our son growing inside me.

All make me believe it will last forever.  

So, from the ashes of my odd sadness,

That lingers in my bosom like a dirge,

Will beauty and hopes grow in my life.

I’ve also written the poem describing Anne’s feelings after her coronation.  I may be wrong, but I do not think she had any fears about her future at that time.  I believe that Anne loved Henry, perhaps not from the very beginning of their romance, but she fell in love with him somewhere along the way.  The long way to their wedding and Anne’s coronation.  Nonetheless, the mentioned “odd sadness” foreshadows that Anne’s happiness with Henry would not last long.  The “odd sadness” lingers “like a dirge”, which foreshadows her tragic death after an awful lot of unhappiness Anne would experience in her marriage to the king after his passion for her cooled off.

And so far, the nobility of England saw Anne being crowned and accepted or were forced to accept her as queen in the sight of God.  Whatever Anne’s fate would be, the mystique of a queen was unbreakable even after her death.

William Shakespeare would declare a generation later:

“Not all the water in the rough rude sea

Can wash the balm from an anointed king.”

_________________________________________________

“Two poems were written by Olivia Longueville

All images are in the public domain. Text © 2019 Olivia Longueville

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 24: The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Chapters: 24/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Thor(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Time For Exciting Legal Bullshit, Loki Sincerely Apologizes For The First Time, Don’t Get Used To It Summary: Reader finally becomes Official, Loki starts to really get his shit together, Thor enables them both.

Andsvarr sat on the end of his cot, face in his hands to hide his embarrassment and his rage. Moments before, his father had stormed out in a fury, after bursting in and, in front of everybody, causing a huge row. Someone had informed him that Andsvarr had been removed from the honor of a room in the royal chambers, and relegated back into the barracks with the commoners. Someone had told him that you were now in that room, and Alarr, ever ready to find insult to him and his, had drawn some unflattering conclusions. Andsvarr had naturally tried to defend you honor, after all, he knew you; his father did not. All it had led to was a wrathful argument, and a disturbance of the relative peace of the barracks.

He would hear about all the lost sleep later, no doubt.

                                                                    *****

You were dressed and eating breakfast when Loki knocked on your door, and you bid him enter without any hesitation. He sat quietly at the foot of your bed, waiting to be acknowledged, which was very different for him, and you deliberately took a few more bites before saying anything. You weren't actually all that angry with him anymore, and after this week or so to yourself, just thinking and doing new things, you weren't all that frightened anymore either. Brunnhilde had told you that regular exercise could help with depression and anxiety, and she may well have been right. You felt strong now.

Loki was dressed rather fancy today, in a golden chest plate that was probably actually nornbein. It was covered in intricate scrollwork, matched to his bracers and greaves. He even wore his horns, though these were more of a crown than a helmet.

“You clean up nice.” You teased. “What's the occasion?”

“You are, my dear. I am taking you to see the History Hall, and it is being made into an Official Visit.”

So that was why your dress was more lavish than usual today. This one even had some beads sewn onto it, and the strings between the oval strap-brooches were no longer braided yarn, but strings of glass beads. Your sash was, again, no longer braid, but a length of embroidered cloth, with a buckle in the shape of a tail-biting snake.

“How Official, are we talking?”

“Oh, it's basically an inspection. That way, we will have the entire place to ourselves, and it will be sure to be in top shape. Afterwards, the king requests both our presences in the main throne room. This will also be very Official, if somewhat informal. It is to discuss your future: what you want, what we can offer, what it all means for you. So that you no longer have to be unsure of where you are going, or what to do with yourself. Does this sound acceptable?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I think that'll be really helpful. I like the room, by the way. It actually looks like someone lives here.”

“That is exactly what I was aiming for.” Loki said proudly. “If you would like, we can go into town, and I can take you to the shops, to get yourself some things. Toiletries, books, whatever you want.”

“I noticed that my mythology book has gone missing.”

“I removed it. It was full of misinformation, and it distressed you. I hope you don't find this too disagreeable?” He seemed to be actually apprehensive about your reaction; though his expression hadn't changed, there was a tenseness around his eyes.

“I'm not angry about that, if you're worried. I'm more...embarrassed by it all.” Finished with your meal, you stood nervously, and he echoed your actions. “I should have asked. I should have tried to find out if any of that was true or not, and instead I acted like...like that. I'm sorry, Loki. I'll always ask, from now on.”

You glanced up at him, entreating forgiveness, to find that he was not looking directly at you, but a little to the side. He held his arms slightly open, just far enough that you could fit between them. So that was his answer.

You stepped in and hugged him.

“There are many things I should have asked as well.” He admitted. “I was so sure I had everything under control. But you are a human, accustomed to a different life, and a different culture, with life experiences that I have no parallel for. I should have asked for your opinions, your thoughts. I didn't treat you like a person, and for that I...I also apologize. Going forward, let us not fear to speak to one another. Let us help each other to...Help each other.”

You looked up at him. He glanced down at you.

“It sounded better in my head.” He muttered.

“Loki Silvertongue, master of eloquence.”

“Now see here-” He mock-scolded, interrupted by knocking at the door. The two of you separated immediately, and Loki sighed heavily. “Yes, enter.”

Andsvarr peeked in. “Your Highness? A missive from the king.” He handed Loki a folded piece of paper, smiled and waved at you, and then took his leave.

Loki scanned the paper. “Hm. It looks as if we must rearrange our activities for the day. My brother wishes to see us first thing. The museum must wait for later in the day. Shall we?”

He offered his arm, and you took it.

                                                                         ******

The main throne room would soon deserve a better name, if the half-finished grandeur around you was any indication. There would be murals on the walls and high ceiling, several of them already sketched out and the painting begun. There would be tapestries or weavings, though right now, there was only one. It looked like there would also be ornate light fixtures, and perhaps some kind of mosaic on the floor. It was going to be very impressive, but for now, it simply felt like a construction zone.

One that, you noticed with gratitude, had been swept scrupulously clean.

Thor looked much more serious than you were used to, clothed in his own finery; silver and red. He too, wore a crown-like version of his helmet, shining wings framing his lengthening hair. To your surprise and confusion, he wore a golden eyepatch; something you had never seen him in.

“What happened?” You whispered.

“Oh, it's just eyeball maintenance day. The old thing needs regular cleaning and tune-ups.”

“I am suddenly thirteen times more nervous than I was before, thank you.”

“He has a mechanical prosthetic eye. Ha, did you think it was heterochromia?”

“After this, I'm going to go find a dictionary, look up that word, and then hit you with it.”

“The word, or the dictionary?”

“Step forward.” Thor commanded sternly. Your spine straightened. Oops. Probably should not be gossiping about the king, in front of the king.

The two of you crossed the rest of the gap between you and Thor, following the narrow strip of carpet all the way up to the stepped dais that held the throne. It was just a large and sturdy chair, nothing all that fancy. It didn't look very comfortable, but it did have a compartment on one side that held Stormbreaker. You wondered how often the King of Asgard needed a weapon in his own throne room.

“Loki Odinson, Aesir, Crown Prince of Asgard, Former King of Asgard. Heir of Ice. Spear of Ragnarok, Defender of Asgard. God of Mischief. Slayer of Laufey, Who Avenged the Queen, Foremost Seidmader, Secret Defender-”

It went on and on, a litany of Loki's names and accomplishments, spoken in a sort of sonorous almost-chant that reverberated off the walls.

“-Who is this that you bring before me? Present your petitioner to me.”

“I am pleased to present to you _____ ______, Native of Midgard, Bearer of the Sapphire Rune, Ax-Thief, Blade-Thief, Novice Sorceress, Survivor. Provider of Bread. Baker of Cinnamon Rolls.”

Wow, he had really liked them, hadn't he?

“I petition that she be appointed Seidkona to myself, that she may add her service to me, and that we may stand stronger together.”

“And why should I grant this appointment? State your reasons.”

Thor still sounded stern, but you could see the twitch of a smile on his lips, from the cinnamon roll comment.

This must all be some kind of special rite. Not only had Loki not lost an ounce of his noble posture under Thor's seeming 'doubt', but he seemed to expect it. Neither of the two had acted so formal before, but this ceremonial act must simply be the way these things were done, for the two of them to be so perfectly well-versed in the proceedings.

You, however, didn't quite know what to  expect. Thor wouldn't really refuse this, would he? Depending on Loki's answer? This was all already planned. But maybe this was all necessary to make it really official. Like a baptism for someone who has already converted, or a second interview.

“First, and also foremost: I have, one way or another, the right by birth, to gather a proper retinue of advisors and attendants. The Seidknona is among the most important of the advisory positions, and I feel that _____'s fresh and outside perspective would be most valuable in navigating life on this planet.

As a human who is learning Asgardian magic, she will be an important bridge between our peoples, and as an individual with a unique, personal connection to myself, it would be well for me to keep her close, and heed her.

And thirdly, I have an obligation to her, and her care. I have pledged to provide for her, and that includes more than just food, clothes, and shelter. It includes pastimes and opportunity, education and career. All of this can be wrapped up in this single appointment, one I am owed by blood, and one she is owed by word.”

“All noted. And you, _____ ______, what do you say on your own behalf?”

Your turn? What could you say that Loki hadn't? What made you worthy?

“Um, well. I stole your ax right out of your hand, and I'm only going to get better. Also, I'll make you more cinnamon rolls.”

Loki actually broke posture to glance sharply down at you. “You too.” You reassured him.

Thor broke the same, by laughing. “A bargain! I agree! Now, I'll just need you both to sign this and it'll be official...” From behind the compartment that held Stormbreaker, he retrieved a large book, and a wooden box. The book was full of runic writing, which you could not read yet, but when Loki signed, you could almost make out his name.

“Do I...Should I...”

“English is fine.” Thor said.

“But what does it say?” You wouldn't sign until you knew nothing objectionable was hidden in the runes. You were pretty sure Thor wouldn't lie about that. “Sorry if that's rude.”

Loki was smiling. “Suspicion is freedom, my dear. Always trust that first, for as long as it takes to find the answers. But do try to find the answers. Suspicion alone will not inform you.”

“You just don't want to get punched in the face again.”

He shrugged. “That part wasn't so bad.”

Thor cleared his throat. “This is merely fancy writing that boils down to your official appointment to Seidkona-in-training, giving you permission to exercise the powers and privileges of that title, and securing your agreement to fulfill the duties of the office. I'll have a translated copy delivered to you, if you would like.”

“Before or after I've signed? I mean, if I sign, and then I find something disagreeable in the copy, then-”

“Then you may use the power of your office to dispute it.” Thor said.

You looked between the two of them. “I can do that?” It hadn't occurred to you that you could fight back against the king.

“Of course. This isn't actually an absolute monarchy, no matter how much it functions like one. We do have a constitution, and it allows for a wide range of legal protections, up to and including the right to take legal action against my person.”

“Oh. Well. All right.” There was a lot you had to learn, and all of it as soon as possible. You signed, just hoping that you really knew what you were doing.

“There are also a few other documents for you to sign, if you wish.” Thor flipped the page. “This one grants you Asgardian citizenship. I can't do anything about Icelandic citizenship; that'll have to be a separate thing, if you want it. But this guarantees that the rights and privileges of an Asgardian citizen belong to you, that you are subject to our laws, our justice, and out protection. With this, you can't legally be removed from New Asgard without your or my permission.”

That sounded just fine. You signed the page without hesitation.

“And this one transfers legal responsibility for you from Loki, to myself.”

You glanced back and forth between them. “I don't understand.”

“It is a failsafe to secure your quality of life.” Loki explained. “Since you will be appointed to me, and spending a great deal of time with me, we might...get on each others nerves, you might say? This agreement forbids me personally from issuing you any form of punishment that might effect your life. I will not be able to banish you, have you detained or imprisoned, have you removed from your lodgings, nor contained within them. I will not be allowed to issue physical punishment, nor deprive you of any necessities of life or happiness, nor rescind any gifts or privileges previously offered. It even specifically states that I may not use magic for any of these purposes either. The responsibility for all of that falls upon Thor, and I must expressly seek his permission for any of it. Which I am unlikely to do over some petty squabble.”

“You agreed to that?” You asked, shocked at the amount of power over you that he was giving up.

He raised his chin. “I suggested it. I cannot have a Seidkona who tiptoes around me as if there is glass in her shoes. You must not fear to speak. I will still be responsible for your safety and your keeping, but he will be responsible for your legality.”

You signed without another word.

Both brothers looked immensely pleased. You were sure you did too: this took a great burden of worry from your shoulders, after all. Loki's power over your living conditions had been a source of anxiety for you from day one, but now he had willingly given up all that power. He hadn't even been forced to do it!

“From now on, you will be spending a great deal of time with me.” Loki said. “You will need to shadow me, be beside me at all times, watch and learn from me. You'll be learning the language, the history, and I will be more attentive to your magical training. I know this sounds a bit overwhelming, worry not; I won't pile too much on you at once. And you have proven to be a swift learner. I have every confidence that you will pick things up with all speed.”

That was very gratifying to hear, considering how borderline insulting he had been in those first few days of knowing him. Though, come to think of it, he had never cast any real doubt on your intelligence.

“And you'll be getting a stipend as well, so you needn't worry about being entirely reliant on me. You'll be able to resume what hobbies you have. Do you use a cellphone? We can get you one of those as well, should you require it.”

“Actually that would be really useful!” You brightened even more. A real job, education, companionship, some of the trappings of actually existing within a society...This was what you needed, to feel like you were a functional member of a community.

As a vacation, this whole situation had been terrible. But as a new life opportunity...

It had potential.

[jeidafei]

The May Queen

Prior Note: This short (?) story is written as a prequel/character exploration for my full-length novel, Meya Hild (because I’m suffering through a severe bout of writer’s block right now and can’t continue both my Originals and Fanfictions).

The sky over Manor Crosset is a clear blue of early summer, unblemished by clouds. Music and laughter mingled in the wind blowing pass the town square, where young maidens in white dresses, with flower crowns atop their hair, danced arm in arm with jolly young lads to the tune from blaring bagpipes.

The visiting Baron Hadrian wasn’t out there enjoying the annual May Day celebrations, however. And neither were his counterpart, Lord Crosset. Both of them were meeting in the castle on the hilltop, reaffirming their children’s marriage after the unfortunate turn in both of their fortunes.

A marriage which would end soon with his death.

Young Lord Coris Hadrian clutched a white handkerchief to his mouth as he coughed repeatedly, his thin frame shuddering and rocking back and forth. A searing, burning pain, like a river of hot acid, sped up his throat all the way from his bowels, leaving him gagging and gasping for breath.

When the coughing episode subsided, Coris downed the waterskin at his waist to soothe his blistered throat, hastily slopping the last drops on his tunic. He raised the handkerchief gingerly to his eyes, sighing in relief at the absence of wet, dark red patches.

But this was nothing compared to what he have been through, to the fate he had saved his younger brother from, and he reminded himself every day he never regretted it.

During a castle heist which had been all but a ruse, a distraction, Coris’s embittered little brother, Ciel, had swallowed the Silver Diamond, their clan’s most prized treasure which had secured their influence over the King for centuries, to smuggle it out to the enemy, and Coris had caught him in the act.

To save him from their father’s wrath, Coris lied about swallowing the Diamond, and suffered the consequences. He remembered how the witch his father had summoned forced poison after poison down his throat and have him retch them back up, again and again, for over a week. He remembered the agony of living death as vividly as yesterday, even though it was three years ago. His father eventually gave up after he begged for death, and his mother threatened to take her own life. The Diamond remained in Ciel’s stomach, but fat round little Lord Coris was forever gone.

Coris Hadrian was now nothing but a clammy, waifish, sickly shadow of his past, apparently too weak to succeed his father as Lord Hadrian. He had no hope of becoming stronger, as his traumatic experience left him with a debilitating fear of medicine and treatment of all kinds. His damaged insides also could no longer receive as much healthy food as he’d like to eat, and the excruciating pain had taken away Coris’s appetite for a vast array of his once-favorite dishes.

Coris gazed over at Crosset Castle. The imposing stone structure looming over the town below belies its master’s actual powerless state. Actually, his father really doesn’t have to bother getting his cousin Simon to masquerade as him to make sure Lady Arinel would marry him. News of his frail condition had probably reached Lord Crosset long since, but Lord Crosset would be too desperate to care about the prospect of his daughter being widowed in the near future. At least for him, being widowed young by Lord Hadrian is probably a better future than staying here with Lord Crosset, a knight the king had forsaken.

Actually, as Baron Hadrian wanted to make sure the real Coris stay well out of the way as he negotiated with Lord Crosset, Coris had no business whatsoever walking about in this little country town. But his poor loving mother had beseeched the Baron to allow Coris to tag along, so he could enjoy the warm summer breeze and the delightful May Day for once.

Unbeknownst to his father, there is a hidden agenda to his mother’s seemingly innocent plea; this might be the last chance Coris would ever have to fulfill his dearest mission.

It had only been four years. Yet it seemed like a lifetime away, when he was spoiled fat by his father, like a pig for slaughter. When the prospect of marrying a Lady from a powerful family is the norm, and a future of ruling the ten-or-so manors in his father’s demesne is nothing he felt thankful about, as it is his to take from the moment of his birth. Back then, he thought nothing of his people, his parents, his poor little brother, his servants, his dogs, or any soul apart from himself. He was a disgusting being who would never entertain the idea of drinking poison in place of his brother.

It was until that day, four years ago, when he received a brutal awakening from the starving villagers of Crosset. Bailiff Johnsy had used Marquis Crosset’s frequent absence to secretly sell off Crosset’s storehouse grain, anticipating a good crop year would cover up his perfidy.

Instead, a stormy summer and a swarm of locusts befell the town, and the villagers were left starving as winter blew in. Of course, Coris had not known all this when Bailiff Johnsy invited him over to hunt game in the royal forest of Crosset. It had never occurred to him that Johnsy was manipulating the villagers to kidnap and ransom him for food. And Coris would probably have been dead if not for a little peasant girl who defied her people’s axes and spears to help him escape back to his father. All she asked in exchange was bread for her two starving little brothers and baby sister.

Coris inadvertently had a hand in exposing Bailiff Johnsy when his suspicious father ordered an investigation and discovered the hushed-up famine going on in Crosset. Johnsy was executed, Marquis Crosset is demoted to Lord and harshly rebuked by the King for neglecting his duties, and Crosset was added to Baron Hadrian’s demesne as a result.

Coris had learned all this from his mother as he recovered from his trauma. But he never knew what became of the peasant girl. By the time he had made sense of everything that had happened, the girl had disappeared without a trace, and his father is too busy feeding the whole of Crosset to spare men to search for one nameless, faceless little girl.

Coris squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard as he paced the winding dirt roads of the deserted village. Somehow, try as he might, he couldn’t remember the girl’s face. He was sure his memory had been crystal clear that day, but then he woke up the next morning with blurry recollections and shattered, disconnected events.

The peasant girl had not revealed her name to him, for fear she would be executed for trespassing royal ground. Their parting had been brusque and abrupt, but his search for her had not been, and Coris feared he would never be able to thank her before he left this world forever.

During his brief visit to the town square, he had scanned the happy, dancing, drinking crowd for a familiar face, strained his ears for a voice from his past, and failed yet again. Every girl in the town would be at the Fest, but she was still nowhere to be seen. Had he been too late? After all, he didn’t even know whether she survived the famine, even with all the food he left for her in the forest.

Coris bit his lip at the worrying thought he had pushed to the back of his mind for four long years. Ever since he recovered from his bout with poisons, he had made it a habit to create small crucifixes out of wire and beads, as a reminder for every life that had been sacrificed for him, but he refused to give up hope on the mysterious peasant girl. If it’s the last thing he would do, he would find her and beg her forgiveness for everything that had happened.

The town is silent and deserted, apart from the occasional housewife bustling about doing chores in her absent daughter’s stead, and the tired old farmer snoring away in his hammock hanging from the oak tree in his meagre garden. Then, once he neared the lasts of the mud cottages, in a completely empty part of the village, Coris heard something blowing in the wind, a sweet voice lending a lilt to the summer breeze, a voice as heavenly as an angel’s.

It was a voice so beautiful he could only imagine the beauty of its owner. It sent Coris sprinting as he had never done in three years. He came to a halt in front of a small, crumbling cottage of wattle and daub.

The house is empty and no smoke trickled out the chimney, but in the small cabbage patch within the low fence, beside a plump brown sow, sat a young girl of no more than thirteen. Her plain, nondescript face was smudged with dirt, and her golden-brown braid is coming loose. Her fading red woolen dress was patched in numerous places. She was caressing the sow as it dug its snout in the ground, but her song was sent to a lone thrush which had alighted on the fence. Her beauty was no match to his first and only love, Agnesia Graye, but Coris swore he had never beheld a more beautiful sight in his life.

“I’m here to sing this song I own.

I wish to hear the birds sing along.

I’ll sing my heart, when none shall heed.

I’ve made my vow to the winds of Mays past.”

“I’m Meya, Meya. I’m born on May’s Eve.

As my father grieved my mother’s song.

Oh Meya, they say what good is a lass

As unruly and poor as Meya Hild.”

The song ended with a lengthy, ringing vibrato, and the girl dipped her head then sighed softly. Coris took a step forth, still captivated by the sight. His movement startled the thrush, which instantly shot away into the forest, and the girl whipped around to him, her emerald green eyes wide with fear and horror.

“That’s sad.” Coris chose to speak up first, as he curiously approached the fence. Being a nobleman, he’s used to people responding enthusiastically to him no matter when he called upon them. “Who’s Meya Hild?”

Coris had forgotten that he is now dressed like a peasant, and was alarmed when the girl sprang up as if she had sat on hot metal. She sped to the back door of her cottage then disappeared inside without a backwards glance, and Coris scrambled after her.

“Wait!” He grabbed the slightly rocking fence, hollering desperately at the window-hole. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped on you. I just wanted to talk.”

There was no response other than the twittering of faraway birds crossing the sky, and Coris despaired at the prospect of never hearing that voice again.

“Please.” He begged, his voice cracking from the sour tang of acid in his throat. “Let me hear your song.”

He had barely finished when another bout of hacking coughs overtook him. Coris clutched the fence tightly for support as he retched and gasped. Then a small, rough hand landed on his shivering shoulder. He looked up and saw beautiful, gleaming green eyes. The girl handed him a large wooden mug.

“Gramma always says ‘oney pleases an ang’ry gullet. An’ I added a dash of ‘er secret spice powder, too.”

Her normal speaking voice, heavily accented as to be expected of peasants, is brusque and snarky. At her last sentence, Coris froze, cup halfway to his mouth, silver eyes staring warily up at the girl. In his panic, it had just occurred to him how a deadly ingredient might just make its way into his honey drink as well.

The girl blinked, her plain face twisting into a scowl.

“What? Ya think I ‘ave enough gold ta buy poison then waste it killin’ some random lad passin’ by?” She spited. Coris shrugged, his expression deadpan, his voice a bit hoarse from all that coughing.

“Well, I did peek on you singing.”

“Ha.” The girl snorted, sounding very much like the pig she raised, then leaned closer to whisper deadly. “Tell ya what. If I wanted ta kill ya, I’d just thwack ya on tha ‘ead with ma week-old breadbowl then feed ya ta Lady ‘ere.”

Coris glanced at Lady the Sow, grunting away as she sent dirt flying about, her snout burrowing furiously, and doubted if she really could eat him whole.

But before he could think any further, another round of coughs overcame him, and Coris found himself clinging to the fence, bent almost double as the girl looked on, a gratified smirk on her parched lips. He glanced up at her with reproachful eyes, and she merely grinned wider.

“Spew out all yer fluff yet? I could stand ‘ere all day while ya cough ‘til yer dead. I finished ma chores.”

Coris’s common sense, honed from a life testing every meal on slaves (and sometimes witnessing their deaths), screamed shrilly in protest, but his gullet felt as though it would burst apart if he let it endure another cough. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he felt the bitter taste of blood and bile in his throat. He can’t wait for warm milk in Crosset Castle.

He grabbed the cup then gulped down the drink. The soothing sensation trickling down his throat was like the purest, ice-cold stream of paradise, and he quickly took another gulp. Sighing in relief, he set the half-empty cup down on the fence. After taking a moment to calm his breath, he asked up once more.

“So, who’s Meya Hild?”

“Nobody.” The peasant girl rebuffed rudely. She glared at him, her nose inches from his as she threatened in a growling whisper. “Dun ya breathe a word of this ta anyone, ‘ear me?”

Had he been his former self, Coris would have ordered the girl’s tongue cut off. But now her nerve and daring rarely found in maidens simply amused him. Besides, she didn’t know she was talking to the Coris Hadrian. Not that he have any power to brag about, anyway.

“Why not? You’ve got a beautiful voice. And it’s a nice song.” He cajoled and pleaded with a little laugh, gazing straight at the girl’s green eyes with genuine attention. “I’d love to hear more of Meya. She seems interesting. Is there more?”

“Nah, that’s all of it.” The girl replied in that same brusque manner. She shrugged, then went about gathering up the wooden buckets and farming tools scattered about the small dirt garden. “This ‘ole Manor dunno I could sing. It’s my ‘lil secret. And I dun plan on lettin’ ‘em know anytime soon. So forget ‘bout everythin’ ya ‘eard.”

Coris didn’t say anything. Considering his health, she wouldn’t have to worry about him knowing her secret for long. And until that time comes he obviously wouldn’t want to forget such a beautiful voice. Perhaps it would console him on his deathbed, make it easier to enter the gates of Heaven. Or Hell, if these past few years of repentance isn’t enough to atone for his early sins.

“Who’re ya? Ya dun seem ta be from ‘round ‘ere.”

The girl spoke up, shaking Coris from his gloomy, death-related thoughts. He looked up, blinking at her narrowed, suspicious eyes, then swiftly replied.

“Oh. I’m from Hadrian.” No point lying about that. His accent would probably betray his hometown anyway. Besides, the people of Crosset loves all things Hadrian. They’re their saviors, after all!

As to be expected, the girl’s unfriendly expression melted away into delight at that. She leaned closer.

“ ‘Adrian? That’s three days away from ‘ere, ain’t it?” Her eyes sparkling, she dragged over the small stool she had been sitting on, slumped down upon it, propped her elbows on her knees then rested her face on her fists. “What yer doin’ all tha way ‘ere on a May Day like this? Ain’t there pretty girls back in ‘Adrian?”

Coris smiled at her poke, lying smoothly as he is so good at.

“I’ve been to a lot of Manors on May Days. My father’s a merchant.”

“Merchant?” His answer further interested the girl. She smiled wider. Her eyes drifted away, a dreamy look overcame her muddy face. “I’ve always wanna be tha merchant’s daughter. Like my best friend Jezia.”

She sighed wistfully. “Ah, tha adventurous life ya could lead. What d’ya trade?”

Coris thought fast when she directed another query at him, picking something he knows well enough about; his mother’s favorite food in the world…

“Oils. Spices and herbs. Hadrian’s famous for white truffles.”

The girl was beside herself with excitement at that. She sprang up and clung to the fence.

“Truffles! I ‘eard they say it’s like food from the ‘eavens. Ya dun ‘appen ta ‘ave one in ya pocke’, huh? Huh? D’ya?”

She chirped as she bobbed about, looking him up and down for a lump in a pocket somewhere, and even as he had to stifle his laughter, Coris felt a little guilty that he must let her down.

“No, I’m sorry—” The girl’s face fell, and Coris fervently wished he had nicked some from back home, like he used to do when he was a gluttonous little brat. Yet all he could do was fire out a string of codswallop. “—My father never lets me near the shrooms. Never even ate one himself. He said if you eat what you sell, you’re eating your own gold.”

The girl looked as if the Sun had baked the life out of her. She slumped back down on her dirty, rickety stool, kicking glumly at the dirt with her worn-out straw shoes.

“Wish I could eat a truffle ‘fore I die.” She mumbled.

“You could get yourself some truffles in the woods with Lady, you know.”  Coris gestured at the oinking pig beside her. The girl spared it a glance, then shook her head, patting it lovingly.

“Nah, I tried. There’s none this part of tha country.” The girl sighed, gazing down at the pig nearby, she went on miserably. “M‘fraid this one’s fer tha slaughter’ouse as usual. We on’y keep ‘em fer tha year.”

The girl lugged the sow closer to her, then lean down and hugged it, caring nothing of the dirt and the mud caked on its wiggly body. It was still but a piglet, just the right size to fit in her slim embrace.

“Yer so like me, Lady. But at least yer meat would ‘elp us through the win’er—though I swear I’d ne’er touch a sliver of ya.” She cooed as it squealed and thrashed about in her arms. Then she glanced up at the blue sky above her, sighing in wonder. “If on’y I could be jus’ as useful as ya.”

There was bitterness in her voice he could easily feel. It must have been hard, plumping up your pet only to have it become the family dinner, year after year. The pointless, endless task probably left her wondering how she is any different, except for being born as a human.

Even as she smiled absently, her beautiful eyes were etched with loneliness and long suffering, and Coris’s heart pained at the sight. He glanced around, noticing once again the loud silence and heavy air of lifelessness around them, then turned back and tried to strike up conversation.

“What are you doing here all alone? It’s awfully quiet here. They’re all at the fest.”

“They are. My three sisters as well.” The girl smiled as she released the pig back to its feeding frenzy, gesturing vaguely towards the house. “They usually do the chores ‘round ‘ere, so with ‘em gone, someone ‘as to do it.”

“Then why you? Why not your brothers? Or your parents?” Coris was still puzzled. The girl began to look disgruntled. Her lively voice returned to snarky and biting.

“They gotta be at the fest, that’s why. ‘Cause Marin will get the May Queen Wreath again this year. An’ next year. An’ the year after that. An’ ev’ry year ‘til she’s married off ta some rich, ‘andsome farmer boy. An’ after that it’ll be Morel an’ Mistral.”

Those three names are probably her three sisters. Come to think of it, back at the town square Coris recalled seeing three pretty young women with shining copper hair who somewhat resembled each other and their mother. The eldest and prettiest sister was laden with twice more flowers than any other lady, surrounded by admiring men. Perhaps that was Marin.

Glancing back at the forgotten sister of the house fuming silently by her pig, he suggested the obvious.

“You should go, too, you know. It’s May Day. The boys would want to dance with you.”

The girl went back to tending to her pig, hand-feeding it walnuts from her bulging apron pocket. Her voice as she replied, however, had lost its venom and was surprisingly soft.

“Marin. Morel. Mistral. They’re all so beautiful. And they’re good at somethin’. Just like my mum.” She muttered. “Who would see me when they’re there? Ugly, dirty, reekin’ pig with ‘air full of leaves an’ bugs.”

“Nothing a bath couldn’t take care of.” Coris pointed out, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“I ‘ate festivals.” The girl veered off, her voice harsh and final. “An’ someone’s gotta feed Lady. She likes walnuts from tha forest.”

Coris cocked his head in question at that, but the girl fell silent then, wiping her hands shining with pig drool on her apron, and Coris had a feeling she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Sighing, he decided to go for honesty first.

“I’m Simon.” Well, almost honest, at the very least.

The girl perked up. She seemed to brighten up a little at the change of subject. She grinned then stuck out her grubby hand.

“Ah! Nice ta meet ya Simon, I’m Meya.”

The nonchalant greeting sent Coris freezing. He blinked at those twinkling, mischievous green eyes, then surfaced with a hearty laugh. The sly lass!

“So you’re Meya Hild!” He exclaimed laughingly, swallowing his disgust and briefly shaking her pig-drool-smelling hand. He loved dogs, raised an army of them, and yet he still rushes to wash their drool off his hands. Nevertheless, he unwittingly leaned against the fence, closer to her. “It means May Queen, right?”

“I guess.” Meya shrugged, her green eyes straying away as she went on hesitantly, her face falling once again. She crossed her arms on the fence, propping her chin upon it. “But ya see, it’s ‘cause…today’s my birthday.”

Her voice had all but disappeared into her throat, and the words of her song came back to Coris then, hitting him like an axe blow to his head. And suddenly it all became clear why she was left sitting here alone while her whole family was at the festival.

I’m Meya, Meya. I’m born on May’s Eve.

As my father grieved my mother’s song.

“My mother used ta sing at tha May Fest ev’ry year, up until the year I was born, when I stole ‘er song away.” Meya explained in a low voice, shaking her head. “I couldn’t be there. It’s jus’ too ‘ard. Song Thief, they’d call me.”

She mumbled shamefacedly, lowering her face behind her arms, leaving only her eyes visible, staring straight ahead. A wave of sympathy for the peasant girl welled up in Coris’s heart. How must she have felt, having to be reminded every birthday the misfortune you brought upon your family with your birth, as if being shunned aside to the shadow of your sisters isn’t bad enough, yet hating May Day would probably mean hating your own birthday, your very existence.

He felt he could understand why she chose to hide her song—her mother’s song—from her people. He had sensed the bitterness laced into its beauty, and it had drawn him to her. But perhaps it would be best for the world to hear her at her happiest.

And perhaps…there might be something he could do to make her feel better. He was a weak, powerless, wretched creature with little time left on this world. He probably couldn’t do much for ten Manors, but maybe he could be a friend for one young maiden, at least for a day.

“I know a jolly Hadrian song. And I’d be honored if you would give me a dance, Meya Hild.”

Coris finally offered, breaking the awkward silence, and Meya perked up, staring at him incredulously.

“Yer sure?” She exclaimed, eyes bulged, shaking her head like a dog ridding itself of water. “I can’t dance like they do in tha fest!”

“Just dance whichever way you like, milady.” Coris cajoled laughingly, offering his hand and smile, adding with a cock of his head. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Meya stared at his warm grin, her usually sharp gaze strangely unfocused, then raised her trembling hand to his. She let out a small scream when Coris instead grabbed her waists then hoisted her up over the fence. The young lord overestimated his manly strength, however, and he toppled backwards. The two ended up sprawled on the lush grass, laughing and rolling about. They helped each other up, messy-haired and sprinkled with dirt, then joined hands and danced clumsily to Coris’s awful voice.

“Little Lord Coris Hadrian.

As plump as Betty the sow.

But he ne’er dig for truffles.

For lazy and greedy is he.

His meals are laid on gold.

And his belly draped in silk.

His father spoils him rotten

As his subjects sing in praise.

“Behold young Coris Hadrian,

The kingdom thou shalt ruin.”

“Ack! Ya sound like Myron in tha bath!”

The song went on and on, and Meya laughed happily. Whether it was because of his duck-like, off-pitch voice, the hilarious lyrics or both, he would never know. Once he finished, Meya sang some of Crosset’s local rhymes with her birdsong voice, and they danced until they were both gasping for breath.

From there they changed to playing checkers with rocks on the dirt. Meya taught him simple games the peasant children play, and Coris taught her chess from her father’s old chessboard. She got the hang of it quickly, and could almost beat him once. Well, almost.

And sometimes, all they did was talk. Coris couldn’t talk much about himself, of course, and he was content to listening to Meya’s endless stories of her boring life, her daily shenanigans with the church dog Fartmouth, her dreams of someday becoming great and famous.

He in turn told her about the towns he had visited, the various people he had met, as Meya drank it all in with sparkling eyes. She did ask him, however, about his violent coughs, and he admitted he has not got much time left. Meya wanted none of it. She insisted he’ll live long enough to travel the whole of Latakia then sail beyond Everglen.

Despite his intention to cheer her up, Coris discovered he himself immensely enjoyed Meya’s company. Beneath the rough, tough exterior, weathered by poverty and years spent tilling and plowing in the harsh climate, she is witty, spunky, humorous, and unsettlingly kindhearted. Her weird ideals, her strong will, that inherent yearn for adventure, that burning desire to be something more than what was expected of her; it all painfully reminded him of Agnesia.

It had him looking back at the resigned life he had chosen for himself, ever since that day he sacrificed his own glorious future for Ciel. Outcasted by her people for her unruliness, struggling to find her footing in a family barely scraping by to feed seven children, and even losing her understanding grandmother to the famine, this peasant girl still had not lost her will to live and her sight of her dream.

If she had the chance, would she achieve more than he ever will?

The church bell chimed out the time as the Sun dipped low over the dark wall of evergreen pine trees of the forest. Coris jolted, whirling around to look at the black spires of Crosset castle, shooting up against the vermillion sky. His father had given him until seven to return to the castle.

“Oh dear. I must go. My father will be leaving town soon.”

Coris hastily fished for his pocketwatch, trying to hide its golden gleam from Meya’s eyes. The girl seemed crestfallen for a beat, then she brightened up with the realization.

“Well, ya know who I am. If yer car’van come round to Crosset then come visit. I did enjoy our ‘lil spell together.”

She gave him a wide smile filled with innocence and life, and Coris couldn’t help returning it.

“I did too. Thanks.”

Meya blushed a little, though it was hard to see in the dim orange light of gathering dusk. Wringing her hands awkwardly, she leaned in and whispered.

“That was tha firs’ dance I ever got from someone other than ma brothers.” Her breath felt tickly in his ear as she giggled. “So thanks, too.”

Beneath the sour reek of pig, she smelled of fresh grass and honey. A strange sensation took hold of the young man, and he brushed his lips against her cheek as she made to draw away. Two pairs of eyes—silver and emerald—met, and Coris stammered out the truest truth he at least wanted to impress upon her before he leaves—perhaps for the last time.

“You’re worth more than a pig—or simply your mother’s song, Meya. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Meya nodded slowly. For a glimpse, he thought he could see the gleam of moisture in her strange, gem-like eyes, before the fire in them burned it away.

He would never know, but Meya Hild would carry those words with her always, especially in times she felt she needed a kind voice to usher her on, up until the day they meet again many years later, and beyond.

“And I’ll wait for the day you’re ready to sing for the world to hear, not just the birds. But until then—”

Meya smiled, holding a weathered finger to her lips, then pressing it on his.

“—Remember, it’s our ‘liI secret.”

Coris closed his eyes at the “kiss”. He held onto the touch of her finger for a moment longer, then drew back and finally trudged away, feeling her gaze upon his receding back. He shivered in his cloak as the chilly evening wind rushed by. His body is aching and drained, but his heart is content and refreshed like he had never felt in a long, long time. After a while he turned back for a last look, but Meya’s house had already vanished behind the rows upon rows of tiny cottages. His heart deflated slightly, but then he heard it again—

The most heavenly voice in the land was blowing after him in the wind, as if sending him on his way.

The song of the May Queen.

“I’m here to sing this song I own.

I wish to hear the world sing along.

Someday I’ll sing for all who’ll heed.

So lend your ear to the wind as it blows…”

At those words of hope, Coris renewed his steps with rekindled fire in his heart. He had made someone’s day a better day. He had witnessed her song, and in turn she had reminded him of the beauty of this land, hidden in the most unlikely, unremarkable places.

He could still be of use to this land, he realized, no matter how small, and if he could stumble onto little Meya, a jewel buried in the mud of her pigsty, one that refuses to give up gleaming, perhaps there is still hope he could find the girl whose fiery courage and grudging kindness had changed his life for the better.

He would find her someday, and he’ll live on the best he could until then.

The End

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Promises kept

Based on “Imagine being in love with Kili, and Kili in love with you in secret, but Thorin announces an arranged marriage between you and Fili, so Kili gets into a massive argument with Thorin, revealing to the whole company that the two of you love each other” from ImaginexHobbit.

Tagging @misswinchester221b by request :)

------------------------------

Erebor, like so many things embellished by long imagining, fails to live up to your hopes.

There is the relief, as your little band of latecomers straggles into the mountain, of finding the rest of the company alive and unharmed by the dragon’s wrath, the elation of standing in these fabled halls at last…and there is Bilbo’s dire warning by way of greeting, the greedy, sickly light in Thorin’s eyes as he broods over the treasure hoard, the unnatural reverence in his voice when he speaks of it.

The joy of your reunion prevails at the meager supper Bombur prepares, from which Thorin is conspicuously absent. You sit close beside Kili, clasping his hand under the table while you listen to the colorful exchange of stories of survival, marveling inwardly at the miracle that you all sit here together, spared. A more sober mood falls over the table when Oin and Bofur take it in turns to tell the harrowing account of Lake-town’s destruction.

Conversation wanes with the flames of the lanterns, and Balin, to whom everyone seems to look for guidance now, seems weary in soul more than body as he tactfully suggests finding a place to lay your heads.

“We’re all lodged in the royal halls, for now…they’ve taken less damage, being further in the mountain. Any unlocked door is free for the taking.”

Together, you find your way to the chambers that have been cleaned and made habitable, though they remain shrouded in musty darkness. Fili is the first to find a vacant room, peering into the open door by the light of the lantern he carries while Bofur and Oin disappear into the gloom of the long corridor.

“Well, I reckon this’ll do for me. Good night, you two,” he says tiredly, though his cheek dimples with a smirk as he adds, “try to get some sleep, hmm?”

Kili gives him a playful shove into the room, and as the door closes on Fili’s low chuckle, the two of you move on to the chamber one door down. The handle gives when Kili tries it. The circle of light from your own lantern shows a threadbare but ornately patterned carpet, the arm of a settee, and just emerging from the shadows, the foot of a large bed, its canopy supported by wooden posts with intricate carvings.

You hesitate on the threshold.

“I suppose we should take separate rooms,” you suggest, but Kili immediately shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly, a glimmer of pride flaring in his eyes as he takes your hand in his. “I’ve had enough of hiding. I don’t care anymore who knows…I want all of Middle Earth to see you by my side.”

You smile in spite of yourself, in spite of the melancholy uncertainty that lurks in the dark. An answering grin steals over his face and you yield to the gentle tug of his hand, allowing him to lead you inside.

The room is cold and smells faintly of dust, but Kili cheers upon surveying the fireplace by the lantern’s light.

“There’s plenty of dry firewood. I’ll get it going and we’ll be snug in no time.”

While he kneels beside the hearth with a tinder box, you carefully feel your way to the bed, finding a few folded blankets beside the pillows at its head. You busy yourself with making up the bed as the orange glow of firelight creeps over the room, flames springing to life under Kili’s measured breaths. A richly carved oaken wardrobe against the wall yields a quilt, well-worn but clean and soft, and you spread it over the bed as a finishing touch, distracted from your whirling thoughts by Kili’s quiet voice.

“Amralime.”

He stands beside the fire, watching you with a wistful expression.

“Come here. Warm yourself.”

You go gladly to his arms, laying your head on his shoulder when he holds you close, his heartbeat a soothing thrum against your own and his sigh ruffling your hair.

“We made it,” you murmur.

“Indeed,” he smiles, his arms tightening around you. “Home at last.”

“What’s going to happen now? I mean, with Thorin being...well...” you trail off uneasily.

He cradles your face in his hands, tracing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Whatever comes, we’ll see it through together.”

“Always,” you vow.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Kili claims the brief space between you to press his lips to yours. Slowly, you melt against him, tangle your fingers in his hair to deepen the kiss as the craving awakens within you for the solace of his body. You part breathlessly, resting your foreheads together.

“There’s a bed waiting for us,” you remind him.

He grins, his fingers already plucking the laces at the bodice of your dress. “So there is.”

His bare skin is burnished bronze by the firelight and the embrace of entwined limbs and caressing hands envelops you in his warmth and strength. You’ve been together like this a mere handful of times, secret moments stolen along the journey, and a shy newness remains, but you know he will be sweet and eager and as tender as he is playful. The dark curtain of his loose hair frames shining eyes and soft lips that seek yours again and again while the darkness is forgotten and fear banished, and the world narrows to this room, this bed, the loving sanctuary of Kili’s arms.

In the morning, after a lie-in and the decadent luxury of a hot bath, you find your way back to the dining room where you’d eaten dinner. Most of the company are already spooning up the thin porridge Bombur ladles out from an iron pot, and you take your bowls and join them at the long table.

Dwalin enters the room with the air of a man on a mission, Balin and Bilbo following just behind.

“Thorin wants everyone in the throne room, and he’s not keen on waiting,” he announces. There is unmistakable concern in his glance between you and Fili, seated across the table from one another. “You two in particular.”

A pang of unease stirs in your stomach as you exchange questioning looks with Fili.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Kili says quickly, but his bracing smile fails to reach his eyes, and Fili frowns as he abandons his breakfast to join you in following the rest of the group from the dining room.

The throne room is grand beyond your wildest imaginings. Massive stone warriors flank narrow walkways leading toward a throne that stands at the tip of a huge, glittering stalactite, surrounded on all sides by the cavernous depths of the mountain’s hollow core. You nearly forget to be nervous in your gaping at the chamber’s magnificence.

Thorin sits restlessly on the throne, rising when he catches sight of the little party lingering in the doorway. His hand, heavy with jewel-encrusted rings, rests on his chest in a gesture of gratitude.

“My friends. I bid you come near.” His deep voice reverberates in the stillness. “I would share good tidings with the most loyal of subjects.”

Everyone hesitates on the threshold for a moment more before Dwalin takes the lead, striding forward with the rest of you trailing in his wake.

As you approach, Thorin’s eyes light on you, and your skin prickles with the strange fervor in his voice when he calls your name and Fili’s, beckoning you both closer. With a last, surreptitious squeeze of Kili’s hand, you step forward as the company parts before you, going to greet Thorin with a low curtsy.

“Valiant maiden and faithful member of my company,” he says proudly, taking your hand to raise you up again before making a sweeping gesture toward Fili, “and the heir of my blood. The master of Erebor’s glorious future.”

With a triumphant smile, he takes Fili’s hand to join it with yours in his grasp.

“Soon, we will gather our kin to the mountain, restore it to a greatness that shall surpass even the days of Thror...and before the assembly of our people, you shall be wed, and the line of Durin continued.”

His words turn your blood to water in your veins, and your eyes dart instinctively to Kili’s stunned face where he stands as though frozen among the silent company.

“Uncle,” Fili begins cautiously, “we have no desire to marry.”

Thorin frowns, stepping back to wave his hand over you, as a shopkeeper displaying his wares.

“Is she not pleasing to the eye? Amiable in company?”

“It is no reflection on her,” Fili says, releasing your hand, “only that we do not have each other’s hearts, as a betrothed couple should.”

Thorin gives an impatient little shake of his head. “Such thoughts are a luxury for softer times...softer men.” There is a wild urgency in his eyes as he leans in, his face close to Fili’s, clasping his shoulder confidentially. “We have the throne to think of, you and I. You must have a wife on whom to get heirs for yourself, for me. We must see the line of Durin prosper!”

“Thorin, please,” you venture, hating the tremble of your voice and the instinct to shrink away when he rounds on you. “Please, do not force me to marry Fili.”

“Do you think yourself above my generosity?” He stares at you in contemptuous disbelief. “Do you hold the Queen’s crown a trinket to be refused according to your whims?”

“Thorin,” Fili interjects, but Thorin only flings up a warning hand to silence him.

“I offer you the chance to be the mother of kings, and you behave as though I plead the suit of an apprentice boy from the marketplace--”

“Enough!” Kili’s voice rings out, echoing on the stone walls and riveting every eye to him where he pushes his way forward between Balin and Dwalin, flushed and fairly vibrating with indignation. “Enough, Thorin. She cannot marry Fili. She will not.”

For a moment, Thorin looks almost amused by Kili’s defiance, like a grown wolf watching a pup play at attacking.

“Why do you seek to command your King in this matter, my sister-son?”

Kili’s throat works with a hard swallow. “Because she is married already...to me.”

Thorin’s benevolent expression vanishes.

You’re vaguely aware of the looks of shock and alarm passing between the others, and Fili subtly places a steadying hand on the small of your back as Thorin looks sharply between you and Kili.

“What foolishness is this?”

“We pledged ourselves secretly, while we were lodged in Beorn’s house,” Kili explains, his voice even.

“A child’s game,” Thorin scoffs. “You cannot make her your wife simply by naming her thus.”

“It was done according to the traditions of our fathers,” Kili insists, his anger rising in the face of Thorin’s dismissiveness. “We are properly wed, by the exchange of gifts and vows and the joining of bodies. You know as well as I do that anything more is mere formality. She belongs to me and I to her, and while I have breath, neither of us will marry another.”

Thorin stares at Kili as though seeing him for the first time in the heavy silence that has descended like a stormcloud on the room.

“Out of my sight, both of you,” he growls. “OUT!”

He bellows this last so suddenly that you jump, and Fili’s hand on your back propels you forward to meet Kili as he murmurs to his brother, “stay in your rooms until I come. I’ll try to talk sense to him.”

With a nod to Fili, Kili quickly shepherds you from the room, and you both resist the urge to run as you hurry through the long corridors toward the safety of your own chambers.

You’re trembling when you sink onto the threadbare sofa. Kili blindly gathers you into his arms, his hand moving in restless strokes over your hair.

“What are we going to do?” you whimper, fighting the panic that rises in your breast at this taste of Thorin's capricious wrath. “What are we going to do?”

Your distress seems to bring Kili to himself, stirring him to take your shoulders in his hands, to coax your eyes to meet his.

“Listen to me...listen,” he says, soothing. “Nothing is going to separate us. I promise you that.”

“But what if Thorin forces me to marry Fili? He’s the King.”

“It won’t happen. We’d leave Erebor first. And Fili would never go through with it anyway, you must know that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you concede, letting out a heavy sigh as you rest your forehead against his. “Oh, Kili. How did we make such a mess of things?”

He has no answer, only a protective embrace and the press of his lips to your temple. When you shiver in his arms, he rouses himself to start another fire before returning to hold you, waiting, as the minutes pass like hours.

At last, a soft knock sounds at the door and with a reassuring nod Kili opens it to Fili, who drops into a chair beside the fireplace, stretching out his feet toward the hearth.

“I won’t lie, he’s furious. The word ‘banishment’ came up,” Fili admits, hastening to add, when Kili pales and grips your hand almost painfully, “mind you, I think we talked him out of it. Balin reminded him the throne would be still less secure with only one heir in line to it, and that seemed to sober him.”

“What will he do?” Kili asks, his voice strained.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows,” Fili answers, running his hand back and forth over his beard. “He’s been brewing this arranged marriage idea since the moment Smaug fell, and he’s not in a mood to see his plans thwarted. You'd do well to stay out of his way and try not to vex him...an extra shift here and there in the treasure room might help smooth your path.”

“Shift?” Kili frowns.

“The arkenstone,” Fili says darkly. “Thorin will have no peace until it’s found, so neither will the rest of us.”

“If we find it,” Kili asks, unable to keep hope from creeping into his voice, “will it cure this...sickness of his?”

“Who knows?” Fili sighs, suddenly looking older, more careworn, weary with the burden of knowledge that has been thrust upon him with Thorin’s affliction.

“Fili, I’m so sorry,” you offer. “We never dreamed to make trouble for you.”

He smiles wryly. “Well, at least you didn’t tell Thorin I was the witness to your vows.”

You learn to hate gold for the chill it carries, the hard edges that torment your knees and jab at your backside while you sift through seemingly endless piles of coins and trinkets. Jewels that would have stolen your breath a week ago lose their luster, worthless as glass in comparison to the one stone you seek.

The silence is broken by the growl that bursts from Kili as he flings a large, blue gem away in frustration, the sound of its clinking on the gold fading as it skips down the hillock of coins on which you sit.

“It’s impossible! Are we to spend the rest of our days scrabbling in this sodding treasure, waiting for the Elvenking’s armies to storm the gate?” Anger and helplessness war in his expression. “What kind of husband am I, to have brought you to this?”

“Kili, don’t think it,” you scold, sitting back on your heels. “Not even for a moment. None of this is your fault.” You give a quick glance around before lowering your voice. “Thorin is wrong. He’s wrong about everything. And perhaps, deep down, there’s still a part of him that knows it. We mustn’t give up hope.”

He nods begrudgingly, his shoulders slumping as anger drains from him, and you crawl over the sliding coins to kneel between his knees, cradling his cheeks with tender hands.

“In your Halls I will find a house,” you murmur, “in my heart you will find a home.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and the faint twinkle in his eye tells you that his thoughts have returned with yours to the peace of Beorn’s barn in the warm sunlight, the smell of straw and the buzzing of bees that served as a backdrop for the most solemn of promises.

His voice is stronger, more sure when he answers. “For as long as I live, my One.”

He steals a kiss, chaste and quick and wary of watchful eyes, and his countenance is brightened when he sits back and tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Now,” you say, addressing yourself once again at the treasures that surround you, “why don’t we push these coins aside and dig down a bit, to see if there’s anything hiding underneath.”

Kili will defy Thorin once more, this time to find himself received with pride and unspoken apology.

You watch in awe as your King -- clear-headed and keen-eyed and at last, at last, the leader he was always meant to be -- embraces his impassioned nephew, but your relief is short-lived as the realization sets in that Kili must join the battle that rages outside the mountain.

In the flurry of preparation that ensues, you feel him slipping through your fingers like water. Fear pulses in your veins while you watch him in these too-fleeting moments, committing the whiskey brown of his eyes and the purse of his lips when he smiles to memory.

The company avert their eyes when he takes you in his arms one last time, holding you tightly, letting you cling to him while you blink back your tears and summon the strength to let him go.

“You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” you whisper, and he smiles and kisses your forehead and your lips, and he is gone.

The mountain trembles around you with the great crash of the golden bell through the stone barricade and the entrance hall is flooded with sunlight, motes of granite dust sparkling in the air. You watch Kili to the last, catching a glimpse of dark hair and a raised sword before he disappears into the clash of armies in the valley.

He is pale when they carry him into the infirmary, paler than you’ve ever known anyone could be. His head lolls on the stretcher and blood seeps through his clothes, and the cry that erupts from your throat frightens even you as you rush forward to throw yourself at him, hold him in your arms even if he is already lost to you.

Bofur is there, sympathetic but firm, holding you back as you struggle against him to reach Kili, but a sharp word from Oin stills you.

“Stand back, lass, or I’ll have you confined to your chambers!” His expression softens with your efforts to smother your sobs, and he promises desperately, “I’ll do everything I can for him.”

Days pass, a week, and you refuse to leave him, even sleeping in a chair at his bedside despite the painful crick in your neck that comes of resting your head on your folded arms. Oin’s words pass over you in a fog...blood loss, stitches, fever...and still Kili sleeps on, and you beg all the gods for mercy.

One quiet night, when the lanterns burn low and the few healers move ghostlike among their charges, your ears prick to the sound of slow, shuffling steps on the stone floor and Thorin emerges from the darkness to look soberly on Kili’s ashen face.

“How does he fare?”

“No change.”

“I saw his father’s end,” he muses, his own face drawn with pain in body and spirit. “I swore I would not see his.”

“Hope is not lost while there is life yet in him,” you insist, and he nods, still watching Kili.

He moves gingerly to step closer to the bed, reaches to lay his hand on the top of Kili’s head. Tears glitter in his eyes in the lamplight.

“I would have given my own life in exchange to bring him back safe to you,” he says quietly.

You only nod, silenced by the lump in your throat, and impulsively clasp his free hand. He holds your hand in a tight, grateful grip, raising it to his lips before turning with a trembling exhale toward the door. A few steps, and he is swallowed once again by the night.

In desperation, you crawl carefully into the narrow bed to curl up beside Kili, your silent tears dampening the pillow as you lie staring at his profile and wondering if you will ever share his bed again. His dark lashes rest on his bruised cheek and his chest rises and falls with a short, shallow rhythm that comforts you with the knowledge that the spark of life still burns within him. Gently, you take his hand between yours, holding it like an injured bird, and the soft sound of his breathing gradually lulls you to sleep.

You sleep deeply, and it is morning when you sit up with a start at a jostling of the bed. Oin is smiling for the first time since you can remember, lifting Kili’s head to bring a cup to his lips. Kili drinks long and gratefully and rests his head on the pillow once more, turning to smile weakly at you.

“Kili,” you whisper in disbelief, reaching with a shaking hand to stroke his hair away from his face. “Oh, Kili. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Not that easily,” he rasps, and a sob of gratitude nearly chokes you, all your pent-up fear releasing itself in tears.

“His fever’s broken,” Oin says, giving your shoulder a sympathetic pat. “You’ve still got some healing to do, lad, but I believe you’re out of the woods now.”

Oin gives Kili another drink and a dose of a thick herbal tincture with an earthy scent before going on his way to tend to his other patients. You lie beside Kili again, resting your forehead against his temple, laying your hand on his chest to feel the beating of his heart beneath your palm, strong and steady, and he musters the strength to place his hand over yours, sighing wearily as he curls his fingers around it.

“Fili,” he frets, his speech beginning to slur as the sedative does its work, “Thorin?”

“Mending,” you assure him. “They’re well enough to be back in their own chambers, but you gave us a proper scare.”

“‘M sorry.”

“You’re forgiven...but you mustn’t do it ever again,” you answer, with a watery chuckle.

“Promise.”

He is quiet, his thumb drifting slowly back and forth over your knuckles, and just as you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, he speaks again.

“Amralime?”

“What is it, love?”

“You won’t leave? Want to see you when I wake up.”

You think ruefully of your agonized vigil, and for the first time since he returned to the mountain barely clinging to life, you allow yourself to look beyond this moment to the future from which the shadows are fading. Kili will be reunited with his family and serve his kingdom and kiss you in the firelight and play with your children, and you smile.

“Not for a moment, my darling. Sleep.”

[fevie168]

Monday (January 28): Jesus frees us from Satan's power

Scripture:  Mark 3:22-30  

22 And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, "He is possessed by Beelzebul, and by the prince of demons he casts out the demons." 23 And he called them to him, and said to them in parables, "How can Satan cast out Satan? 24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end. 27 But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man; then indeed he may plunder his house. 28 "Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the sons of men, and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29 but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin" -- 30 for they had said, "He has an unclean spirit."

Meditation: When danger lurks what kind of protection do you seek? Jesus came to free us from the greatest danger of all - the corrupting force of evil which destroys us from within and makes us slaves to sin and Satan (John 8:34). Evil is not an impersonal force that just happens. It has a name and a face and it seeks to master every heart and soul on the face of the earth (1 Peter 5:8-9). Scripture identifies the Evil One by many names, 'Satan', 'Beelzebul - the prince of demons', the 'Devil', the 'Deceiver', the 'Father of Lies', and 'Lucifier', the fallen angel who broke rank with God and established his own army and kingdom in opposition to God.

The Lord Jesus frees us from Satan's power Jesus declared that he came to overthrow the power of Satan and his kingdom (John 12:31). Jesus' numerous exorcisms brought freedom to many who were troubled and oppressed by the work of evil spirits. Jesus himself encountered personal opposition and battle with Satan when he was put to the test in the wilderness just before his public ministry (Matthew 4:1; Luke 4:1). He overcame the Evil One through his obedience to the will of his Father.

Some of the Jewish leaders reacted vehemently to Jesus' healings and exorcisms and they opposed him with malicious slander. How could Jesus get the power and authority to release individuals from Satan's influence and control? They assumed that he had to be in league with Satan. They attributed his power to Satan rather than to God. Jesus asserts that no kingdom divided against itself can survive for long. We have witnessed enough civil wars in our own time to prove the destructive force at work here for the annihilation of whole peoples and their land. If Satan lends his power against his own forces then he is finished. Cyril of Alexandria, a 5th century church father explains the force of Jesus' argument:

Kingdoms are established by the fidelity of subjects and the obedience of those under the royal scepter. Houses are established when those who belong to them in no way whatsoever thwart one another but, on the contrary, agree in will and deed. I suppose it would establish the kingdom too of Beelzebub, had he determined to abstain from everything contrary to himself. How then does Satan cast out Satan? It follows then that devils do not depart from people on their own accord but retire unwillingly. “Satan,” he says, “does not fight with himself.” He does not rebuke his own servants. He does not permit himself to injure his own armor bearers. On the contrary, he helps his kingdom. “It remains for you to understand that I crush Satan by divine power.” [Commentary on Luke, Homily 80]

Jesus asserted his authority to cast out demons as a clear demonstration of the reign of God. God's power is clearly at work in the exorcisms which Jesus performed and they give evidence that God's kingdom has come.

Being clothed in God's strength What kind of spiritual danger or harm should we avoid at all costs? Jesus used the illustration of a strong man whose house and possessions were kept secure. How could such a person be overtaken and robbed of his goods except by someone who is stronger than himself? Satan, who is our foe and the arch-enemy of God, is stronger than us. Unless we are clothed in God's strength, we cannot withstand Satan with our own human strength. What does Satan wish to take from us - our faith and confidence in God and our readiness to follow God's commandments. Satan is a rebel and a liar. Satan can only have power or dominion over us if we listen to his lies and succumb to his will which is contrary to the will of God. Jesus makes it clear that there are no neutral parties in this world. We are either for Jesus or against him, for the kingdom of God or opposed to it.

There are ultimately only two kingdoms in opposition to one another - the kingdom of God's light and truth and the kingdom of darkness and deception under the rule of Satan. If we disobey God's word, we open the door to the power of sin and Satan's influence in our lives. If we want to live in true freedom from the power of sin and Satan, then our "house" - our mind and heart and whatever we allow to control our appetites and desires - must be occupied and ruled by Jesus Christ where he is enthroned as Lord and Savior. Do you know the peace and security of a life submitted to God and to his Word?

Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit What is the unforgivable sin which Jesus warns us to avoid? Jesus knows that his disciples will be tested and he assures them that the Holy Spirit will give them whatever grace and help they need in their time of adversity. He warns them, however, that it's possible to spurn the grace of God and to fall into apostasy (giving up the faith) out of cowardice or disbelief. Why is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit reprehensible? Blasphemy consists in uttering against God, inwardly or outwardly, words of hatred, reproach, or defiance. It's contrary to the respect due God and his holy name. Jesus speaks of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit as the unforgivable sin.

Jesus spoke about this sin immediately after the scribes and Pharisees had attributed his miracles to the work of the devil instead of to God. A sin can only be unforgivable if repentance is impossible. If people repeatedly closes their eyes to God, shuts their ears to his voice, and reject his word, they bring themselves to a point where they can no longer recognize God when he can be seen and heard. They become spiritually blind-sighted and speak of "evil as good and good as evil" (Isaiah 5:20).

The Holy Spirit heals and transforms us To fear such a state of sin and spiritual blindness, however, signals that one is not dead to God and is conscious of the need for God's grace, mercy, and help. There are no limits to the mercy of God, but anyone who refuses to acknowledge and confess their sins and to ask God for forgiveness, spurns God's generous offer of mercy, pardon, grace, and healing. Through their own stubborn pride and willfulness, they reject God, refuse his grace and help to turn away from sin, and reject the transforming power of the Holy Spirit to heal and restore them to wholeness. God always gives sufficient grace and help to all who humbly call upon him. Giving up on God and refusing to turn away from sin and disbelief results from pride and the loss of hope in God.

What is the basis of our hope and confidence in God? Through Jesus' death on the cross and his victory over the grave when he rose again on the third day, Satan has been defeated and death has been overcome. We now share in Christ's victory over sin and Satan and receive adoption as God's sons and daughters. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, the Lord enables us to live a new life of love and freedom from slavery to sin. The Lord Jesus is our refuge and strength because he makes his home with us (John 15:4) and gives us the power and help of the Holy Spirit. Do you take refuge in the Lord and allow him to be the Ruler of your life?

"Lord Jesus, you are my hope and salvation. Be the ruler of my heart and the master of my home. May there be nothing in my life that is not under your lordship."

Psalm 89:19-21,24-25

19 Of old you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said:  “I have set the crown upon one who is mighty, I have exalted one chosen from the people. 20 I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him; 21 my hand shall always remain with him; my arm also shall strengthen him. 24 My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him, and in my name shall his horn be exalted. 25 I will set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers.

Daily Quote from the early church fathers: The cross of Christ as victory, by Augustine of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.

"It is not difficult, therefore, to see how the devil was conquered when he, who was slain by him, rose again. But there is something greater and more profound of comprehension: to see how the devil was conquered precisely when he was thought to be conquering, namely, when Christ was crucified. For at that moment the blood of him who had no sin at all, was shed for the remission of our sins (Matthew 26:28, 1 John 3:5). The devil deservedly held those whom he had bound by sin to the condition of death. So it happened that One who was guilty of no sin freed them justly from this condemnation (Hebrews 2:14). The strong man was conquered by this paradoxical justice and bound by this chain, that his vessels [booty] might be taken away. Those vessels which had been vessels of wrath were turned into vessels of mercy (Romans 9:22-23)." (excerpt ON THE TRINITY 13.15.19)

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for Saturday, may 2 of 2020 with Psalm 2 and Proverbs 2, accompanied by Psalm 45 for the 45th day of Spring and Psalm 123 for day 123 of the year

[Psalm 2]

You are wondering: What has provoked the nations to embrace anger and chaos?

Why are the people making plans to pursue their own vacant and empty greatness?

Leaders of nations stand united;

rulers put their heads together,

plotting against the Eternal One and His Anointed King, trying to figure out

How they can throw off the gentle reign of God’s love,

step out from under the restrictions of His claims to advance their own schemes.

At first, the Power of heaven laughs at their silliness.

The Eternal mocks their ignorant selfishness.

But His laughter turns to rage, and He rebukes them.

As God displays His righteous anger, they begin to know the meaning of fear. He says,

“I am the One who appointed My king who reigns from Zion, My mount of holiness.

He is the one in charge.”

I am telling all of you the truth. I have heard the Eternal’s decree.

He said clearly to me, “You are My son.

Today I have become your Father.

The nations shall be yours for the asking,

and the entire earth will belong to you.

They are yours to crush with an iron scepter,

yours to shatter like fragile, clay pots.”

So leaders, kings, and judges,

be wise, and be warned.

There is only one God, the Eternal;

worship Him with respect and awe;

take delight in Him and tremble.

Bow down before God’s son.

If you don’t, you will face His anger and retribution,

And you won’t stand a chance.

For it doesn’t take long to kindle royal wrath,

But blessings await all who trust in Him.

They will find God a gentle refuge.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 2 (The Voice)

[Psalm 45]

The Wedding Song

For the Pure and Shining One, by the prophetic singers of Korah’s clan

A contemplative song of instruction for the Loved One

To the melody of “Lilies”

My heart is on fire, boiling over with passion.

Bubbling up within me are these beautiful lyrics

as a lovely poem to be sung for the King.

Like a river bursting its banks, I’m overflowing with words,

spilling out into this sacred story.

[His Royal Majesty]

Beautiful! Beautiful! Beyond the sons of men!

Elegant grace pours out through every word you speak.

Truly God has anointed you, his favored one, for eternity!

Now strap your lightning-sword of judgment upon your side,

O mighty warrior, so majestic!

You are full of beauty and splendor as you go out to war!

In your glory and grandeur go forth in victory!

Through your faithfulness and meekness

the cause of truth and justice will stand.

Awe-inspiring miracles are accomplished by your power,

leaving everyone dazed and astonished!

Your wounding leaves men’s hearts defeated

as they fall before you broken.

Your glory-kingdom, O God, endures forever,

for you are enthroned to rule with a justice-scepter in your hand!

You are passionate for righteousness and you hate lawlessness.

This is why God, your God,

crowns you with bliss above your fellow kings.

He has anointed you, more than any other,

with his oil of fervent joy,

the very fragrance of heaven’s gladness.

Your royal robes release the scent of suffering love for your bride;

the odor of aromatic incense is upon you.

From the pure and shining place, lovely music

that makes you glad is played for your pleasure.

[Her Royal Majesty]

The daughters of kings, women of honor,

are maidens in your courts.

And standing beside you,

glistening in your pure and golden glory,

is the beautiful bride-to-be!

Now listen, daughter, pay attention, and forget about your past.

Put behind you every attachment to the familiar,

even those who once were close to you!

For your royal Bridegroom is ravished by your beautiful brightness.

Bow in reverence before him, for he is your Lord!

Wedding presents pour in from those of great wealth.

The royal friends of the Bridegroom shower you with gifts.

As the princess bride enters the palace,

how glorious she appears within the holy chamber,

robed with a wedding dress embroidered with pure gold!

Lovely and stunning she leads the procession with all her bridesmaids

as they come before you, her Bridegroom King.

What a grand, majestic entrance!

A joyful, glad procession as they enter the palace gates!

Your many sons will one day be kings, just like their Father.

They will sit on royal thrones all around the world.

I will make sure the fame of your name

is honored in every generation as all the people praise you,

giving you thanks forever and ever!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 45 (The Passion Translation)

accompanied by this poetic first line of the same Psalm in The Message:

My heart bursts its banks,

spilling beauty and goodness.

I pour it out in a poem to the king,

shaping the river into words:

The Book of Psalms, Poem 45:1 (The Message)

[Psalm 123]

A song for those journeying to worship.

I raise my eyes to fix my gaze on You,

for Your throne resides in the heavens.

Just as the eyes of servants

closely watch the hand of their masters,

Just as a maid carefully observes

the slightest gesture of her mistress,

In the same way we look to You, Eternal One,

waiting for our God to pour out His mercy upon us.

O Eternal One, show us Your mercy. We beg You.

We are not strangers to contempt and pain.

We have suffered more than our share

of ridicule and contempt from self-appointed critics who live easy lives

and pompously display their own importance.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 123 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 2]

My son, if you accept what I am telling you

and store my counsel and directives deep within you,

If you listen for Lady Wisdom, attune your ears to her,

and engage your mind to understand what she is telling you,

If you cry out to her for insight

and beg for understanding,

If you sift through the clamor of everything around you

to seek her like some precious prize,

to search for her like buried treasure;

Then you will grasp what it means to truly respect the Eternal,

and you will have discovered the knowledge of the one True God.

The Eternal is ready to share His wisdom with us,

for His words bring true knowledge and insight;

He has stored up the essentials of sound wisdom for those who do right;

He acts as a shield for those who value integrity.

God protects the paths of those who pursue justice,

watching over the lives of those who keep faith with Him.

With this wisdom you will be able to choose the right road,

seek justice, and decide what is good and fair

Because wisdom will penetrate deep within

and knowledge will become a good friend to your soul.

Sound judgment will stand guard over you,

and understanding will watch over you as the Lord promised.

Wisdom will keep you from following the way of evildoers,

of those who twist words to pervert the truth,

Of those who reject the right road

for a darker, more sinister way of life,

Of those who enjoy evil

and pursue perverse pleasures,

Of those who journey down a crooked path,

constantly figuring out new ways to trick and deceive others.

Wisdom will pluck you from the trap of a seductive woman,

from the enticing propositions of the adulteress

Who chose to leave the husband of her youth,

to forget her sacred promises to her God;

For her house is on the road that leads to death,

and her path goes down to the shadowy pit.

Those who go to her will never return;

they will never again find their way back to true life.

As for you, you should walk like those who are good

and keep to the paths of those who love justice,

For those who live right will remain in the land

and those with integrity will endure here.

But not the wicked; they will be forced out and banned from this promised land,

and those who deal in deceit will be plucked up like weeds.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

[folklore-and-fairytales]

Tristram and Isolde – A Free Story of Romance in the Middle Ages

From Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages Translated from the compiled works of Dr. Welhelm Wägner

 Tristram Teaches Isolde To Play The Guitar.

 TRUSTY RUAL AND HIS FOSTER-SON

A furious battle was raging before the gates of the castle, for Rivalin, the lord of the place, was fighting against Morgan, his feudal superior, whose oppression had grown too great to be borne. Within the castle, Blancheflur, Rivalin’s wife, was praying fervently for her husband’s safety, as she clasped in her weak arms her little son that had been born while the din of battle filled the air.

All day long it lasted. In the evening, Rual, the marshal, hurried back into the castle bleeding, and called to his wife to save what she could, and make ready for instant flight, for King Rivalin had fallen, and the enemy threatened to blockade the castle. Queen Blancheflur heard what he said, and with a piercing cry fell back dead. Rual, seeing that nothing could be done for her, hurried the other women in their preparations, and, heedless of his own untended wounds, made ready to fly with his master’s child to a place of safety.

But while they hastened to obey the marshal, it was already too late—the castle was surrounded, and no way of escape remained. They carried the dead queen to another room, and the marshal’s wife took the baby for her own. The servants were all faithful, and when Morgan took the castle soon afterwards, he never guessed that Rivalin had left a living child. The victorious king, who honoured Rual for his fidelity to his late master, made him governor of the kingdom he had just subdued, and then went back to his own place.

Time passed on, and the foster-parents were delighted with the good qualities their pupil developed. They had had him christened Tristram, or Tristan (Sorrowful), because of the sad circumstances that had attended his birth. Rual himself taught him all knightly exercises, and got him tutors to instruct him in music, languages, and many other accomplishments.

One day some foreign merchants landed on the coast, and offered their wares for sale. Young Tristram often went down to see them, and questioned them about their country, and about the many strange lands they visited. The boy’s unusual beauty and the great knowledge he possessed aroused their cupidity. They determined to steal him, and sell him in some foreign country where he would bring a good price. So once, when he was on board their ship, they quietly raised the anchor, and set sail. Rual pursued them, but they escaped, owing to the greater swiftness of their vessel. Another danger, however, threatened to overwhelm them. A terrific storm came on, worse than any they had ever encountered before. They thought it a sign of God’s wrath, and were filled with fear and awe. In the perturbation of their souls they swore to set the boy free, and they kept their word. They put him ashore on an unknown coast, feeling assured that with his uncommon gifts he would soon make a livelihood. They were not mistaken. A troup of pilgrims happening to pass that way, Tristram joined them, and accompanied them to the court of King Mark of Cornwall. The king took the boy into his service as page, and grew very fond of him.

Meantime Rual had sought his foster-son everywhere, and was broken-hearted at not being able to find him, or hear any news of him. He wandered from one country to another, begging his way. At last, footsore and weary, he arrived at King Mark’s court. Tristram greeted him with joy, and took him to the king.

When Mark heard who the supposed beggar was, he exclaimed angrily:

“What! Are you the former marshal of the traitor Rivalin, who stole away my sister Blancheflur?”

“Sire,” replied Rual, “love made him do so. The Lady Blancheflur had been secretly married to my master before she went away from here. She and her husband are both dead, and this youth,” laying his hand on Tristram’s shoulder, “whom I have brought up from his infancy, and whom I have sought for years, is their only child.”

The king was astonished to hear this tale, and was pleased to find that his favourite page was in reality his nephew. Rual remained in Cornwall with his foster-son, for, his wife being dead, he did not care to return home, and again endure Morgan’s despotic sway.

Tristram grew up to be a tall and handsome man, a brave warrior, and a noble knight, as much beloved in peace as in war. But although he lived a full and joyous life, he could not forget his native land, and often mourned over the thought that his fellow-countrymen and rightful subjects groaned under the tyranny of a foreign oppressor. He at last explained his feelings on the subject to his uncle, who gave him men and ships, telling him to go and set his people free, but making him promise to return to Cornwall afterwards, as he had appointed him to succeed him on the throne.

The expedition was successful. Morgan was defeated and slain, and Tristram was crowned King of Parmenia. He remained for a year longer in his native land, settling all differences, and arranging matters for the good of his subjects. Having done this, he made Rual governor of the realm, and returned to Cornwall as he had promised.

ISOLDE (YSEULT, ISOUD)

On his arrival there, he found everyone in great distress. King Gurmun of Ireland had, during his absence, invaded Cornwall, and, with the help of his brother-in-law Morolt, a powerful chief and great warrior, had subdued the country, and forced King Mark to pay him tribute; and a shameful tribute it was. By the treaty with Gurmun, the Cornish king was bound to send thirty handsome boys of noble birth to Ireland every year, to be sold as slaves for the benefit of the Irish king. On the very day of Tristram’s return, Mark was about to deliver the thirty boys into the hands of grim Morolt, Gurmun’s messenger, who had come to receive them.

Tristram was very angry when he heard the news, and told the knights they were cowards ever to have consented to such an arrangement. Then going straight to Morolt, he tore up the treaty, saying it was too inhuman to be kept. Morolt’s only answer was to draw his sword and challenge him to single combat. He accepted, and the fight began. After some time, Morolt, having severely wounded Tristram, cried:

“Yield, Sir Tristram: I feel pity for your youth. Yield, and my sister, Queen Isolde, shall cure your wound, for she alone can heal a wound made by my poisoned blade.”

“Death rather,” exclaimed the young knight, and making a mighty effort, he split his adversary’s head open from crown to jaw.

This settled the matter. The Irish returned home sadly, bearing with them the corpse of their hero, while the victor went back to his uncle’s palace. His wound was washed and bound, but it would not heal. It continued to fester, in spite of the use of balm, and other herbs of well-known excellence. An experienced doctor who was called in to see the patient, said that only the Irish queen Isolde, and her daughter of the same name, possessed the art of drawing such poison out of a wound. So Tristram determined to go to Ireland in the guise of a minstrel, and seek healing at the hands of the queen, although he knew that Gurmun had sworn to kill him and every Cornishman who had the misfortune to fall into his hands.

At length he reached the Irish court, and there he played and sang so beautifully that the queen sent for him, and begged him to teach his art to her young daughter Isolde. The minstrel found the princess an attentive pupil; and while teaching her, and listening to her sweet voice as she sang some plaintive ditty, he would even forget for a time the pain of his wound. And she, in learning from him, learnt to love him with all the strength of her innocent young heart.

The days went on, and the pain of his wound grew worse and worse. Then he told the queen of his suffering, and asked her to heal him. This she at once consented to do, and a few weeks later he was cured. He now sang with greater power than before, and the king was so charmed with his music that he would have liked to keep him forever at his court. But, fearful of discovery, Tristram determined to be gone while yet there was time.

On his return to Cornwall, he was joyfully received by all except the great lords, who foresaw that King Mark would make him his heir, and they did not wish to have a foreigner to rule over them. They wished the king to marry, and Tristram, finding what was in their minds, himself advised his uncle to choose a wife, saying that the Princess Isolde of Ireland would be the most suitable person for him to wed. After some deliberation, it was agreed that Tristram should go to King Gurmun as his uncle’s ambassador, to ask for the hand of the princess.

Arrived in Ireland, he set out for the royal residence. On the way he heard heralds proclaiming that the king would give his daughter in marriage to whoever slew a dragon that was devastating the land, provided he who rescued the country were of noble birth.

Tristram sought out the dragon, and, after a long struggle, killed it; then cutting out the tongue of the creature, as a proof that he had really slain it, he turned to go; but the pestiferous breath of the monster so overpowered him, that he sank backward into the morass out of which the dragon had come.

Tristram slays the dragon

Struggle as he might, he could not free himself, for he had sunk up to the shoulders. While in this miserable plight, he saw a horseman approach, cut off the head of the dead monster, and then ride away.

The horseman was sewer (head waiter) at the palace. He showed the king the dragon’s head, and boldly demanded the meed of victory. The queen, who knew the man well, and held him to be a coward, did not believe his tale; so she went with her train to the dragon’s hole, and discovered the real hero in the morass. His bloody sword, and the dragons tongue showed that it was he who had done the deed. He was quite insensible when he was taken out of the morass and carried to the palace. The princess at once recognised him to be the minstrel who had before visited Ireland, and hoped that his birth was sufficiently good to enable him to win the prize. The queen gave him a sleeping potion, and told him to keep quiet. Then taking her daughter into the next room, she showed her the horrible tongue of the lind-worm, and the sword with which the creature was slain.

“Look,” she said, “the minstrel is the real hero of this adventure, and not that cowardly sewer.”

She left the room, adding that the truth would soon be known. Isolde took up the sword and examined it. She saw that a bit of the blade was broken off.

“Merciful heaven,” she cried, “surely he cannot be the——” She ceased, and took from a drawer the splinter of steel she had drawn out of the wound on her uncle’s head. She fitted the splinter to the blade, and saw that it was as she had feared.

“Ha,” she went on, trembling with anger, “he is the murderer of my uncle Morolt. He must die, die by my hand, and be slain with his own weapon.”

Seizing the sword in a firmer grip, she went into the room where Tristram was sleeping, and swung the sword over his head; but as she did so, he smiled as in a happy dream, and she could not do the deed. Then it seemed to her that she saw her uncle looking at her reproachfully, and she nerved her heart to strike, but at that moment her hand was seized by her mother, who had entered unnoticed.

“Wretched child,” she cried, “what are you doing? Are you mad?”

Isolde told the queen that this was Tristram, her uncle’s murderer; and the mother answered:

“I loved my brother dearly, but I cannot revenge him, for this man has saved our people from the dragon, and a nation is worth more than a single man, however dear to our hearts.”

Isolde confessed that her mother was right, and let her resentment die.

When Tristram had recovered, he did not show the dragon’s tongue in proof of what he had done, but challenged the sewer to trial by combat. Now the man had often fought before, but when he saw Tristram come forth to meet him in the lists, his heart died within him, and he confessed his guilt. King Gurmun thereupon ordered the recreant knight’s shield to be broken, and sent him forth a banished man.

Tristram then fetched the dragon’s tongue, and was at once proclaimed victor amid the acclamation of the people.

Great was the astonishment of all, when Tristram, instead of claiming the princess’ hand, proceeded to woo her for his uncle King Mark, of Cornwall. Gurmun had such a dislike to King Mark that he would have refused him as a son-in-law point-blank, if Queen Isolde had not taken part in the debate, and shown the wisdom of giving way. So Tristram received a gracious answer from the king, and was content. No one thought of asking the maiden if she were willing to marry the old king of Cornwall. She was a princess, and princesses were never allowed a choice, when reasons of State demanded that they should marry some particular person.

THE LOVE-POTION

The princess went on board Tristram’s vessel, which was about to sail for Cornwall. Her dresses and jewels were there also, and as soon as her old nurse and faithful companion came down to the ship, they were to set sail. Brangäne was closeted with the queen, who wished to say a few last words in private.

“Look, Brangäne,” said the mother, “take this goblet, and keep it carefully. It contains a drink made of the expressed juices of certain plants, and is a love-potion. See that my daughter and her husband both drink it on their marriage day, and all will yet be well.”

The nurse promised to be careful, and took leave of the queen.

Wind and weather were favourable to the voyagers. One day when Tristram had been singing and playing to the princess for a long time, and trying his best to distract her thoughts from dwelling on her dead uncle, her old home, and the unknown future, he became so thirsty that before beginning another song he was fain to ask for something to drink. One of the attendants opened a cupboard, and finding there a goblet with a drink all ready prepared, supposed that the nurse had made it in case it were wanted, and took it to Tristram, who handed the cup first to Isolde that she might pledge him, as was the custom. The princess raised the cup to her lips and drank a little; but finding it very good, she put it to her lips again, and drank half the contents. Then she returned it to Tristram, who finished it at a draught.

Their eyes met, and they knew that they loved each other.

When Brangäne came in a few minutes later, and saw the empty goblet upon the table, she burst into tears, and bemoaned what had occurred, saying that the queen had given her the love-potion to administer to Isolde and King Mark upon their wedding-day. But the princess comforted her by asserting that no harm was done, for human beings had free will, and could struggle against enchantment. And struggle they did; but their love was strong.

The ship reached the harbour, and King Mark came down to meet his nephew and his bride. He was much pleased with the appearance of the princess, whom he welcomed with all ceremony. The marriage took place, and King Mark thought himself a happy man.

All went on quietly for some time, so carefully did the nurse conceal her lady’s love for Sir Tristram; but after a time people began to whisper, and at length the whisper reached the ears of the king. At first he would not believe the truth of what he heard, but afterwards the thing was proved to him so clearly that he could no longer doubt. He determined to bring the lovers to trial. Meanwhile Brangäne had discovered that the king knew all; she therefore warned Tristram, and fled into the forest with him and Isolde. There they hid themselves in a cave for a long time. But winter was coming on, and the nurse feared for her darling’s life if she remained in such a place during the frost and snow.

Tristram kneels before Isolde

One day as they were talking over what were best to be done, King Mark suddenly appeared amongst them. Brangäne stepped forward, and assured him that the stories that he had been told were all gossip; and the king, who loved both Tristram and Isolde, willingly believed her, and took them home with him.

But the effect of the philter had not yet passed off, nor had the young people conquered their love. Whispers again arose about the court, and Tristram could not call any of the whisperers to account, for he knew that he had dishonoured the name of knight, and had ill repaid his uncle’s kindness. Isolde, too, was miserable. They both made up their minds that they must part, and as they said farewell, it was with the fervent hope that the magic potion would have lost its power by the time they met again.

Tristram went away. He wandered through Normandy and Alemannia; he fought many battles, and led a bold, adventurous life, but he could not forget Isolde. At last he came to the kingdom of Arundel, and there he found King Jovelin and his son Kaedin hiding in a thatched cottage in a great forest, from the bands of robbers who had overrun the land. It was late in the evening when he arrived at the solitary house, where he met with a kind reception. The lovely daughter of his host, curiously enough, was also named Isolde, to which was added the appellation of “la blanche mains.” It did him good to be with the maiden and her father. He promised them his aid, and for this purpose went to visit his own kingdom. There he found his presence much wanted, for old Rual was dead, and all was confusion in the land. His first action was to re-establish order and good government, after which he called out his troops, and marched to Arundel to help King Jovelin. He fought the robbers there, chased them out of the land, replaced the king on his throne, and made friends with Kaedin. Weeks passed, and he became engaged to Isolde of the white hand. He vainly hoped that being married to another woman would cure him of his love for the Queen of Cornwall, and he knew that the princess loved him.

His betrothal did not bring him peace. His affection for the Lady Isolde grew no stronger, so in despair he put off his marriage, and, unable to feign a love he did not feel, went out to seek death at the hands of the robber hordes that had again invaded the country. He conquered them, and forced them to fly. On his return from this expedition, his marriage day was fixed; but one evening he was induced to accompany his friend Kaedin on a dangerous adventure, and during the combat to which this led, he received a spear thrust in the breast. He fell senseless to the ground. Kaedin carried him out of the fight, and took him home to the palace, where Isolde succeeded in bringing him to himself again.

Every one hoped that he would soon recover from his wound; but instead of that he grew worse. One day he said that the Queen of Cornwall had a remedy that would cure him, if she could only be induced to bring it. Kaedin at once set off for Cornwall to appeal to her compassion. No sooner had the queen heard his tale than she persuaded King Mark to let her go to Arundel, and cure his nephew. Armed with his permission, she started on her long journey by sea and land, and never rested till she arrived at King Jovelin’s palace. There she was greeted with the sad words, “You have come too late—he is dying.” They led her to his couch, and she knelt down and took his hand. A slight pressure showed that he knew who she was; next moment he opened his eyes, gazed at her with a sad and loving look, and then died. She bent over him and kissed him, and in that kiss her spirit passed away. They were buried three days later under the same grave-mound in the distant land of Arundel.

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TRISTRAM AND ISOLDE – A Free Romance from EPICS AND ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES 32 epics and romances.

Translated from the compiled works of Dr. Wilhelm Wägner.

ISBN: 9788834192702

URL/Download Link: http://bit.ly/2t2usSv

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TAGS:#tales, #legends, #middle ages, #myths, #sagas, #wilhelmwagner, #love, #lust, #knightsinshiningarmour, #amor, #Amelung, #Kindred Legends, #Langobardian, #Alboin, #Rosamund, #King Rother, #Ortnit, # Hugdieterich, #Wolfdieterich, #KingSamson, #Dietwart, #DietrichOfBern, #Hildebrand, #Comrades, #action, #Adventure, #FaithfulAlly, #Ermenrich, #Harlungs, #KingEtzel, #Walter, #Wasgenstein, #Hildegunde, #Reussen, #BattleOfRavenna, #GoingHome, #NibelungHero, #Siegfried, #Youth, #Burgundy, #Dragonstone, #dragon, #Wooing, #Brunhild, #Treason, #Death, #Woe, #Hunland, #Lament, #HegelingLegend, #Hagen, #Hettel, #Gudrun, #QueenGerlind, #Victory, #Beowulf, #Grendel, #Bold Diver, #SheWolf, #Sea, #FightWithTheDragon, #CarolingianLegends, #ChildrenOfHaymon, #Roland, #Buglehorn, #WilliamOfOrange, #Legends, #KingArthur, #HolyGrail, #tintagel, #camelot, #Titurel, #Percival, #Lohengrin, #Tristram, #Isolde, #Tannhäuser,

[araitsume]

The Desire of Ages, pp. 410-418: Chapter (45) The Foreshadowing of the Cross

This chapter is based on Matthew 16:13-28; Mark 8:27-38; Luke 9:18-27.

The work of Christ on earth was hastening to a close. Before Him, in vivid outline, lay the scenes whither His feet were tending. Even before He took humanity upon Him, He saw the whole length of the path He must travel in order to save that which was lost. Every pang that rent His heart, every insult that was heaped upon His head, every privation that He was called to endure, was open to His view before He laid aside His crown and royal robe, and stepped down from the throne, to clothe His divinity with humanity. The path from the manger to Calvary was all before His eyes. He knew the anguish that would come upon Him. He knew it all, and yet He said, “Lo, I come: in the volume of the Book it is written of Me, I delight to do Thy will, O My God: yea, Thy law is within My heart.” Psalm 40:7, 8.

Ever before Him He saw the result of His mission. His earthly life, so full of toil and self-sacrifice, was cheered by the prospect that He would not have all this travail for nought. By giving His life for the life of men, He would win back the world to its loyalty to God. Although the baptism of blood must first be received; although the sins of the world were to weigh upon His innocent soul; although the shadow of an unspeakable woe was upon Him; yet for the joy that was set before Him, He chose to endure the cross, and despised the shame.

From the chosen companions of His ministry the scenes that lay before Him were as yet hidden; but the time was near when they must behold His agony. They must see Him whom they had loved and trusted, delivered into the hands of His enemies, and hung upon the cross of Calvary. Soon He must leave them to face the world without the comfort of His visible presence. He knew how bitter hate and unbelief would persecute them, and He desired to prepare them for their trials.

Jesus and His disciples had now come into one of the towns about Caesarea Philippi. They were beyond the limits of Galilee, in a region where idolatry prevailed. Here the disciples were withdrawn from the controlling influence of Judaism, and brought into closer contact with the heathen worship. Around them were represented forms of superstition that existed in all parts of the world. Jesus desired that a view of these things might lead them to feel their responsibility to the heathen. During His stay in this region, He endeavored to withdraw from teaching the people, and to devote Himself more fully to His disciples.

He was about to tell them of the suffering that awaited Him. But first He went away alone, and prayed that their hearts might be prepared to receive His words. Upon joining them, He did not at once communicate that which He desired to impart. Before doing this, He gave them an opportunity of confessing their faith in Him that they might be strengthened for the coming trial. He asked, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?”

Sadly the disciples were forced to acknowledge that Israel had failed to recognize their Messiah. Some indeed, when they saw His miracles, had declared Him to be the Son of David. The multitudes that had been fed at Bethsaida had desired to proclaim Him king of Israel. Many were ready to accept Him as a prophet; but they did not believe Him to be the Messiah.

Jesus now put a second question, relating to the disciples themselves: “But whom say ye that I am?” Peter answered, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

From the first, Peter had believed Jesus to be the Messiah. Many others who had been convicted by the preaching of John the Baptist, and had accepted Christ, began to doubt as to John's mission when he was imprisoned and put to death; and they now doubted that Jesus was the Messiah, for whom they had looked so long. Many of the disciples who had ardently expected Jesus to take His place on David's throne left Him when they perceived that He had no such intention. But Peter and his companions turned not from their allegiance. The vacillating course of those who praised yesterday and condemned today did not destroy the faith of the true follower of the Saviour. Peter declared, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” He waited not for kingly honors to crown his Lord, but accepted Him in His humiliation. 

Peter had expressed the faith of the twelve. Yet the disciples were still far from understanding Christ's mission. The opposition and misrepresentation of the priests and rulers, while it could not turn them away from Christ, still caused them great perplexity. They did not see their way clearly. The influence of their early training, the teaching of the rabbis, the power of tradition, still intercepted their view of truth. From time to time precious rays of light from Jesus shone upon them, yet often they were like men groping among shadows. But on this day, before they were brought face to face with the great trial of their faith, the Holy Spirit rested upon them in power. For a little time their eyes were turned away from “the things which are seen,” to behold “the things which are not seen.” 2 Corinthians 4:18. Beneath the guise of humanity they discerned the glory of the Son of God. 

Jesus answered Peter, saying, “Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but My Father which is in heaven.” 

The truth which Peter had confessed is the foundation of the believer's faith. It is that which Christ Himself has declared to be eternal life. But the possession of this knowledge was no ground for self-glorification. Through no wisdom or goodness of his own had it been revealed to Peter. Never can humanity, of itself, attain to a knowledge of the divine. “It is as high as heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than hell; what canst thou know?” Job 11:8. Only the spirit of adoption can reveal to us the deep things of God, which “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man.” “God hath revealed them unto us by His Spirit: for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God.” 1 Corinthians 2:9, 10. “The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him;” and the fact that Peter discerned the glory of Christ was an evidence that he had been “taught of God.” Psalm 25:14; John 6:45. Ah, indeed, “blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee.” 

Jesus continued: “I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” The word Peter signifies a stone,—a rolling stone. Peter was not the rock upon which the church was founded. The gates of hell did prevail against him when he denied his Lord with cursing and swearing. The church was built upon One against whom the gates of hell could not prevail.

Centuries before the Saviour's advent Moses had pointed to the Rock of Israel's salvation. The psalmist had sung of “the Rock of my strength.” Isaiah had written, “Thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation.” Deuteronomy 32:4; Psalm 62:7; Isaiah 28:16. Peter himself, writing by inspiration, applies this prophecy to Jesus. He says, “If ye have tasted that the Lord is gracious: unto whom coming, a living stone, rejected indeed of men, but with God elect, precious, ye also, as living stones, are built up a spiritual house.” 1 Peter 2:3-5, R. V.

“Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ.” 1 Corinthians 3:11. “Upon this rock,” said Jesus, “I will build My church.” In the presence of God, and all the heavenly intelligences, in the presence of the unseen army of hell, Christ founded His church upon the living Rock. That Rock is Himself,—His own body, for us broken and bruised. Against the church built upon this foundation, the gates of hell shall not prevail.

How feeble the church appeared when Christ spoke these words! There was only a handful of believers, against whom all the power of demons and evil men would be directed; yet the followers of Christ were not to fear. Built upon the Rock of their strength, they could not be overthrown.

For six thousand years, faith has builded upon Christ. For six thousand years the floods and tempests of satanic wrath have beaten upon the Rock of our salvation; but it stands unmoved.

Peter had expressed the truth which is the foundation of the church's faith, and Jesus now honored him as the representative of the whole body of believers. He said, “I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

“The keys of the kingdom of heaven” are the words of Christ. All the words of Holy Scripture are His, and are here included. These words have power to open and to shut heaven. They declare the conditions upon which men are received or rejected. Thus the work of those who preach God's word is a savor of life unto life or of death unto death. Theirs is a mission weighted with eternal results.

The Saviour did not commit the work of the gospel to Peter individually. At a later time, repeating the words that were spoken to Peter, He applied them directly to the church. And the same in substance was spoken also to the twelve as representatives of the body of believers. If Jesus had delegated any special authority to one of the disciples above the others, we should not find them so often contending as to who should be the greatest. They would have submitted to the wish of their Master, and honored the one whom He had chosen.

Instead of appointing one to be their head, Christ said to the disciples, “Be not ye called Rabbi;” “neither be ye called masters: for one is your Master, even Christ.” Matthew 23:8, 10.

“The head of every man is Christ.” God, who put all things under the Saviour's feet, “gave Him to be the head over all things to the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him that filleth all in all.” 1 Corinthians 11:3; Ephesians 1:22, 23. The church is built upon Christ as its foundation; it is to obey Christ as its head. It is not to depend upon man, or be controlled by man. Many claim that a position of trust in the church gives them authority to dictate what other men shall believe and what they shall do. This claim God does not sanction. The Saviour declares, “All ye are brethren.” All are exposed to temptation, and are liable to error. Upon no finite being can we depend for guidance. The Rock of faith is the living presence of Christ in the church. Upon this the weakest may depend, and those who think themselves the strongest will prove to be the weakest, unless they make Christ their efficiency. “Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm.” The Lord “is the Rock, His work is perfect.” “Blessed are all they that put their trust in Him.” Jeremiah 17:5; Deuteronomy 32:4; Psalm 2:12.

After Peter's confession, Jesus charged the disciples to tell no man that He was the Christ. This charge was given because of the determined opposition of the scribes and Pharisees. More than this, the people, and even the disciples, had so false a conception of the Messiah that a public announcement of Him would give them no true idea of His character or His work. But day by day He was revealing Himself to them as the Saviour, and thus He desired to give them a true conception of Him as the Messiah.

The disciples still expected Christ to reign as a temporal prince. Although He had so long concealed His design, they believed that He would not always remain in poverty and obscurity; the time was near when He would establish His kingdom. That the hatred of the priests and rabbis would never be overcome, that Christ would be rejected by His own nation, condemned as a deceiver, and crucified as a malefactor,—such a thought the disciples had never entertained. But the hour of the power of darkness was drawing on, and Jesus must open to His disciples the conflict before them. He was sad as He anticipated the trial.

Hitherto He had refrained from making known to them anything relative to His sufferings and death. In His conversation with Nicodemus He had said, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” John 3:14, 15. But the disciples did not hear this, and had they heard, would not have understood. But now they have been with Jesus, listening to His words, beholding His works, until, notwithstanding the humility of His surroundings, and the opposition of priests and people, they can join in the testimony of Peter, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Now the time has come for the veil that hides the future to be withdrawn. “From that time forth began Jesus to show unto His disciples, how that He must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.”

Speechless with grief and amazement, the disciples listened. Christ had accepted Peter's acknowledgment of Him as the Son of God; and now His words pointing to His suffering and death seemed incomprehensible. Peter could not keep silent. He laid hold upon his Master, as if to draw Him back from His impending doom, exclaiming, “Be it far from Thee, Lord: this shall not be unto Thee.”

Peter loved his Lord; but Jesus did not commend him for thus manifesting the desire to shield Him from suffering. Peter's words were not such as would be a help and solace to Jesus in the great trial before Him. They were not in harmony with God's purpose of grace toward a lost world, nor with the lesson of self-sacrifice that Jesus had come to teach by His own example. Peter did not desire to see the cross in the work of Christ. The impression which his words would make was directly opposed to that which Christ desired to make on the minds of His followers, and the Saviour was moved to utter one of the sternest rebukes  that ever fell from His lips: “Get thee behind Me, Satan: thou art an offense unto Me: for thou savorest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.”

Satan was trying to discourage Jesus, and turn Him from His mission; and Peter, in his blind love, was giving voice to the temptation. The prince of evil was the author of the thought. His instigation was behind that impulsive appeal. In the wilderness, Satan had offered Christ the dominion of the world on condition of forsaking the path of humiliation and sacrifice. Now he was presenting the same temptation to the disciple of Christ. He was seeking to fix Peter's gaze upon the earthly glory, that he might not behold the cross to which Jesus desired to turn his eyes. And through Peter, Satan was again pressing the temptation upon Jesus. But the Saviour heeded it not; His thought was for His disciple. Satan had interposed between Peter and his Master, that the heart of the disciple might not be touched at the vision of Christ's humiliation for him. The words of Christ were spoken, not to Peter, but to the one who was trying to separate him from his Redeemer. “Get thee behind Me, Satan.” No longer interpose between Me and My erring servant. Let Me come face to face with Peter, that I may reveal to him the mystery of My love.

It was to Peter a bitter lesson, and one which he learned but slowly, that the path of Christ on earth lay through agony and humiliation. The disciple shrank from fellowship with his Lord in suffering. But in the heat of the furnace fire he was to learn its blessing. Long afterward, when his active form was bowed with the burden of years and labors, he wrote, “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when His glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.” 1 Peter 4:12, 13.

Jesus now explained to His disciples that His own life of self-abnegation was an example of what theirs should be. Calling about Him, with the disciples, the people who had been lingering near, He said, “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” The cross was associated with the power of Rome. It was the instrument of the most cruel and humiliating form of death. The lowest criminals were required to bear the cross to the place of execution; and often as it was about to be laid upon their shoulders, they resisted with desperate violence, until they were overpowered, and the instrument of torture was bound upon them. But Jesus bade His followers take up the cross and bear it after Him. To the disciples His words, though dimly comprehended, pointed to their submission to the most bitter humiliation,—submission even unto death for the sake of Christ. No more complete self-surrender could the Saviour's words have pictured. But all this He had accepted for them. Jesus did not count heaven a place to be desired while we were lost. He left the heavenly courts for a life of reproach and insult, and a death of shame. He who was rich in heaven's priceless treasure, became poor, that through His poverty we might be rich. We are to follow in the path He trod.

Love for souls for whom Christ died means crucifixion of self. He who is a child of God should henceforth look upon himself as a link in the chain let down to save the world, one with Christ in His plan of mercy, going forth with Him to seek and save the lost. The Christian is ever to realize that he has consecrated himself to God, and that in character he is to reveal Christ to the world. The self-sacrifice, the sympathy, the love, manifested in the life of Christ are to reappear in the life of the worker for God.

“Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for My sake and the gospel's, the same shall save it.” Selfishness is death. No organ of the body could live should it confine its service to itself. The heart, failing to send its lifeblood to the hand and the head, would quickly lose its power. As our lifeblood, so is the love of Christ diffused through every part of His mystical body. We are members one of another, and the soul that refuses to impart will perish. And “what is a man profited,” said Jesus, “if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”

Beyond the poverty and humiliation of the present, He pointed the disciples to His coming in glory, not in the splendor of an earthly throne, but with the glory of God and the hosts of heaven. And then, He said, “He shall reward every man according to his works.” Then for their encouragement He gave the promise, “Verily I say unto you, There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in His kingdom.” But the disciples did not comprehend His words. The glory seemed far away. Their eyes were fixed upon the nearer view, the earthly life of poverty, humiliation, and suffering. Must their glowing expectations of the Messiah's kingdom be relinquished? Were they not to see their Lord exalted to the throne of David? Could it be that Christ was to live a humble, homeless wanderer, to be despised, rejected, and put to death? Sadness oppressed their hearts, for they loved their Master. Doubt also harassed their minds, for it seemed incomprehensible that the Son of God should be subjected to such cruel humiliation. They questioned why He should voluntarily go to Jerusalem to meet the treatment which He had told them He was there to receive. How could He resign Himself to such a fate, and leave them in greater darkness than that in which they were groping before He revealed Himself to them?

In the region of Caesarea Philippi, Christ was out of the reach of Herod and Caiaphas, the disciples reasoned. He had nothing to fear from the hatred of the Jews or from the power of the Romans. Why not work there, at a distance from the Pharisees? Why need He give Himself up to death? If He was to die, how was it that His kingdom was to be established so firmly that the gates of hell should not prevail against it? To the disciples this was indeed a mystery.

They were even now journeying along the shores of the Sea of Galilee toward the city where all their hopes were to be crushed. They dared not remonstrate with Christ, but they talked together in low, sorrowful tones in regard to what the future would be. Even amid their questionings they clung to the thought that some unforeseen circumstance might avert the doom which seemed to await their Lord. Thus they sorrowed and doubted, hoped and feared, for six long, gloomy days.

[tanolikhan1]

Queen and the chach

it.it.ntents The queen falls in love with Chach who becomes the Ruler through her love. The Brahman Chach was a young man with a beautiful face and fair complexion. He was of a tall stature, and well proportioned with an argent person and ruby cheeks When she looked at his handsome features and cypress-like stature, she fell in love with him a thousand fold with her heart and soul. She was fascinated and infatuated, and was struck dumb by his beauty, his form and his vesture. She was overpowered by his striking delivery and marvellous handwriting; and love for Chach obtained an abiding place in her soul, and the tree of affection found a firm footing in the land of her heart. The king had no offspring. The queen had no issue by him. She therefore sent a message to Chach through a cunning go-between in the following words:—“O Chach, the arrows of your eye-lashes have pierced the target of my heart and wounded it, and the chain of separation from you has been fastened on my neck. You will there­fore be kind enough to administer some medicine from the dispensary of your union, and to remove the chain from my neck with the hand of your society. Adorn my neck and ears with the necklace of your love and with the ear-rings of your devotion. If you will not comply with my request, I shall kill myself. Quatrain—May it occur to you to make this my heart happy and to free it from the pangs of your separation. But, O beloved, if you turn your face away from me, I shall raise a cry, that you are doing injustice to me.” When the old woman delivered the above message Chach expressed his abliorrence, and thought it proper to reject the proposal. “Disloyalty,” said he, “in the seraglio of monarchs means (immediate) danger to life, punish­ment in the next world, and a bad name in this world. When the wrath of kings reaches its climax, it cannot be checked or resisted with any screen or any medicine. Therefore, let this alone. We, moreover, are Brahmans and my father and brother are ascetics, and are still sitting in their praying place resigning every thing to God. I do not approve of such infidelity. I am in the service of the king, and I should live between hope and fear. Such a thing is disapproved by wise men. One should not place any confidence in four things, viz., a sovereign, fire, wind,* and water. I would not bring this contempt on my head. You will never gain this object from me.” When this message was brought to the queen, she became calmer and quieter and sent back the follow­ing reply:—“If you shrink from familiarity and intimacy with me, at least give me my due by showing your face to me every day, in season and out of season, so that the thought of your beauty may remain fresh in my mind and I may console myself by cherishing hopes of your union with me. Verse—Happy shall I be if I see you year in and year out, or even if I see you in imagination one single night in the whole period of my life. O my idol! I shall never be despondent in thinking of you; I shall see at least the night of your union one day.” When the eye began to play its part in the affair, and the heart was seized with (desire for) union of the beloved, a sympathy ultimately sprang up between them, which reached its consummation in morning meetings; and their love and intimacy increased beyond measure, and was confirmed by a solemn compact of permanent union. The king had no knowledge of their relations. There was indeed a party of their opponents who entertained evil suspicions regarding them, from the glances of the two, but as no one had observed anything (more suspicious), their secret was maintained. Some of the (said) enemies did inform the king and divulged (all that they knew), but he refused to accept their word, (saying) that such things were not likely to happen at his palace, and that the Chamberlain Chach was not likely to allow himself to be so ungrateful or do such an iniquitous thing. Thus, in the course of time the entire kingdom came under the sway of Chach. Whatever he did was to the liking of the king, and king Sáhasi Rái did not dispose of any important business without first consulting him. In this way, every order issued by Chach, whether positive or prohibitive, came to be strictly obeyed throughout the dominion. The passing away of Sáhasi Rái from this world. At length, the divine decree burst into light from the curtains of mystery. The king fell ill, and his illness took a lingering turn. (By and bye), the signs of death changed the face of his life for the worse. The king's wife became very anxious. She called Chach and told him:—“ The king's life is about to come to its close, and the signs of the cessation of his breath have already appeared. If the king dies, there is no issue of his to inherit the kingdom. His near relations, therefore, will secure all his property and his country. There is no doubt that they will disin­herit and distress me, owing to their estrangement (from me). When even during the life-time of the king, they called me ugly names, they will at such a time as this deprive me of my life and property. One plan occurs to me, and I think it will turn out the right one, and if it is so destined, our wishes will be perfectly gratified and this kingdom will devolve upon you. My opinion is that, if we show our courage, the great God will hand over this kingdom to you, and its honour and glory will long remain with you, and all the people will pay allegiance to you.” Chach said: “I am ready to obey you with all my heart, and whatever you propose must be very good. But it is a well­known maxim that consultation with upright servants is a duty. You must therefore acquaint me with what you have in your mind.” Queen Suhandí said: “Issue an order that fifty chains and fetters be made. Bring them secretly at night, conceal them in the house and keep them ready for use when required.” Accordingly, under the orders of Chach, some heavy chains and fetters were made. They were brought into the innermost apartments of the palace under cover of night, and kept secure in a corner. When the king's last moments arrived and the death agony ensued, the physicians rose to leave. (But) Queen Suhandi asked them to wait in the house for a short time. At the same time, she directed a confidential servant to remove the king to an inner apartment and to close the gate, so that no one in the city should come to know that Sahasi was dead. She then asked him to bring a large number of her followers and dependents into the house. When these men were all brought in, she ordered her servant to call those near relations of the king, who were claimants to the throne (and whom she named one by one). In this way, every one was brought in separately, on the pretext that the king was better that day and wanted to consult him. When each came, he was sent to the appointed apartment where the queen's confidential men put each into chains. Thus, all of her rivals were imprisoned and secured in irons. Next, she sent for those relations of the king who were poor and in want. Each of these, as he came, was told: “To-day, the king is annoyed with such and such a relation of yours, owing to whose ill-treatment and misbehaviour he did not sleep soundly, and has imprisoned him. If you wish to be free from poverty and hunger, and acquire strength by means of wealth and property, go to that prison-room and remove the head of your enemy. Then put yourself in firm possession of his house, his property, his followers and his estates.” In this manner, every one went to the room, and killed that relation of his who was on bad terms with him, and made himself master of his house, cattle, riches, and domestics. Thus, in one single night, they (Suhandí and Chach) made all their troublesome opponents the food of the blood-thirsty sword, and their heart was at ease in regard to their enemies. No competi­tor now remained in the kingdom to claim the inheritance. Chach son of Seláij as­cends the throne. After the friendly followers and dependents were thus pledged, and after the poorer chiefs did the bloody work of the sword, they ranged themselves in a line in front of the palace, and stood there ready with their arms. All the merchants and the artisans, the plebians and the nobles (were also) brought by them, and the royal throne was well adorned. Then queen Suhandi came be­hind a curtain, and sent the following message to them through wazir Budhiman: “Speak to the peers and nobles of the State and convey to them the wishes of their sovereign. Tell them that, though His Majesty is much better and his illness is fast disappearing, still owing to the shock caused, by (the recent) vindictive disturbance, he is unable to come to the public audience hall, and the affairs of the people, high and low, rich and poor, who have not received justice, will remain pending. He is therefore pleased to appoint the Chamberlain Chaeh, in his life-time, as his vireg??ent to carry on the ad­ministration in his name, so that no mischief may find its way into the country, owing to injustice done to the people, whose destinies have been com­mitted to his care by the Creator.” (Hearing these words), all those who were present bent low respect­fully and rubbed their heads on the ground, and said with one voice: “We are ready to obey the command of the king. The Chamberlain Chach is in every way qualified for such a great office, and possesses many good qualities and virtues, as he has already put the State affairs on a firm footing.” Then queen Suhandí Devi presented costly dresses of honour, adorned with ornaments inlaid with jewels, to a thousand of her faithful dependents and friends, who were among the heads of tribes and leaders of armies. At the same time, she placed the crown of the country on the head of Chach, and seated him on the throne. The whole assemblage felt much gratified, and bound themselves to do the service required of them. She then ordered the wazir to be elected anew for the same post, and the chief officers were encouraged in their faithful service with plenty of rewards. New orders about the grant of estates were (also) passed in favour of several nobles. And thus the whole kingdom rested en­tirely on Chach for its administration.* Six months elapsed in this manner. After that period, the news of Rai Sáhasi's death coming to the ear of his brother Maharat, the king of Chitór, the latter prepared an expedition, and with a large army and followers, and furious elephants, and brave warriors, marched out to fight with Chach. He encamped within a league of Alor, and sent a number of his private servants and favourite domestics to Chach with the following message:—“ I am the rightful heir to this kingdom, and this country is the property of my fathers and grandfathers. It is but right that I should have for my own my brother's heritage: to you that same post of chamberlain and lieute­nant will be awarded, and every endeavour will be made to trent you liberally.”*

[fevie168]

Monday (January 22): Jesus frees us from Satan's power

Scripture:  Mark 3:22-30  

22 And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, "He is possessed by Beelzebul, and by the prince of demons he casts out the demons." 23 And he called them to him, and said to them in parables, "How can Satan cast out Satan? 24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end. 27 But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man; then indeed he may plunder his house. 28 "Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the sons of men, and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29 but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin" -- 30 for they had said, "He has an unclean spirit."

Meditation: When danger lurks what kind of protection do you seek? Jesus came to free us from the greatest danger of all - the corrupting force of evil which destroys us from within and makes us slaves to sin and Satan (John 8:34). Evil is not an impersonal force that just happens. It has a name and a face and it seeks to master every heart and soul on the face of the earth (1 Peter 5:8-9). Scripture identifies the Evil One by many names, 'Satan', 'Beelzebul - the prince of demons', the 'Devil', the 'Deceiver', the 'Father of Lies', and 'Lucifier', the fallen angel who broke rank with God and established his own army and kingdom in opposition to God.

The Lord Jesus frees us from Satan's power Jesus declared that he came to overthrow the power of Satan and his kingdom (John 12:31). Jesus' numerous exorcisms brought freedom to many who were troubled and oppressed by the work of evil spirits. Jesus himself encountered personal opposition and battle with Satan when he was put to the test in the wilderness just before his public ministry (Matthew 4:1; Luke 4:1). He overcame the Evil One through his obedience to the will of his Father.

Some of the Jewish leaders reacted vehemently to Jesus' healings and exorcisms and they opposed him with malicious slander. How could Jesus get the power and authority to release individuals from Satan's influence and control? They assumed that he had to be in league with Satan. They attributed his power to Satan rather than to God. Jesus asserts that no kingdom divided against itself can survive for long. We have witnessed enough civil wars in our own time to prove the destructive force at work here for the annihilation of whole peoples and their land. If Satan lends his power against his own forces then he is finished. Cyril of Alexandria, a 5th century church father explains the force of Jesus' argument:

Kingdoms are established by the fidelity of subjects and the obedience of those under the royal scepter. Houses are established when those who belong to them in no way whatsoever thwart one another but, on the contrary, agree in will and deed. I suppose it would establish the kingdom too of Beelzebub, had he determined to abstain from everything contrary to himself. How then does Satan cast out Satan? It follows then that devils do not depart from people on their own accord but retire unwillingly. “Satan,” he says, “does not fight with himself.” He does not rebuke his own servants. He does not permit himself to injure his own armor bearers. On the contrary, he helps his kingdom. “It remains for you to understand that I crush Satan by divine power.” [Commentary on Luke, Homily 80]

Jesus asserted his authority to cast out demons as a clear demonstration of the reign of God. God's power is clearly at work in the exorcisms which Jesus performed and they give evidence that God's kingdom has come.

Being clothed in God's strength What kind of spiritual danger or harm should we avoid at all costs? Jesus used the illustration of a strong man whose house and possessions were kept secure. How could such a person be overtaken and robbed of his goods except by someone who is stronger than himself? Satan, who is our foe and the arch-enemy of God, is stronger than us. Unless we are clothed in God's strength, we cannot withstand Satan with our own human strength. What does Satan wish to take from us - our faith and confidence in God and our readiness to follow God's commandments. Satan is a rebel and a liar. Satan can only have power or dominion over us if we listen to his lies and succumb to his will which is contrary to the will of God. Jesus makes it clear that there are no neutral parties in this world. We are either for Jesus or against him, for the kingdom of God or opposed to it.

There are ultimately only two kingdoms in opposition to one another - the kingdom of God's light and truth and the kingdom of darkness and deception under the rule of Satan. If we disobey God's word, we open the door to the power of sin and Satan's influence in our lives. If we want to live in true freedom from the power of sin and Satan, then our "house" - our mind and heart and whatever we allow to control our appetites and desires - must be occupied and ruled by Jesus Christ where he is enthroned as Lord and Savior. Do you know the peace and security of a life submitted to God and to his Word?

Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit What is the unforgivable sin which Jesus warns us to avoid? Jesus knows that his disciples will be tested and he assures them that the Holy Spirit will give them whatever grace and help they need in their time of adversity. He warns them, however, that it's possible to spurn the grace of God and to fall into apostasy (giving up the faith) out of cowardice or disbelief. Why is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit reprehensible? Blasphemy consists in uttering against God, inwardly or outwardly, words of hatred, reproach, or defiance. It's contrary to the respect due God and his holy name. Jesus speaks of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit as the unforgivable sin.

Jesus spoke about this sin immediately after the scribes and Pharisees had attributed his miracles to the work of the devil instead of to God. A sin can only be unforgivable if repentance is impossible. If people repeatedly closes their eyes to God, shuts their ears to his voice, and reject his word, they bring themselves to a point where they can no longer recognize God when he can be seen and heard. They become spiritually blind-sighted and speak of "evil as good and good as evil" (Isaiah 5:20).

The Holy Spirit heals and transforms us To fear such a state of sin and spiritual blindness, however, signals that one is not dead to God and is conscious of the need for God's grace, mercy, and help. There are no limits to the mercy of God, but anyone who refuses to acknowledge and confess their sins and to ask God for forgiveness, spurns God's generous offer of mercy, pardon, grace, and healing. Through their own stubborn pride and willfulness, they reject God, refuse his grace and help to turn away from sin, and reject the transforming power of the Holy Spirit to heal and restore them to wholeness. God always gives sufficient grace and help to all who humbly call upon him. Giving up on God and refusing to turn away from sin and disbelief results from pride and the loss of hope in God.

What is the basis of our hope and confidence in God? Through Jesus' death on the cross and his victory over the grave when he rose again on the third day, Satan has been defeated and death has been overcome. We now share in Christ's victory over sin and Satan and receive adoption as God's sons and daughters. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, the Lord enables us to live a new life of love and freedom from slavery to sin. The Lord Jesus is our refuge and strength because he makes his home with us (John 15:4) and gives us the power and help of the Holy Spirit. Do you take refuge in the Lord and allow him to be the Ruler of your life?

"Lord Jesus, you are my hope and salvation. Be the ruler of my heart and the master of my home. May there be nothing in my life that is not under your lordship."

Psalm 89:19-21,24-25

19 Of old you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said:  “I have set the crown upon one who is mighty, I have exalted one chosen from the people. 20 I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him; 21 my hand shall always remain with him; my arm also shall strengthen him. 24 My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him, and in my name shall his horn be exalted. 25 I will set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers.

Daily Quote from the early church fathers: The cross of Christ as victory, by Augustine of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.

"It is not difficult, therefore, to see how the devil was conquered when he, who was slain by him, rose again. But there is something greater and more profound of comprehension: to see how the devil was conquered precisely when he was thought to be conquering, namely, when Christ was crucified. For at that moment the blood of him who had no sin at all, was shed for the remission of our sins (Matthew 26:28, 1 John 3:5). The devil deservedly held those whom he had bound by sin to the condition of death. So it happened that One who was guilty of no sin freed them justly from this condemnation (Hebrews 2:14). The strong man was conquered by this paradoxical justice and bound by this chain, that his vessels [booty] might be taken away. Those vessels which had been vessels of wrath were turned into vessels of mercy (Romans 9:22-23)." (excerpt ON THE TRINITY 13.15.19)

[fevie168]

Monday (January 23): Jesus frees us from Satan's power

Scripture:  Mark 3:22-30  

22 And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, "He is possessed by Beelzebul, and by the prince of demons he casts out the demons." 23 And he called them to him, and said to them in parables, "How can Satan cast out Satan? 24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end. 27 But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man; then indeed he may plunder his house. 28 "Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the sons of men, and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29 but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin" -- 30 for they had said, "He has an unclean spirit."

Meditation: When danger lurks what kind of protection do you seek? Jesus came to free us from the greatest danger of all - the corrupting force of evil which destroys us from within and makes us slaves to sin and Satan (John 8:34). Evil is not an impersonal force that just happens. It has a name and a face and it seeks to master every heart and soul on the face of the earth (1 Peter 5:8-9). Scripture identifies the Evil One by many names, 'Satan', 'Beelzebul - the prince of demons', the 'Devil', the 'Deceiver', the 'Father of Lies', and 'Lucifier', the fallen angel who broke rank with God and established his own army and kingdom in opposition to God.

The Lord Jesus frees us from Satan's power Jesus declared that he came to overthrow the power of Satan and his kingdom (John 12:31). Jesus' numerous exorcisms brought freedom to many who were troubled and oppressed by the work of evil spirits. Jesus himself encountered personal opposition and battle with Satan when he was put to the test in the wilderness just before his public ministry (Matthew 4:1; Luke 4:1). He overcame the Evil One through his obedience to the will of his Father.

Some of the Jewish leaders reacted vehemently to Jesus' healings and exorcisms and they opposed him with malicious slander. How could Jesus get the power and authority to release individuals from Satan's influence and control? They assumed that he had to be in league with Satan. They attributed his power to Satan rather than to God. Jesus asserts that no kingdom divided against itself can survive for long. We have witnessed enough civil wars in our own time to prove the destructive force at work here for the annihilation of whole peoples and their land. If Satan lends his power against his own forces then he is finished. Cyril of Alexandria, a 5th century church father explains the force of Jesus' argument:

Kingdoms are established by the fidelity of subjects and the obedience of those under the royal scepter. Houses are established when those who belong to them in no way whatsoever thwart one another but, on the contrary, agree in will and deed. I suppose it would establish the kingdom too of Beelzebub, had he determined to abstain from everything contrary to himself. How then does Satan cast out Satan? It follows then that devils do not depart from people on their own accord but retire unwillingly. “Satan,” he says, “does not fight with himself.” He does not rebuke his own servants. He does not permit himself to injure his own armor bearers. On the contrary, he helps his kingdom. “It remains for you to understand that I crush Satan by divine power.” [Commentary on Luke, Homily 80]

Jesus asserted his authority to cast out demons as a clear demonstration of the reign of God. God's power is clearly at work in the exorcisms which Jesus performed and they give evidence that God's kingdom has come.

Being clothed in God's strength What kind of spiritual danger or harm should we avoid at all costs? Jesus used the illustration of a strong man whose house and possessions were kept secure. How could such a person be overtaken and robbed of his goods except by someone who is stronger than himself? Satan, who is our foe and the arch-enemy of God, is stronger than us. Unless we are clothed in God's strength, we cannot withstand Satan with our own human strength. What does Satan wish to take from us - our faith and confidence in God and our readiness to follow God's commandments. Satan is a rebel and a liar. Satan can only have power or dominion over us if we listen to his lies and succumb to his will which is contrary to the will of God. Jesus makes it clear that there are no neutral parties in this world. We are either for Jesus or against him, for the kingdom of God or opposed to it.

There are ultimately only two kingdoms in opposition to one another - the kingdom of God's light and truth and the kingdom of darkness and deception under the rule of Satan. If we disobey God's word, we open the door to the power of sin and Satan's influence in our lives. If we want to live in true freedom from the power of sin and Satan, then our "house" - our mind and heart and whatever we allow to control our appetites and desires - must be occupied and ruled by Jesus Christ where he is enthroned as Lord and Savior. Do you know the peace and security of a life submitted to God and to his Word?

Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit What is the unforgivable sin which Jesus warns us to avoid? Jesus knows that his disciples will be tested and he assures them that the Holy Spirit will give them whatever grace and help they need in their time of adversity. He warns them, however, that it's possible to spurn the grace of God and to fall into apostasy (giving up the faith) out of cowardice or disbelief. Why is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit reprehensible? Blasphemy consists in uttering against God, inwardly or outwardly, words of hatred, reproach, or defiance. It's contrary to the respect due God and his holy name. Jesus speaks of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit as the unforgivable sin.

Jesus spoke about this sin immediately after the scribes and Pharisees had attributed his miracles to the work of the devil instead of to God. A sin can only be unforgivable if repentance is impossible. If people repeatedly closes their eyes to God, shuts their ears to his voice, and reject his word, they bring themselves to a point where they can no longer recognize God when he can be seen and heard. They become spiritually blind-sighted and speak of "evil as good and good as evil" (Isaiah 5:20).

The Holy Spirit heals and transforms us To fear such a state of sin and spiritual blindness, however, signals that one is not dead to God and is conscious of the need for God's grace, mercy, and help. There are no limits to the mercy of God, but anyone who refuses to acknowledge and confess their sins and to ask God for forgiveness, spurns God's generous offer of mercy, pardon, grace, and healing. Through their own stubborn pride and willfulness, they reject God, refuse his grace and help to turn away from sin, and reject the transforming power of the Holy Spirit to heal and restore them to wholeness. God always gives sufficient grace and help to all who humbly call upon him. Giving up on God and refusing to turn away from sin and disbelief results from pride and the loss of hope in God.

What is the basis of our hope and confidence in God? Through Jesus' death on the cross and his victory over the grave when he rose again on the third day, Satan has been defeated and death has been overcome. We now share in Christ's victory over sin and Satan and receive adoption as God's sons and daughters. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, the Lord enables us to live a new life of love and freedom from slavery to sin. The Lord Jesus is our refuge and strength because he makes his home with us (John 15:4) and gives us the power and help of the Holy Spirit. Do you take refuge in the Lord and allow him to be the Ruler of your life?

"Lord Jesus, you are my hope and salvation. Be the ruler of my heart and the master of my home. May there be nothing in my life that is not under your lordship."

Psalm 89:19-21,24-25

19 Of old you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said:  “I have set the crown upon one who is mighty, I have exalted one chosen from the people. 20 I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him; 21 my hand shall always remain with him; my arm also shall strengthen him. 24 My faithfulness and my steadfast love shall be with him, and in my name shall his horn be exalted. 25 I will set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers.

Daily Quote from the early church fathers: The cross of Christ as victory, by Augustine of Hippo, 430-543 A.D.

"It is not difficult, therefore, to see how the devil was conquered when he, who was slain by him, rose again. But there is something greater and more profound of comprehension: to see how the devil was conquered precisely when he was thought to be conquering, namely, when Christ was crucified. For at that moment the blood of him who had no sin at all, was shed for the remission of our sins (Matthew 26:28, 1 John 3:5). The devil deservedly held those whom he had bound by sin to the condition of death. So it happened that One who was guilty of no sin freed them justly from this condemnation (Hebrews 2:14). The strong man was conquered by this paradoxical justice and bound by this chain, that his vessels [booty] might be taken away. Those vessels which had been vessels of wrath were turned into vessels of mercy (Romans 9:22-23)." (excerpt ON THE TRINITY 13.15.19)