#hyth's death just added to that

[elizabethrobertajones]

How did they feel about the Endless?

While I, Lizbob, was wracked with existential torment about the whole thing, Frog was like "Oh, they're just complicated ghosts. We've dealt with ghosts before, I know what to do!" ... which was also pretty much how she handled Elpis as well, treating Venat like the only alive person she talked to the whole time because no one else had any forward agency on the story (SHE THOUGHT - Ultima Thule with the steel chair etc).

Actually, I think UT hit Frog harder than me, and Living Memory hit me way harder than Frog. It was very strange sobbing my eyes out over something while knowing Frog was way more likely to be concerned entirely with her friends and the ongoing pressures of the plot. I wanted to loiter for ages in the zones before they got deleted and she was just "End of the world imminent, gotta moooove".

So, that said. I think she immediately rationalised pretty much all of the Endless as ghosts, and only had a bit of uncertainty over Otis because she couldn't quite tell from his telling of it if he was his whole soul in a robot suit or if he was also a stripped down and re-uploaded blank soul. Of course the way to deal with ghosts is to treat them like the living and respect their wishes and listen to them, but always with the thought of "how can I help you in the long run to not be like this any more, but to move you on back into the Lifestream and get things going normally again?"

She's encountered more than enough times things which should not have souls in the most technical sense which did end up seeming to live so fully or to show so much spark it was hard to deny they felt real - from her Anima doll from the HW relic quests (still travelling with her on all the MSQ!) to meeting the Twelve and learning they were extremely juiced up constructs of memory. The thing that made her pause most was comparing the Endless to Amaurot!Hyth, who had a little sparkle based on Emet Selch's creation putting too much into it, and he felt far more real than any of the other shades. But he was still a recreation.

Once she knew they were blank souls with a memory pasted over, it felt SO wrong because the first soul could have been anyone, and the memories over the top were a copy adding the personality layer. Even if they were wholly authentic to the person whose memories they'd once been because a whole soul was powering a complete set of memories, they were still just ghosts which weren't the contiguous version of their old selves; the older ghosts like Krile's parents had probably had their souls burned out long ago, and who knew where the ball of energy that had once been Cahcuia was now? Was she in Zoraal Ja when we fought him?

So all Frog's time with the Scions and other travels had given her a rather detached scientific thought process about the Endless themselves. It was all for her friends and their response to the Endless that she felt pained, because it was real enough to show them how their loved ones would be in that situation, and to even get emotional closure for the living and answers from their memories. But she wasn't even sure that when the Endless were deleted, their true souls in the Aetherial Sea, if they had made it, would even know they had that closure. And she couldn't even say anything like that because it would be entirely heartless to deny that it was real in a way that mattered to those who had known them. Wuk Lamat DESERVED to feel she'd said goodbye to Namikka properly, you know? And that's entirely depending on if the souls used in regulators were actually released to the Aetherial Sea on death and that was where the entropy was coming from, and not destroyed in the process. In which case there was even less hope of any of this having meant anything more than something the living could cling onto.

I think in the end it was just a horrible ache in her heart, but mostly for the living, and a sense of needing to end this whole process :(

The weirdest thing to her was making people forget the dead, and even denying them being able to visit and hang out. If the living could take weekend trips to the Great Funfair In The Sky and have the grandkids play with great gammy as she was as a fellow 6 year old that would utterly blow up the concept of generational family in such a fun way and she thought it would be MORE of a balm to the living, having seen how her friends reacted to their ghost family, that anyone should go visit them and know that death wasn't the end and their loved one had merely gone onto a new stage of life. She wouldn't have agreed with it ethically but as a culture living with such a technology it would have made sense emotionally and been MUCH harder for her to think about tearing it all down with no hesitation, because it would have at least been emotionally sustainable even if it wasn't energy sustainable. The utter cloistering of the dead and the refusal to let the living have grief was what did it for her. She did the side quests in Heritage Found, she saw immediately how fucked up the people were without memories of their loved ones and how much it had damaged them. The regular people were all suffering in such a profound way. She was feeling on a crusade for the living before they set foot in there.

(Meanwhile, Lizzy, watching Erenville get called Fussy Little Bun Bun: WAAAAH AHOO HOO HOO BLURRRRR HOO HOO)

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 24: Extra Credit

Rating: T

Word Count: 559

Warnings: Mentions of near death experience, injury

Summary: Akira awakes on the Ragnarok and is greeted by her new old friend. [Hythwolemet, Hyth and Hades Stay AU, follow up to prompt 3, but can be read alone.]

Master Post

It was dark when Akira next woke, her head pounding and her body aching. Through the shadows, she could see the vaguest outlines of the interior of the Ragnarok. Akira laid on what appeared to be a thin mattress set on the floor, a sheet thin blanket protecting her from any stray breeze. The last thing she could remember was fading quickly in that place at the edge of existence, and she frowned in confusion. How could that be possible? Was this some dream her mind conjured up in its last moments?

"Good morning," a familiar voice greeted, and she turned her head (more flopped it to the side really) to see Hythlodaeus, the same as he'd appeared in the field of Elpis flowers, soft smile in place.

"Am I dead?" She frowned, and he couldn't conceal his amused chuckle.

"No, though you gave it your very best try," the words would have been admonishing, but his voice was kind as ever, and he reached to take her hand. "You're lucky Hydaelyn's magic was still working or you might not have made it."

"I don't understand."

"We came back. To see you safely home," he explained. "You really must be more careful. Your friends would be distraught without you." Akira's scowl deepened.

"'We'? You mean to tell me Em– Hades came too?" As if he needed another reason to resent me, she added to herself.

"It was his idea, actually. He said I could go on if I wanted, but I couldn't very well leave you both here alone could I?" He gave her a look far fonder than she felt she deserved. "You're both hopeless without me, after all."

"I'll have you know I've slain gods," she huffed, though her expression was teasing.

"Oh, I know, but look at the state you allowed yourself to come to. How could I rest easy knowing you're not taking care of yourself?"

"... I'm not her."

"I know."

The silence was somehow both easy and strained, that small part of her that still carried Persephone's will, her hopes for the future, overjoyed at her two greatest loves being returned to her, but Akira herself feeling a deep guilt, and consumed by the thought that she did not deserve such borrowed happiness.

"Where is everyone?"

"Asleep," Hythlodaeus ran his thumb along the scales upon her hand. "It's been a long day, for everyone involved, so I told them I'd watch over you while they got some rest."

"Hades, too?"

"One of your friends, the man with the long coat and white hair? Refused to leave the room unless he left too. So he's presumably getting some rest as well. Or, well, I hope he is." Akira rolled her eyes at that.

"Thancred is ridiculous," she muttered, though the complaint lacked any bite. "If Hades wanted me dead he could have just left me there."

"True, but from what I've heard this Thancred has good reasons to be suspicious."

Akira wanted to respond, but her eyelids grew heavy again, her body still so exhausted from her last, desperate fight. Hythlodaeus smoothed her hair back from her face gently, gaze fonder than she felt she deserved. 

"Get some more rest, I'll be here if you need anything."

She meant to argue, but sleep rose to claim her before she could utter a single word. 

[ainyan]

Exhaustion (WIP)

Exhaustion was a haze over her brain, dampening thought and threatening to envelop her with every stumbling step. The journey from door to elevator, from elevator to door was a blur; one moment she stood before the apartment building where Hythlodaeus lived - the next, she stood in his living room with no recollection of how she got there. The lights were off, the door to the bedroom closed. She didn’t have the strength to care.

She didn’t have the strength for anything.

The sofa loomed before her, invitingly plump, and without a sound she collapsed down face first upon it. Even before her head struck the cushion, she had passed out, bypassing sleep straight into a virtual coma, dreamless and as deep as death.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“... aether completely exhausted. Only a trace.”

“Look at these cuts, and not even enough left to heal them.”

“Three cracked ribs. Any more pressure and this one might have broken.”

“Her feet! Oh, her feet…”

“Enough, Hyth. Here.” Her mind spun sickeningly as she found herself unceremoniously scooped up in a pair of unfamiliar arms. Pain crackled across her body - her head, her ribs, her arms and legs and hands and feet - there was not a part of her that did not ache or sear or burn. With every step they took, she whimpered and quaked in their arms.

Moments dragged on interminably to millenia before she was laid with the utmost care upon a soft surface. Familiar scents rose about her; starflowers and sandalwood and just the faintest hint of lavender and amber. “If you’ll step aside,” murmured a voice so familiar just the sound of it soothed the anxiety seething in her breast, “I’ll prepare her for you.”

Hands tugged at her tattered robe, gently sliding it off with great care for the wounds beneath. “It will take both of us if we’re not to cause more damage or pain. It’s okay,” the second voice added, just a bit tetchy. “I won’t run screaming, and she doesn’t need to know.” Despite the waspishness of the tone and words, the hands that lifted her were gentle beyond compare, feather-light and soft against the agony that was her body.

The last of the tattered cloth was stripped from her, leaving nothing between her and the cool air. It brushed her skin, caressed her wounds, and drew a shuddering gasp from between torn lips. There was a muffled curse, then warmth suffused her, stealing into her battered body and leaving behind a numbing comfort in its wake. “She won’t recover soon from this,” murmured that voice that was almost, but not quite as familiar as the other. “No matter how much aether I pour in; no matter how much I heal, there’s too much damage this time. She’ll be at least a week, maybe more, in recovery.”

A gentle hand stroked her hair; she could feel the comfort the touch brought through the throbbing. Her body was not hers to command; she could not speak, could not move, could not even twitch but for involuntary spasms brought on by the pain. “She’ll fight it, but I’ll keep her down, even if I must tie her there.”

There was a brief moment of silence. “I shall do my best to help you. I’m going to start. Could you go make me some tea? I will need it, I think, when I am done here.”

“Of course, love.” There was a soft brush against her forehead; butterfly wings, perhaps, or the kiss of a loved one. “Rest, my love,” and this time the voice spoke to her, filled to the brim with affection and concern. “Let him help you, just this once.”

Footsteps sounded and retreated, and she was alone but for the other at her side. She felt the surface upon which she rested shift and settle lower as the other sank down beside her. Another hand, this one larger, harder, and yet equally as gentle as the other, stroked over her hair. “Foolish Mnemosyne,” whispered that irritated voice; beneath the ire, she heard deep concern. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

The hand continued to stroke, and with each brush she could feel the warmth sink into her, washing away fragments of the pain. By the time she could hear the return of those soft footsteps, the agony had dulled to an ache and she could once more feel sleep nibbling at the edges of her mind. “Well?” asked that comfortingly familiar voice, wrapping around her like a soft blanket.

“She’ll live, have no doubt. With care, she’ll only add a few more scars to her collection and have no lingering effects for all her pains.” This voice did not cuddle and soothe, not like the others, but there was comfort here all the same; a light in the dark, her mind mused muzzily. Home. Safety. Perhaps not solace, but security, and sometimes that was more important. The hand upon her hair stroked one last time, fingers trailing down to caress her cheek, then withdrew. “I will help her sleep for now and you can tend the physical aspect of her wounds.”

The hand that touched her other cheek was smaller, slimmer, but no less kind, no less caring, than the one that had eased the pain. “Darling,” sighed that voice that said love and comfort, “what have you done this time? Do you know anything, dear, or did she go off on a wild hair as she does so often?”

The voice of home sighed; the sound was so familiar that she knew that had she been capable of smiling, she would have. “I know not, though I imagine I’ll hear all about it in session. I do not doubt that whatever she was up to, she felt she had a good reason… in her own head, at least.” The bed shifted, and she knew they - he? - was leaving. She must have made a sound, because so did he. “Hush,” he murmured, and she felt his hand brush her cheek. “Sleep. Sleep.”

As the aetherical suggestion sank into her mind, she heard the other voice speak. “Are you certain you will not stay? I could use your help.” A pause. “I could use the comfort.”

Another so-familiar sigh. “I would, but I do not think she would appreciate waking up with me here. I will be right outside, I promise. I will not leave until we know that she is on the mend, even if it means missing work.”

“Hades.” There was a wealth of mingled surprise and affection in that one word - that one name.

She knew that name.

“Do not look at me so.” So irritable, so familiar. Her lips wanted so much to smile, even as her mind began to sink into the nothingness of sleep. “Take care of her. I will be right outside.”

As silent darkness enveloped her once more, she felt one last brush of fingers against her cheek, then nothing at all.

[pippuns]

hello. i am thinking about ascian hythlodaeus. it is 2am.

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Frost & Fire: Excerpt!

I may be inconsistent, but I am doing this again!

So here's a bit from chapter 18, in which Enna is talking to her father (Read: Getting annoyed at) and then goes to visit her sister and gets dragged into helping her with paperwork.

WORD COUNT: 1140 TAGLIST: @golden-eyed-writer @writing-is-a-martial-art @livvywrites @magic-is-something-we-create @gr3y-heron @ihaveneverhadaclue @void-fireworks CW/TW: Swearing, references to death, references to stabbing

~~~~~~

Cessari said, “Enna, what do you mean?”

“I mean that we have to use Anne’s contacts! She knows people, Dad, and those people are damn useful. Howlers, especially. They’re mostly legal, and they work with the watch of Hythe, not against them!”

“Mostly legal?” Asked Cessari.

Enna sighed. “Fine. like 74% legal. But that’s more legal than us!”

“Enna, that is very concerning.”

“Not really, especially since the government of Bryn is way less legal than that, it’s like 55%. Maybe less, that was 20 years ago.”

“Yes, but the legalities of Bryn and its politics aside, what do you mean by 'us' being mostly legal?"

"Dad, your other daughter runs a thieves guild and I've killed more things than the number of years I've been alive. Your son taught me 23 ways to stab someone non-fatally and 19 ways to stab someone fatally, with a dagger, not even can counting the ways to shoot someone with an arrow in both categories. None of us are much concerned with legal matters, I didn't even care about them that much beyond not getting caught and jailed until you became Baron and shit and even now, the most legal thing I have done since I turned 12 was sell a bakery!"

"That's… that's the most legal thing?!"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well then. I guess you can do it, but please don't advertise this to the nobles. They hate the fact that Anne and you are what you are."

"You mean criminals?"

"Yes."

"Then just say it, father. You don't have to honey coat it. I'm a grown adult, I'm 97 years old. And I don't need you, or anyone, to honey coat it."

"Fine. Then just do it, but don't say I gave you permission," growled Cessari.

"Good." Enna stormed off, flipping open the hatch and attempting to slam it behind her, but the padding on its edges greatly negated that effect. She fumed as she walked back or the first exit outside of the castle walls, and she found herself walking past that one and plunking herself down in the chair in front of the desk in Anne's- underground- office to wait for her sister.

Seven minutes later, Anne showed up, grumbling about the armful of paperwork she had to one of her two- technically three, including Enna, who was semi unofficial- Lieutenants, a vertically challenged human of approximately four and a half decades. They shut the door behind him and Anne with a foot, and turned around to say to Anne, who was locking the door with her free hand, "Uh, ma'am, your sister is here."

"Gray, you know you don't have to call me- Wait, En's here?" Asked Anne, half turning.

"Hi," Said Enna, twisting her head around to wave.

Anne's Lieutenant waved back, shifting their own bundle of paper work to their left arm.

"Why're you here?"

"Enh. Wanted to see if you needed help," Lied Enna. She was a pretty good liar, and Anne didn't always know when she was lying.

And for once Anne didn't pick up on it, or if she did she didn't acknowledge it, as she said, "I mean, if you don't mind helping us review spending ledgers for inconsistencies, you can help. Otherwise you're welcome to stay, a third set of eyes might be useful."

"Especially since My eyes aren't what they used to be," Added the Lieutenant. Enna remembered his name now. Alexi Gray, former First Mate on a smuggler's sloop called Mallard before they retired after an almost mutiny about three months after the war ended.

Enna rose, and dragged a chair over from the corner for her to sit in as she let Alexi take her place.

Anne sat on the other side of the desk, placed her stack of paperwork on the floor and moved several other stacks of paperwork, three books, and several postcards and letters along with assorted odds and ends before revealing the wood underneath. Most of that stuff went on the already overcrowded bookshelf or to the extra table in the corner of the office, which was piled high with assorted items and papers.

Anne was not the tidiest person in the world. She was, in fact, one of the messier persons this side of the Oskgard Mountains, at least in terms of office organization. Her bedroom and apartment were actually fairly clean, considering the state of her office.

But back to the mission at hand.

Enna took a third of the papers, most of which were taken from Anne's pile as hers was larger. Anne rummaged around in a drawer for some pencils and pens, while Enna produced some slightly stale pretzels of the kind you get as snacks on road trips and passed them around, declaring, "Snacks."

Alexi grabbed a pack, opened them, but into one and grimaced.

"No offense Marie, but these are very stale."

"Not just slightly stale?" Asked Enna, grabbing her own, eating it, then her face contorting into an expression of dismay and disgust. Marie was her middle name.

"Point taken. I am truly sorry, Gray."

She threw hers into the trash can- they were basically inedible at this point- and swept the other bags into her bag of holding that she carried at all times.

She stuck her head into it after expanding the opening just wide enough for her head and then pulled it back out, hair a mess.

"So, no more snacks. Well I have a couple scones but I wouldn't eat them, last time I made those particular scones was like ten years ago, so they probably aren't edible either."

"Give 'em to Val?"

"Nah, she got most of that batch. She's the one who I made them for."

"Oh. Well, I found some pencils."

"Good."

Anne dumped a three stubby pencils on the desk's top and then picked them up again and handed on to each person before turning to her sister.

"Alright, Enna. Gray, you alright know what to do, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Enna, what we're doing is double checking for any inconsistencies in the tables, but you're going to check these-" Anne traded Enna's stack of papers for another one- "and make sure that no one's died, no one's missing, and then mark down their last known location, along with their status. Got it?"

"Last know location, status, not dead. Yep, I got it."

"Lovely."

Enna was grateful for the distraction. They worked quietly, with Anne and Gray comparing figures occasionally and Anne sighing sometimes.

Enna worked quietly too, happy to not be doing math and also happy to be confirming that people that mattered to her by their association with Anne were alive.

And when she got to the third page, a name that had 'retired' marked next to it, in status it read deceased. A name she knew.

[ukrfeminism]

Woman sentenced to nine years for abandoning newborn baby in woodland

Baby Maliki was abandoned in woodland by Silipa Keresi who herself was the victim of domestic violence.

The wife of a former soldier who was beaten by her husband and whose life was in “chaos” has been jailed for life to serve a minimum of nine years for the murder of her newborn baby who she abandoned in woodland.

Silipa Keresi was convicted at Winchester Crown Court in connection with the death of Maliki Keresi who was found dead, wrapped in a bath towel near to the defendant’s home in Hythe New Forest Hampshire on March 5 2020.

The trial heard that the defendant, from Fiji who is married to a former Commonwealth soldier in the British Army, was stressed at the time by the process of applying for permission to stay in the UK combined with financial difficulties.

She told the court that her life had been “hell for the past couple of years” with her family being homeless while living in a small hotel room, surviving on contributions from a food bank.

The court also heard she was the victim of domestic violence since 2008 from her husband, Dharma Keresi, who used to hit her and beat her with his army belt.

The assaults led to Mr Keresi being told by the Army to resign in 2017 or face disciplinary proceedings.

The trial was told she found out that she was pregnant when it was too late to legally have an abortion.

Keresi, who has four other children, told the jury: “I felt my life was just chaos.”

Sentencing the 38-year-old, the judge Mr Justice Garnham told her that she had left her child “exposed, defenceless and alone” and added: “Regardless of your circumstances, abandoning your baby was a truly dreadful thing to do.”

He said that Keresi had “poor coping strategies” and was wary of the authorities and was reluctant to seek help as she lived in fear of deportation.

He added: “I have no doubt you feel some genuine and enduring remorse.

“I accept you acted in a way that was wholly out of character and you would not have done what you did but for the extreme nature of your personal circumstances.”

James Newton-Price QC, defending, said Keresi faces deportation and added: “This was an act of some desperation by Mrs Keresi in the circumstances she found herself.

“This defendant could expect no real support from her husband on learning she was pregnant, the reason for that was the background of intimidation and domestic violence in the marriage.”

Kerry Maylin, prosecuting, told the trial that in November 2019, Keresi visited the British Pregnancy Advisory Service (BPAS) seeking a termination.

But she had left the appointment distressed after a scan revealed she was 26 weeks and five days pregnant, past the legal limit of 24 weeks for an abortion.

Miss Maylin said: “Silipa Keresi appeared very shocked, she became visibly uncomfortable, she got off the bed abruptly and tried to leave.”

She said that several attempts were made by the midwife service to contact the defendant during her pregnancy, including a visit to her home, but she failed to attend appointments.

A post-mortem examination of the dead baby showed that Maliki suffered no injuries but he would have suffered from hypothermia with the cause of death given as “omission of care”.

[gessvhowarth]

How London's Churches Got Their Unusual Names

Ever wondered where London's strange church names came from? The saints' names are fairly common, but what about the references to Danish people, garlic, wardrobes or being without? These came about to avoid confusion between churches dedicated to the same saint. The churches listed here (we've limited it to ones that are still standing) are all of medieval origin, as are their names which can reflect their location (by referring to a nearby building, for example), the identity of a long-dead benefactor or even the fact that a particular church is older than its namesakes... St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe Photo: Ian Wylie This Wren church, located on Queen Victoria Street, is dedicated to St Andrew, one of the disciples. Originally called 'St Andrew juxta [near] Baynard Castle' due to its proximity to Baynard's Castle, it got its current name in the mid-14th century when King Edward III moved the Royal family's ceremonial robes and garments from the Tower to a house near the church. The house became known as the Great Wardrobe (or the King's Wardrobe) and the church's new name reflected its proximity to this important building. The Great Wardrobe's location is commemorated by a plaque in nearby Wardrobe Place. St Andrew Undershaft Photo: Luca Taranta Unusually, this church managed to survive both the Great Fire and the Blitz. It got the second part of its name in the 15th century; the shaft of a tall maypole was set up opposite the church each year until the Evil May Day riots of 1517 put an end to this tradition. The maypole itself survived, stored under the eaves of the houses on the nearby (and no longer existent) Shaft Alley until 1549, when it was denounced as a pagan idol and destroyed. St Botolph-without-Bishopsgate Photo: G Macdonald A medieval church rebuilt in the 18th century, it stood just outside the city wall by the Bishop's Gate (it's not certain which bishop it was named after). Botolph, or Botwulf of Thorney, was a 7th-century Saxon abbot who became the patron saint of travellers, which is why all of the London churches dedicated to him could be found close to city gates (the other two surviving ones are 'without' Aldersgate and Aldgate). St Clement Danes Photo: charleyk There are two explanations for this church's Danish connection. The first is that when Alfred the Great drove the Vikings (or Danes) out of London in the 9th century, he allowed those who had married English women and accepted Christianity to remain in the area to the west of the City of London. Being a seafaring people, they named their church after St Clement, a martyr killed in 99 AD who is the patron saint of mariners. The second explanation is that Harold Harefoot, a King of England with Danish ancestry who died in 1040, could have been buried in the church. The present church, the work of Sir Christopher Wren, was where Samuel Johnson worshipped; its association with the Royal Air Force is due to that service paying for the post-Blitz restoration. St James Garlickhythe Photo: Paul Wood Sometimes known as 'Wren's Lantern' due to its abundance of windows, this church is named after St James the Great, one of the disciples. 'Great' distinguishes him from his fellow disciple James the Less (after whom St James's Palace is named). The 'Garlickhythe' part of the name refers to a nearby landing-place (hythe in Old English) where garlic imported from France was sold in medieval times; this can also be seen in the name of the street on which the church stands — Garlick Hill. St Katharine Cree Photo: Anatoleya Named for St Catherine (or Katharine), who died in Alexandria at the orders of the Roman Emperor Maxentius in 305 AD, this church was founded in 1280 by Holy Trinity Priory in nearby Aldgate (most of the current church dates back to the early 17th century). Apparently the church was built because the prior didn't like the monks associating with the ordinary people on Sundays. Rather confusingly, the priory was also known as Christchurch Priory, and as a result of this the church was called St Katharine Christchurch. Over time, the second part was shortened to 'Creechurch' and later to the present-day Cree. St Martin-in-the-Fields Photo: Eric Located on the north-east corner of Trafalgar Square, this church has medieval origins, although the present building is the work of James Gibbs and dates from the 1720s. It's dedicated to Martin of Tours, a 4th century bishop who is the patron saint of, among other things, beggars (because he is said to have cut his cloak in half so he could share it with a beggar), geese, innkeepers and vintners. Back in medieval times it was surrounded by fields, as it was located between Westminster and the City of London. St Mary Aldermary Photo: Matt Brown There has been a church on this site for over 900 years, with a certain Mr Wren being responsible for the current one after the old one was destroyed in the Great Fire. The architecture historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner called it "the chief surviving monument of the 17th-century Gothic revival in the City". In recent years, the Host Cafe has operated within the church itself. 'Aldermary' means 'Old Mary', reflecting the fact that this church is older than London's other churches dedicated to the Virgin Mary, of which there are quite a few. St Mary-le-Bow It is this Wren church on Cheapside, and not the church at Bow in the East End, which is the home of the Bow Bells which all true Londoners must be born within earshot of. For centuries, the biggest of the bells — the 'great bell of Bow' — was known for being very sonorous (ie. the sound carried very far). As well as having been apparently heard by Dick Whittington on Highgate Hill, it could be heard from Hackney Marshes and was used to sound the City's curfew in medieval times. The 'Bow' part of the church's name comes from the Norman arches, also known as 'bows', in the crypt. St Mary Woolnoth Photo: Richard Watkins LRPS Immortalised in T.S. Eliot's 1922 poem The Waste Land, this church (the present, early 18th century one is a creation of Nicholas Hawksmoor) is officially called St Mary of the Nativity but few people use that name. Traces of Roman and Saxon places of worship have been found beneath the foundations. In 1191, the church was recorded under the name 'Wilnotmaricherche', and it is believed that it was named thus for an early 12th century benefactor called Wulfnoth, or Wulnot, de Walebrok. St Sepulchre-without-Newgate Looking up at St Sepulchre-without-Newgate Standing across the road from the Old Bailey, this church was located just outside (without) the city wall, close to the New Gate - which, despite its name, was just as old as the other gates which date back to Roman times. The church was originally dedicated to the 9th century martyr St Edmund, but was renamed after Jerusalem's Church of the Holy Sepulchre — one of Christianity's the holiest sites — in the 12th century; that church got its name from the sepulchre (rock-cut tomb) where Jesus's body was placed after the crucifixion. 'St Sepulchre' is an Anglicisation of the church's Latin name, Sancti Sepulchri. St Stephen Walbrook The dome and tower of St Stephen Walbrook Another medieval church destroyed in the Great Fire and rebuilt by Wren, this one has a dome which was based on his original plan for St Paul's Cathedral. In medieval times it stood by the Walbrook, a stream (now subterranean) which ran from the City wall near Moorfields to the Thames - hence its name, although another theory is that it means 'brook of the Welsh'. St Stephen, whose feast day coincides with Boxing Day (the 'Feast of Stephen'), was stoned to death for blasphemy in Jerusalem around 34 AD, making him the first Christian martyr. St Vedast-alias-Foster Inside St Vedast-alias-Foster The name of this Wren church reflects the fact that the saint it commemorates was known by several different names. Vedast, also known as Vaast or Vedastus, was a 6th century bishop who helped prepare King Clovis of the Franks for his conversion to Christianity. In medieval England, he was given another name, the more English-sounding St Foster, and it was after him that Foster Lane (upon which this church stands) was named. The church name is a blending of the two. See more of our London etymology series, including how London's markets, squares, parks and football teams got their names.

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