#is this the Arthurian gaze?

[gingersnaptaff]

Gwyn ap Nudd would trip and fall into a glass door. I don't have any knowledge for this. This is just vibes.

Edern would be the one pushing him into it.

[fleshwizard]

Dragons & Folklore de France

Translation below

The Tarasque dwells in the waters of the Rhone river near the town of Tarascon, where it devours travelers and destroys dikes and dams to flood the Camargue. Saint Martha chained it, and the people of Tarascon killed it.

The ruins of the amphitheaters of Metz were infested by hundreds of snakes. The largest of them, the Graoully, had a venomous breath, a mouth bigger than its body and devoured men. Saint Clement chased it away into the Seille River.

King of serpents, the Basilisk takes many forms throughout history and appears in many tales. One of them takes place at the Gate of Saint-Eloi in Bordeaux, known today for its Big Bell, where a well was occupied by a Basilisk. It petrified with its gaze anyone who went there to fetch water. It was defeated by a man returning from the Egyptian crusade, who petrified the beast with its own gaze using a mirail (mirror).

The Cocatrix is born from a rooster's egg incubated by a toad. The egg has magical properties but must not be broken. People who cross its gaze die immediatly.

Made of wicker and covered in flowers, the Grand Bailla wanders the streets of Reims three days a year and feeds on gold and sweets. It was banished by Archbishop Charles Maurice le Tellier.

The Grand'Goule haunts the marshes of Poitou, the waters of the Clain and the flooded cellars of the abbey of Sainte Croix. It feeds on nuns and casse-museaux (snout-breakers, cakes). Saint Radegonde chased it away with holy water.

In the rivers of the Jura and the Alps there is a group of diverse dragons, the Vouivres. They are generally flying serpents covered in fire and guardians of treasures. Many have for a single eye a gigantic carbuncle with extraordinary powers, desired by those in search of wealth and power.

Hidden in the caves and cliffs of la Pointe du Roux near La Rochelle, the Rô Beast traps and devours travelers in the coastal marshes. It was impaled by seven heroic pagans from the seas.

Mythical dragon of the Basque Country, Herensuge gave birth to the Sun and the Moon, swallowed all of Creation in ten days then regurgitated it in flames. Now asleep in the mountains, it sucks up flocks and shepherds in his sleep. When it wakes up, it will destroy the world in flames and blood. (illustration)

Durandal is the mythical sword that Charlemagne gave to the knight Roland. Some claim that it was inherited from Hector, the warrior of the Trojan War. At war with the Saracens in the Pyrenées, Roland wanted to break the sword so that it would not fall into the hands of the enemy but Durandal split the mountain. So he threw the sword, which went to stick miles away, in the rock of the town of Rocamadour.

The belief in the Tooth Fairy is widespread in several countries in Europe, and is sometimes amalgamated with La Petite Souris (little mouse). It exchanges baby teeth for money. No one knows what it does with all these teeth.

The Camecruse is a bogeyman that haunts the moors and marshes of Gascony. It is agile, can jump and hide in the night to better devour lost children. No one knows exactly how it feeds.

The caves under the hill of the town of Hastingues are home to Lou Carcolh, a monstrous snail, long, slimy and hairy. Its shell is as big as a house. With the help of its tentacles, it grips people to devour them.

The Questing Beast is hunted by kings and heroes in Arthurian legends. It symbolizes evil, incest, violence and chaos, and takes it name from the loud noises that come out of its stomach, similar to the barking of dozens of dogs.

The fairy Mélusine, cursed princess of Albania, was condemned to change into a snake below the waist every Saturday. She married Raymondin de Lusignan with whom they had 10 prodigious children. But Raymondin broke his promise never to see Mélusine on Saturday : he surprised her in her monstrous form, and she left her family forever.

[noneorother]

The puns are never ending : Aziraphale's miraculous "visable" bullet.

Aside from this closeup diagram of how to perform the bullet catch being objectively hilarious, it's also got a pretty fascinating *spelling mistake*.

If you look closely at the part of the pamphlet in red, you'll see that the bullet should be hidden in the mouth where it won't be visable. Not "not visible". Not visable. Seems innocuous enough right? But of course, the layers are never ending.

"Visable" is actually a Middle English word, *not* a modern English one. The last time it was used was before the printing press was invented, so pretty old. Here's a little background :

What's really fascinating though, is that just like the expression "dark horse", the word has two meanings : one is "Capable of good judgement, prudent" the other is "Tractable and docile".

There are also only two examples of the word in context that I can find, and they really should be sending you into orbit :

The first one is actually from Henry Lovelich's translation of the French epic poem "The Romance of Merlin" also known as the first English treatment of the Arthurian legends. It's modernized as "He was a worthy knight, valiant and visable in every fight." Which uses the "good judgment" meaning and sounds... a lot like Aziraphale in his role of guardian and protector.

Why do we care? They are standing literally in front of Excalibur, Arthur's sword.

The other one is from "Ipomadon", another middle English epic poem about a hidden identity romance between a beautiful but proud heiress, and her dark knight in disguise. "She was... visable and virtuous, meak and mild, and marvellous." Which clearly uses the "tractable and docile" meaning, but also... kinda sounds like Aziraphale in his damsel in his distress mode, which:

Ahahahah fuck off. But wait, there's more!

I originally twigged to this error because if you, like me, also happen to speak the language of la plume de ma tante, you know there's a reason why the uses happen in epic poems that originated in France: it's a loan word from old French, and still exists today in modern French, but it doesn't mean tractable and docile...

For the non-french speaking among you, it's a derivation of the verb "viser" :

Verb 1 To aim 1.To aim, to carefully direct one's gaze or a weapon towards a goal to throw something at it.

And so, if you happen to be, oh I don't know, a demon and have been alive for thousands of years and can definitely speak all the languages on earth and happen to have participated in the Arthurian age in England, when you read that pamphlet really carefully because someone is making you do a crazy stunt and there's a miracle blocker on, you could *conceivably* have read the instructions as:

"IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT YOU LOVE, DO NOT SHOOT AZIRAPHALE IN THE FACE." ________________________________________________________ Thanks to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable as always.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

You Already Know, Babe

Request: Heyy would I be able to pretty please ask for a Roy one-shot based of So High School? Mainly the lyric: "Truth, Dare, Spin Bottles. You know how to ball, I know Aristotle" (bc I have TTPD brainrot) Like I'd love to picture Roy with a total academic girl who loves classic literature and ancient greece and philosophy pls ???

Roy Kent x Reader

3.3k words

Warnings: Language, Roy being insecure, the guys making Roy feel bad (not on purpose)

A/N: Ahhh I also have TTPD brainrot so I loooooove this! I made the reader a uni professor. Also been wanting to do a Bantr fic for Roy for a while, so I incorporated that in too!

Roy scowled and sipped his beer. “Fuck no.”

Leaning forward in the booth they sat in, Keeley gave him her best puppy-dog eyes, the ones that stopped working the moment he got over her. “Come on, Roy. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it’d be good for you.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Jamie chimed in.

“‘Fuck no’ used to be a complete sentence,” Roy growled.

Before he could stop the striker, Jamie grabbed Roy’s mobile off the table, holding it just out of the gaffer’s reach. “Just… one… moment…” he huffed as Keeley did her best to hold Roy back. “Alright, we need a username.”

Roy rolled his eyes but stopped fighting against Keeley’s grip. “How about ‘This is fucking stupid’?”

“I think that’s against their policy,” Jamie hummed, eyes still on the phone.

Keeley thought for a moment. “RoyallySarcastic? Y’know, ROYally?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I got it!” He typed away before proudly showing the screen to Roy and Keeley. “RoyalPain,” he announced.

With a giggle, Keeley took the phone from Jamie and handed to Roy, who looked ready to kill his friends. “There we are Roy-o,” she said. “Welcome to Bantr.”

~

~

Roy sat at the small table, fidgeting with the shiny fork on the table and staring intently at the condensation on the glass of water in front of him. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He was Roy fucking Kent, he reminded himself sternly. He’d been on plenty of dates. Sure, this was his first Bantr date, but that shouldn’t really matter. He’d been on a couple of blind dates in the past; this shouldn’t be much different.

But it sure felt different when you walked in, all wide eyes and nervous smiles. You approached him hesitantly, cocking your head as you got closer. Your gaze flickered to the tattered copy of A Wrinkle in Time on the table next to him before settling on his face.

“RoyalPain?” you squeaked out, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

Before he could stop himself, he grinned and blurted out, “I Kant believe it’s you.” Immediately, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nope, fuck, that was stupid. I’m sor-”

Your laughter eased his embarrassment as you sat across from him. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you countered. “That was cute.” You offered your name with a small smile.

“Roy,” he said simply, searching your face for any sign that you recognized him.

Instead, you nodded and leaned forward. “And what do you do, Roy?”

What did he do? He tried to remember the last time someone asked him that. “I work for a football team,” he said slowly. “A.F.C. Richmond.”

You nodded, interest all over your pretty face. “And what do you do at Richmond?”

He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Do you… you don’t know who I am?” Fuck, he felt like an absolute asshole saying the words out loud.

“Sure I do,” you chuckled. “I just figured that Roy Kent doesn’t often get the chance to introduce himself. Thought I’d give you the opportunity.”

Roy couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it was kind of dorky, but fuck, he liked it. Just like he liked hearing about your job as a uni professor, or the article you recently wrote about Arthurian legend, or the book you’d read recently. And he really liked the way you looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world, more interesting than the well-renowned experts and authors you got to spend time with, asking him about his work and his life and his opinions. He smiled all through dinner, laughing at jokes even when they went over his head and making a mental list of books he now wanted to read.

He was still grinning as he walked you to your car after dinner, wondering when he’d last enjoyed himself so much on a date. As you fished your keys out of your purse, he found himself desperately hoping for another date with you. And another. And another.

“Could we do this again sometime?” he asked gently once your keys were in your hand.

Fuck, he loved the way your eyes lit up at his question. “Absolutely,” you breathed.

With a dizzy little nod, Roy cupped your face and tugged you close, ghosting his lips over yours. You gently laid your hands on his hips to press against him, deepening the kiss. You swore you could feel him smiling against your mouth as his thumb stroked your cheek. Some little part of you wanted to pull this man into your car, into your apartment, into your bed. But from the happy little hum that vibrated from his chest to yours, you knew you had plenty of dates ahead of you, plenty of time for all that, plenty of Roy Kent ahead of you.

~

After three weeks of dates and laughter and late-night phone calls and kisses that escalated to other things, Roy invited you to a match. He seemed weirdly nervous for a retired football legend whose dating history could fill any of the giant books that filled the shelves in your office, but you found his nerves nothing short of charming. So, you threw on some comfy jeans and a sweatshirt and climbed into Roy’s giant black car to go with him to Nelson Road, where he showed you his office before giving you your ticket and sending you off to your seat with a chaste kiss.

Roy was fighting the stupidest smile as he prepared for the match, the same stupid smile he’d been fighting since your first date. He was excited for you to see him and the Greyhounds in action, to be able to show off for you a little and, he didn’t fucking know, make you proud or some shit.

“Was that your girlfriend, Roy?” Sam raised his eyebrows as he and Jan stood in the doorway.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said slowly. “But we’ve been dating for a few weeks.” He paused for a moment, hoping he didn’t look too dopey as he spoke. “She’s a professor. Fucking brilliant. Like, she teaches, and she’s been published and speaks at conferences.”

Jan spoke up. “Most men would not be able to handle dating a woman so much more educated than they are. Good for you, Coach. It’s nice that you are not intimidated by her clearly superior intellect.”

A knot appeared in Roy’s stomach, but he simply cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah, well.” He blinked, not sure what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. “Best finish getting ready, hmm?”

Jan’s words continued to flutter around Roy’s mind like an annoying butterfly as he made his way out to the pitch. He liked that you were smart. Hell, he liked that you were smarter than him. He could listen to you talk for hours about literature and history and philosophy, especially when your eyes lit up and your voice got faster, the way he noticed it did when you were especially passionate about something. It was impressive, not to mention sexy as all hell. But there had definitely been moments over the last few weeks where he had to Google what you were talking about while you weren’t looking, or where he laughed at a joke he didn’t really understand. It came with the territory, he told himself. It was to be expected, dating someone like you.

And there you were, sitting in the seat Roy had selected for you, the one that gave you the perfect view of the dugout- per your request. You waved excitedly when you caught Roy’s eye, wearing that giant smile that made his heart skip a beat. He offered back a small wave, knowing full well that all the guys could see his furious blush.

“That your girl?” Colin asked, following Roy’s dreamy gaze.

Roy shrugged, turning his attention back to his team. “Uh, I guess?” he mumbled, taking the clipboard Nate handed him.

Sam spoke up. “Roy said she’s a uni professor.”

Respect covered the faces of the men that were clearly more interested in Roy’s love life than their impending match. They all started chattering over each other, ignoring Roy’s eyerolls and Beard and Nate’s amused expressions.

Richard waggled his eyebrows. “Does she offer special office hours for you, Coach?”

Roy wrinkled his nose at the Frenchman. “What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Did you have to buy a new dictionary to keep up with her?” Zoreaux teased.

Isaac spoke up, clapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Most guys would probably run for the hills if they had to keep up with a woman’s brainpower,” he started. “But Roy’s not intimidated. I mean, sure, we all know he’s no Einstein, but he’s got other great qualities. Like…”

Roy raised a cool eyebrow at the captain, more curious than offended at this point.

“Coaching,” Colin finally finished for Isaac. “He’s a great manager.”

Jamie pipped up now. “And she seems to really like looking at you, Grandad.” He nodded to the stands where, sure enough, you were still gazing at Roy, affection all over your face. “She’s cute,” he mused.

Roy cleared his throat, trying to focus attention to the match at hand and not your pretty smiles. Or the words of his players that had etched a deep frown onto his bearded face. “Alright, Greyhounds!” he hollered. “Let’s fucking focus, lads! We’ve got a fucking match to win!”

~

And they did win, much to Roy’s pleasure. Winning always felt good, but he had to admit that winning in front of a pretty girl felt fucking great. And it was even better when he found you waiting in his office, gazing at him as if you had hearts in your eyes.

“That was brilliant!” you gushed, wrapping your arms around his middle while his rested on your shoulders and tugged you close. You pressed a tiny kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Roy.”

He smiled down at you and pecked your nose. “Think you’ll come again sometime?” he teased.

Your eager nodding melted his heart. “Absolutely,” you promised. “Maybe next time I’ll even wear a kit. Since I think I’m officially a Richmond fan now.”

“That kit better have a six on it,” Roy growled, smacking another kiss to your cheek. He gave you a small squeeze before releasing you. He reached down to grab your hand. “I’ve got to go talk to the press for a bit, he explained, leading you over to his desk. “D’you mind waiting here? We can grab dinner once I’m done,” he promised. “Here, you can even watch the presser on my computer.”

“Sounds perfect.” You touched his cheek and pulled him close for one more kiss. “Now get going, I want to see you be brilliant in front of all those reporters.”

Roy was still blushing when he got in front of the cameras. The press conference was a blur of questions and comments. He’d probably have to apologize to Keeley later, because he was sure he was dreamy and distracted the entire time. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so lovesick over a woman, and he especially couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed it so much.

When he returned to his office, he was surprised to see Jamie sitting on the edge of his desk, chatting pleasantly with you. You both lit up at the sight of him, with Jamie choosing to speak first as Roy offered a small grin to you.

“Your girl was just telling me about this seminar she’s speaking at next weekend,” he announced. “Some talk on the Lord of the Rings books and their impact on modern cinema.” He nodded to you. “It actually sounds really cool.” He slid off the desk with ease, offering you a wink. “Not sure what someone as smart as you is doing with Grandad here,” he joked.

He was kidding around. Roy knew that. Jamie loved to tease everyone, especially him. He was well-aware of the way Jamie admired him, as his childhood hero, as his coach, and, fuck it, fine, as his friend. Maybe it was all the joking from earlier, but Roy felt his face fall at Jamie’s teasing. He couldn’t help it; it was one thing for the guys to joke to his face, another to make a comment in front of you. He wouldn’t admit it even to himself, but some part of him was terrified you’d realize how brilliant you were, and how dull he was, and call the whole thing off.

Roy was so busy stewing in his childish embarrassment, he missed the way your eyebrows scrunched at Jamie, your mouth in a straight line. When you spoke, your voice was flat, maybe even a little angry, as you responded to the striker.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m going to dinner with him.” With that, you took Roy’s hand, hoping the adoration in your eyes would be enough to wipe that frown off his handsome features. “Ready, Roy?”

Roy nodded, but barely said a word as the two of you walked through the Dog Track, got into his car, and drove to the restaurant he’d been excitedly telling you about the day before. However, that excitement was nowhere to be seen as the two of you settled in and ordered some dinner. You cocked your head at him, wondering how someone who’d just coached such a great game could look so sullen- especially while on a date with someone he was supposed to really like.

“That match was incredible,” you offered, leaning forward with a smile. “Seriously, Roy. How do you do that? Being able to see the game unfold and know what plays to call, what players to have on the pitch. And all the preparation you have to do in advance. It’s like a really intense game of chess, with all those moving pieces, not knowing what the other side is going to do next.” You reached out and laid your hand on top of his. “Your team is so lucky to have you.”

His gaze avoided yours as he cleared his throat. “Dunno how much of it is me,” he chuckled hollowly. “I inherited a great team and have a really talented coaching staff.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I just… stand there and take up space.”

Now it was your turn to frown. This wasn’t the Roy Kent you met, the Roy Kent that teased you and smirked and made cocky comments just to make you laugh. Something had happened, something between the beginning of the match and the end, to make him so morose. Maybe something had happened in the match that you’d missed; you weren’t much of a sports fan before meeting Roy, you really only knew the basics, so it was possible what you thought was an incredible match was really something of a failure for him.

Maybe distracting him would help.

“I was telling Jamie Tartt about the conference I’m speaking at,” you tried again. “It’s this fantasy and pop culture thing. Kind of dorky,” you admitted. “But I’m really excited about my talk on Tolkien and his influence on modern cinema. My colleague was saying he really liked this one parallel I drew between Frodo and- well, I don’t want to spoil it.” You squeezed his hand. “You should come. I’ve seen you at work, now I want to show you what I do.” You shrugged. “Could even bring Jamie if you want.”

Roy nodded absently, not quite looking you in the eye. “Yeah, just make sure to get me a translator so I can understand what you’re saying.” His voice sounded like he was attempting to make a joke, but it fell flat. “Academics to neanderthal or some shit.”

That was enough of that, you decided. With a sigh, you leaned back, cocking your head at the gaffer and shooting him your sternest glare, the one you saved for students who didn’t know how to act like adults in your classroom. “Alright, Roy. What’s going on? You’re acting like you don’t want to be here, and, frankly, I don’t want to hang out with someone who doesn’t value my time.”

“I…” Roy let out a low growl and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart,” he finally blurted out. “Like, really, really fucking smart. You teach, and you’re published, and you speak in front of academic types who hang onto every word you say.” He released his nose and shook his head at you, embarrassment swimming in those brown eyes. “And I… played football. I coach football. That’s fucking it. I can’t stand the idea of you being embarrassed by the fact that I can’t keep up with you. That you’re going to turn around and realize I’m not smart enough for you.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as you took in the sight of him, looking devastated, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was right, he was a neanderthal, and that you didn’t think he was smart enough for you. If it wasn’t so sad, the picture of Roy looking so forlorn would be almost endearing.

“That,” you finally murmured, “might be the stupidest thing you’ve said since we met, Roy.” He nodded, a grimace covering his face as you went on. “Not smart enough for me?” you scoffed. “Roy, I think you’re brilliant.” You sighed and shook your head. “I mean, look at you today. I could never do what you do, managing an entire football team. And I’ve seen clips of you when you played, you were brilliant then too. Not just a skilled player, but a smart one. And from what you’ve said, you have great relationships with your players, with your niece and sister, hell even with your ex-girlfriend. That takes an emotional intelligence most people don’t have.”

“I mean-”

You shushed the gruff man. “’m not finished. And what’s this about you not being able to keep up with me? You read almost as much as I do, Roy. When you don’t know something, you immediately learn everything you can about it. You absolutely tore through ‘Le Morte d'Arthur’ after our first date so you could ask me about my King Arthur article.” A smile finally broke through your face. “So, unless this is some roundabout way of trying to say you don’t want to see me anymore, please stop insulting the man I’m dating and accept that there’s different kinds of intelligence. And I like your intelligence quite a bit.”

For a moment, you thought you may have completely overwhelmed Roy. He blinked at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a breathy chuckle. With raised eyebrows and something that looked close to a smile, he finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve just… never had such an intelligent girlfriend before,” he said slowly. “I’ve dated smart women. Driven women. But no one like you. It’s… a little scary, how brilliant you are.” That something close to a smile became a real grin as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “And really fucking sexy,” he added quickly.

Your heart skipped a beat with every word out of his mouth. “You’ve never had a nerdy girlfriend before, hmm?” you teased.

His expression was bashful, but absolutely pleased. “No,” he chuckled. “I haven’t.”

A smirk crossed your face as you batted your eyes at him. “Do you want a nerdy girlfriend?”

Those brown eyes were so soft, so full of affection as he nodded gently. “Yeah,” he breathed, raising those thick eyebrows at you. “I really fucking do.”

“That,” you hummed with a silly grin, “might be the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Roy.”

[pmamtraveller]

JOHN WILLIAM WATERHOUSE - THE LADY OF SHALOTT, 1888

Waterhouse's The Lady of Shalott draws inspiration from the poem of the same title by poet Alfred Lord Tennyson. Tennyson resided in Victorian Britain from 1809 until he passed away in 1892. This poem, composed in 1833, draws inspiration from Arthurian legend, highlighting the suffering of Elaine of Astolat, a woman trapped in a tower by a curse. She is limited to observing the outside world through a mirror and creates tapestries from the images she perceives.

One day, she sees the knight Lancelot pass by and, struck by love, gazes out the window at him. The mirror shatters, and the curse takes hold. She departs from her tower, aware that her fate is to perish, and makes her way down the river to Camelot. Waterhouse portrays the moment when the Lady of Shalott drifts down the river just before her demise.

Waterhouse achieves balance between the woman and the horizons on both sides of the artwork, ensuring that the boat remains prominently visible. An autumnal colour scheme suggests that the woman is in the later stages of her life, as even the nature surrounding her fades. Waterhouse frequently utilized models to depict realistic women in his artwork; The Lady of Shalott is no different.

In the early 20th century, the style of Waterhouse and other similar artists, which some labeled as "overly sentimental" or "excessively dramatic," faced significant criticism as modern art emerged and opposed the realism of the Victorian era. In his book Olympian Dreamers, the modern critic and dealer Christopher Wood writes, "John William Waterhouse only had 'one song to sing,' yet he 'sang it very beautifully.'"

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby Part 12

a/n: This will make more sense if you have seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin X reader

Warnings: None, back to fluff

Word Count: 1400 ish

Summary: Jake is Lancelot and Kisses is Guinevere

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When Jake had said he only had twenty six months left in San Diego you saw two options, either end it then and there or go all in. The prospect of living the rest of your life without Jake was unimaginable so it had been an easy decision to bet it all. Even though neither of you are behaving differently everything feels like it has shifted. 

Knowing that what you were feeling was real and had a future made everything seem easier. You had a goal. You and Jake were building a future together. While the relationship had started as a happy accident and a fun way to get back out there emotionally, it was now the foundation to your future. 

True to his word Jake had become one of Grace’s biggest supporters, always encouraging you to spend time with her and the small group of friends you began to develop. When you brought it up to him he admitted that your not quite hypothetical future marriage was one of his reasons. 

“When I’m deployed you need people in your life you can turn to.”  He explained. “Any of my Navy buddies like Javy will help if they can, but you’re right, they would be helping you for me and it won’t be the same support system.”

You still saw the Dagger Squad often and that is how you ended up back at the Hard Deck clustered around the pool table at the back. Jake was playing and easily beating everyone. He finally beats Phoenix and casually walks over to you. 

“You’re my good luck charm,” he throws his arm around you as you sit perched on a stool. You roll your eyes and grin up at him as he kisses you on your lips. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you tell him. “At the risk of overinflating your ego, I have it on good authority that it's a game of skill.”

“No, it’s my love for you that lets me win,” he says with a false sense of confidence. “And to prove my love to you I shall beat Rooster next.” You glance over at Bradley and see him racking up the balls for the next game.

“Jake, you would win even if I wasn’t here,” you tell him. “If you love me you’ll lose.” You gaze at Jake with a forced innocent expression that is hard to maintain at the look on his face. 

“No,” Jake's small response is confused and offended. 

“It’s Arthurian Jake,” you say dramatically, “Guinevere asked Sir Lancelot to lose at a tournament to prove his love. Your pool cue will be your lance.”

“You’re Lancelot-ing me?” he says in disbelief. “If I am Lancelot and you are Guinevere our love is doomed and I don’t like that ending.” He is standing between your spread legs and his hands slide to your hips pulling you closer. 

“We can rewrite that part.” you tell him with a kiss. “Now go out and lose for me, Sir Lancelot.”

He sighs in resignation, “is this what you really want my Queen Guinevere?”

“Sure is,” you grin mischievously. “But you can’t make it obvious you are losing on purpose.” 

“Hangman, leave your girl alone and get over here and play some pool.” You peek over Jake's shoulder at Bradley’s words before turning back to Jake with a grin and raise your eyebrows in challenge.

“The things I do for love,” Jake’s breath moves over your neck as he whispers in your ear and you burst out laughing. 

“No way,” Bradley calls out, pointing at you. “It’s like poker all over again. You are not allowed to talk to her while we are playing, and she is not allowed to talk to you.” 

“Can I at least cheer him on?” you say indignation in your voice.

“Fine,” Bradley agrees, “you can cheer him on and console him when I win.” Jake glares at Bradley but agrees with a huff and they begin to play.

Bob ends up sitting beside you watching. Jake is playing poorly. He is not missing really obvious shots but he is not playing to the same ability that he usually plays at, only sinking one or two balls per turn. “What did you say to him to throw him off?” Bob asks you in confusion. “He is usually way better than this.” 

“Uhhhhmmmm,” you tug on your hair. “I may or may not have told him to prove he loved me by losing.” you shoot a sheepish look at Bob. 

Bob snorts, “You ‘A Knight’s Tale-ed’ him? Come on, did you really need to do that to know he loves you?”

“No, I know he does, and I’m pretty sure it is originally Arthurian.” You pause your conversation with Bob to console Jake after a shot bounces off the edge of the pocket and rolls back across the table. 

“It’s OK, Babe, you nearly had it!” Jake glares at you with the tiniest hint of a grin on his face shaking his head and you smile back. 

“Then why did you ask him to lose?” Bob is looking back and forth between you and Jake. 

“I don’t know, I thought it would be funny,” you say with a grin at Bob. “Maybe it's a role play we like to do, you know, to spice things up in the bedroom.” 

“Ew,” Bob looks at you with a wrinkled nose. “I do not want to hear about yours and Hangman's sex life.”

You just laugh before looking at the table. The game is almost over. “Quick you have to go tell Jake to win!” You say shaking Bob’s arm. 

“Oh no,” he shakes his head, “I don’t want to be in the middle of whatever you two have going on!” 

“Please Bob,” you say desperately as Jake chalks the tip of his cue. He has four balls left and to win he would have to sink them all and then the 8 ball without missing any. “Bradley won’t let me talk to him. Please be my fair maid and tell my valiant knight that if he loves me he will win!”

Bob looks at you in disappointment before sighing and going over to Jake mumbling, “I’m going to regret this.”

You watch eagerly as Bob walks over to talk quietly to Jake with a pained expression on his face and grin impishly when Jake jerks his head up to glare at you at Bob's words. Bob slinks back to your side and hangs his head in defeat. “I can’t believe I did that for you.” He shudders, “I feel dirty.”

“Cheer up Bob,” you nudge him with your shoulder. “I was joking about it being a sex thing.”

“That does make me feel a little better.” You watch Jake sink his final 4 balls with an intense look on his face.

“It wasn’t about sex when I said it originally, but that could change,” you eye Jake’s hungry look with a grin as he stalks over to you after sinking the 8 ball and winning the game. 

“My Queen,” he says and pulls you to your feet before dipping you dramatically and kissing you. 

“My Valiant Knight you have proven your love,” you run your fingers through his hair smiling and pull his lips back to you yours. You can hear Bradley arguing with Bob in the background over what he said to Jake.

Jake hums happily into your kiss before standing both of you back up. “I am your King,” he corrects before giving you another kiss.

“Well I didn’t vote for you.” Your attempt at a British accent is terrible.

Jake looks at you frowning. “I was rewriting us a happier ending.”

“Oh,” you say in realization, laughing and continuing to talk in the terrible accent, “oh King eh, very nice.”

You yelp and jump closer as Jake smacks your ass, “you’re a brat.”

“If you are spanking me that makes you Galahad and you are in terrible peril.” 

Jake pulls you in close and you slide your hands up his chest and loop them around his neck so you are pressed against his hard body. “I’ll have to face my peril,” his words are spoken between heated kisses. 

“You’re sure it's not too perilous?” you ask, grinning into his lips.

Jake drags his lips down your neck placing soft kisses as he goes. “It’s my duty to sample the peril.” 

“Please go home.” Bob is still sitting in his chair next to your vacated one. Jake laughs and pulls you to the bar to pay the tab.

[olympeline]

Headcanon as to why the UK bros can all use magic despite it heing a very unusual trait among nation people: the Arthurian legends are true. Albion is still the land where the Once and Future King sleeps, waiting to be awoken at the end of the world. So, even if the people themselves have forgotten the old religion and the magic they once knew, their national personifications will never lose their connection to it.

Also Merlin* is still alive, still the greatest wizard to ever live, and still a total troll. Personal headcanon that a nation always knows where all their people are and can find them if they want to, but Merlin is the exception. He wanders around Britain, in and out of the fae realm, and gives the fab four the slip. Wales can sometimes get close (being the land of Myrddin’s birth) but even his gaze can’t hold the wizard for long. No one finds Merlin unless Merlin wants them to. Very frustrating for a nation to have one of their people do that, but it’s Merlin so deal wit it

Speaking of Merlin, he’s the one who gave England his human name. Third headcanon that nations are given their human names by their greatest residents. The other UK bros were named by different people, but Merlin gave England his king’s name. Which makes England one of the only nations to be named after someone. Hundreds of years later and he still can’t decide if it’s something to be proud of or just embarrassing

(*I’m 100% picturing BBC’s Merlin btw because that version = *chef’s kiss* And he has the perfect trolly nature for this stuff too)

[mask131]

Another bullet-point list about Medusa, this time from an article of the "Dictionary of Literary myths", written by Camille Dumoulié.

The paradox of Medusa as a character is that she seems to gain life as she is killed: for her story, her myth, is much more "living" and "active" after she has been reduced to an inanimate head.

Another paradox the mixture of beauty and horror that leads to Medusa's face being an object of fascination: her face is pure horror, her gaze kills, and yet her face was used as an apotropaic mask, a talisman that saved by repelling evil forces. This reinforces Medusa as the embodiment of ambiguity.

Medusa's head is one of the most archaic symbols of Ancient Greece: it might be an echo of Humbaba's head from the legend of Gilgamesh.

Jean-Pierre Vernant (in "La Mort dans les Yeux", "Death in the eyes"), offered the interpretation of Medusa's head as the "face of the warrior" according to Greek imagery: her mouth wide open, her terrifying hair, the ear-piercing shrieks, all can recall the "warrior's fury", the terrifying side of war. Medusa's head in fact regularly appears in the context of wars: Hesiod describes The Shield of Herakles, in the Iliad it appears on Agamemnon's shield and on Athena's aegis.

On another side, Gorgô also embodies what cannot be depicted or represented: it is death, invisible and that no one can look upon, just like Hades himself. in Hesiod's Theogony, just like in Homer's Odyssey, Medusa is the guardian of terrifying places: the edges of the world, in the realm of endless Night for Hesiod, the Underworld and realm of the dead for Homer. This specific role was perpetuated by other authors - Dante in his Divine Comedy, Milton in his Paradise Lost. Placed at the door of the afterlife, she prevents the living from entering.

In the Christian world, Medusa became a symbol for the Devil. She appears in the Arthurian mythos, in the "Livre d'Artus", part of the vulgate cycle of the Grail novels - reinterpreted as a female monster named "Laide Semblance" (Ugly Seeming), living at the bottom of a river, and who kills not by petrifying but by swallowing waters.

There are many elements highlighting the ambiguty of Medusa, and/or her tragic nature. For example, there is the story of how Athena gifted Esculape (Asclepios) with two drops of blood from Gorgô - one can heal and even resurrect, the other is a deadly poison. Medusa's blood, as a result, is the very embodiment of the Greek concept of "pharmakon" - and it explains why her deadly and dangerous face becomes an apotropaic mask, it is also a pharmakon.

It is very clear that there is a rivality opposing Athena and Medusa. The most famous version of this enemity comes from Ovid's Metamorphosis, where Athena punished Medusa after she was raped by Poseidon inside her temple, soiling the sanctuary of the virgin goddess. But there is an older Greek story (which was reused for example by Mallarmé in his 1880 Les Dieux antiques) which makes this rivalry more personal: Medusa was cursed because she claimed she was more beautiful than Athena.

All in all, Medusa seems to appear as a sort of negative double of Athena, that the goddess tries to destroy. The common elements between the two are numerous: for example the snakes, which were animals of Athena, or the fascinating gaze (Athena is famously the "grey-eyed goddess", and her bird is the owl with huge eyes) ; finally, as she bears the monster's head on her aegid, the goddess manifests Medusa's terror when she is angry or in battle. By the Aeneid, Athena manifests her anger by having flames shot out of her eyes - all of this highlights how Medusa and Athena seems to two faces of a coin, the two sides of a same sacred power.

In a way, Perseus himself becomes a double of his monstrous foe: using Medusa's head, he petrifies his enemies and causes death all around him. And according to Ovid, as he flew over Africa, out of some sort of carelessness or neglect, he allowed blood-drops of the Gorgon to fall on the ground, creating venomous snakes and thus multiplying the lethal power of Medusa. Some artists tried to explore this intimacy between Perseus and Medusa - such as B. Cellini's Perseus, where the faces of Perseus and Medusa look strangely alike ; or Paul Klee's Spirit fought evil, where the roles are inversed, Medusa disappears on the side while Perseus is up-front with a dreadful expression on his face.

This theme of double and reflections highlights the manifestation in the Medusa myth of the superstition of the "evil eye", which to be fought must be countered by a "third eye/magical eye" (like the one of the Graeae, stolen by Perseus), or be sent back through a mirror - the one Perseus uses, gifted by Athena. The motif of the mirror causing death opens parallels with the legend of Narcissus, another figure doomed for his vanity.

Robert Graves' books (note by me: NOT AT ALL A GOOD RESSOURCE! A lot of it has been proven completely invented, but it is important to know in term of the evolution of the Medusa-symbol) proposed the reading of Perseus and Medusa's fight as a memory of a "gender war" when the matriarchal society became patriarchal: Gorgô's mask would have originally been used by women to scare away men from their sacred ceremonies, mysteries reserved to women. Mysteries honoring the "triple Moon goddess" - Graves bringing back the fact that in Orphic texts the moon is called "the Gorgon's head". He also imagined that the mask of Gorgô was worn by maidens who tried to protect themselves from the lust of men - and the victory of Perseus over Medusa means the end of the rule of women, and the temples being conquered by men, who hid away Medusa's head and became masters of the divine.

The theories of Graves fed an entire movement of thought highlight Medusa as a manifestation of the Great Goddess or Mother Goddess, whose face was hidden in rituals by Gorgo's mask: Medusa was tied to the depths of the sea, and to the terrible power of nature ; and these readings were also tied to Freud's psychanalytic analysis of Medusa, where he links the beheading with the castration, the snkaes with the phalluses, the petrification with the erection, and turns the fight against Medusa into a sexual initiation against a motherly figure. Under this angle, Perseus vanquishes the "castrating woman", and is armed with the phallic-erection tool, wich allos him to conquer Andromeda, the virgin maiden, by killing the sea-monster (another evil twin of the woman).

To go back in time, this motif of vanquishing Medusa as a seduction or sexual initiaton can be retrospectively read in some "variations" of the Andromeda myth, like saint Georges vanquishing the dragon. But more interestingly, it is the Arthurian "Livre d'Artus" story which echoes this reading - where the Laide Semblance monster lives within the land of a "maid", who asks the king not only to send a knight to kill the monster, but also demands a man to be brought to her as her husband: it almost seems that killing the monster is a needed condition for the knight to marry the virgin girl.

Medusa has a certain link to music. Aristotle, in his "Politics" (I. VIII) makes a difference between the music that helps teaching, and the cathartic music tied to the bacchic trances. This second, Dionysian music, is tied to the flute and must be avoided. To justify this, he evokes a legend about Athena: when she played the flute, her face was deformed until she looked ugly, and so she rejected the instrument. However, according to Pindar's Pythics, it as Athena herself who invented the flute in an attempt to recreate an unnatural sound - the sound of the snakes on Medusa's head, as she was beheaded by Perseus. As such, it becomes clear that, as she played, Athena didn't just became ugly: her face started to mimick the one of Gorgô. We find back this confusion between the monster and the goddess.

[gellavonhamster]

Both texts, but in particular the Tristan, draw attention to Gaheris’s sustained looking at Lamerok’s exposed body. What does this gaze signify? It is tempting for modern readers to assume a homoerotic interest on Gaheris’s part, but, as Richard Zeikowitz emphasizes, not all gazing by men at men is necessarily erotic. Gaheris and Lamerok mirror one another: each regards the other knight as handsome, valiant and brave, and so, as Zeikowitz suggests, frequently the gazing knight identifies with the object of his gaze – he wants to be, not to have sex with, the man he is looking at. In his handsomeness and courage, Lamerok is a potential role model for Gaheris, but if Gaheris wants to identify with Lamerok, then he must align himself with the man who is having a sexual relationship with his mother. Gaheris quickly refuses the disturbingly incestuous implications of this, neutralizing the sexual ambiguity of the situation by killing his mother. Both knights are now morally obliged to attack the other because of the queen’s sexual behaviour, but the pair, at least in the Folie, are reconciled with one another once the disruptive woman is removed. There could be no clearer example of how speedily the profound, socially dominant bonds between men in chivalry can reassert themselves over a dead female body.

— King Arthur’s Enchantresses: Morgan and Her Sisters in Arthurian Tradition by Carolyne Larrington

[malkaleh]

For this to make sense read this gorgeous fic by @nocompromise-noregrets and also have knowledge of my OT3 verse. This is an in universe fandom post (on a tumblr that it is like, Good Website But Also Still Hell Site)

So I went to the panel discussion at Welles Hall (with a friend which was life changing levels of great) and I wanted to write a book report for the tumblr.

Natalie is actually Aphrodite. Like, I was speechless. I do not know how us mere mortals can gaze at such beauty and anyway, I was the most useless of lesbians.

I’m not personally into men romantically or sexually but like, aesthetically James and Jon and Rupert are very appealing. Like a sunset or a piece of art. Also very charming, A+

Ahmed is a sweetheart and very funny.

The questions/answers were all great but uh, some highlights:

Ahmed really talked about how much he admired the work Rupert did in particular - that he really sat down with the primary sources and asked great insightful questions (quote “I think in some ways actors have a similar drive to historians - to understand people, even repellant ones”)

“People ask me if I have any sympathy for him [Norwich] and the answer is no! I loathe him - the historical study is fascinating and important but I have never liked him”

Rupert said it was hard to be in [Norwich’s] head - that he ended up developing a ritual for getting in and out of character to separate himself - he really gave credit to the shows intimacy coordinator for the workshopping before anyone was on set.

(Aside we learned that Rupert was cast really early on - apparently they didn’t want anyone else because he’s quote ‘handsome and charming and a brilliant performer and that’s what we needed’)

Maya said there were times she had to stop herself from quote ‘making excited squeaking noises’ on set (world renowned historians - they are in fact just like us) and that her favourite set was the Arthurian Masque plus “one I can’t talk about yet” *eyes emoji*

Maya “I went into the process of revising it (The Tudor Triad: New Edition) with delight and sadness” she talked about how she loved being back with these three but also the heaviness of it - how she wrestled with how much to include.

Ahmed interjected and said that it was one thing he really struggled with as well - that only having Norwich’s voice, Noriwch’s details on the abuse was something particularly sickening and that’s in large part why it was so incredible to see James’ performance.

(“I think, I hope that somewhere in the afterlife Thomas Cromwell is glad to see that he is given his story back to him”)

Both James and Rupert really talked about how the townhouse visit was the most confronting part - that Norwich’s journals are awful and chilling but somehow being in the space where it happened, that made it all the more real, especially because by this point they’d both been in their characters heads for a while.

“It was horrible - i actually don’t like to talk about it in detail honestly”

They both talked about how great Ellie at Welles Hall was - that she and Ahmed and Maya really talked them through the diary/papers and the decoding. (“All props to Rupert and James - not only is the content not an easy read, reading/interpreting Tudor handwriting is a process and reading Tudor handwriting in a mix of languages is even worse”)

Natalie “my guiding sense was that Anne would rip him [Norwich] apart with her bare hands and dance on the remains - I just found that through playing her, reading her own words even if it’s never referred to directly”

Jon was very sure he wanted to have what Henry says to Norwich remain a mystery (though Rupert knows!) and he didn’t want the audience to see Henry’s face when it was sad - Rupert said that it was ‘incredibly bloody satisfying’ to play the moment when Norwich realises that he has ‘fucked around and found out’

Rupert said he thought that Norwich absolutely believed in his own mythology - that essentially, might makes right, that he was a great Roman General etc. (Which apparently Ahmed is currently working on an academic article about Norwich and Ancient Rome)

I’ll be back for part II: the Lionel Discussion Panel later.

-semperlyqueerly

[milk-crater]

Roddam, Knight of Cups :)

Hiya! We've talked a lot about Arthurian AUs, so I finally wrote one! I love the grail imagery in the Knight of Cups, so that's alluded to here. And you mentioned the card symbolizing homecoming, which also inspired me. Hope you like it!

Sir Adam’s return was greeted with much cheer and rejoicing, as befitting a knight of a round table. There were even tears and gasps of shock, for it had been believed that Adam was dead. It had been reported by King Kenny himself, his seconds the Young Bucks repeating the tale of how Sir Adam had fallen prey to a foe’s poisoned arrow and they’d buried him in the West country. But now Adam stood before them more resplendent than ever, his silver and gold armor glistening in the sunlight, the thunder bolt emblem on his shield as bright as the real thing.

Roderick had cried upon seeing his friend’s face. Adam had tsked while grinning, wiping the tears from Roderick’s red cheeks. Adam had pulled him in for a hug, and it was then that Roderick saw the odd looks the King and the Bucks were exchanging. Not joy, but unease and uncertainty.

Roderick and Sir Kyle and Sir Robert helped arrange Adam’s old quarters so that it was a facsimile of how it had been before his prolonged absence from court.

“You all divided up my treasures and belongings?” Adam asked, looking at the hastily procured tapestries, the borrowed table and chairs.

“You were gone for years,” Kyle replied, pragmatic even in the face of a dear one’s resurrection. His tears were already dried and a brotherly exasperation surfacing in his tone. “And the king said you were dead.”

Adam’s lips twitched at that, the cut-off prelude to either a smile or a grimace.

“Yes, of course,” Adam said.

“So, dear friend, how’d you do it? How’d you cheat death?” Robert asked, grin wide under his styled mustache. His eyes were bright, hungry for a wild yarn where Adam had seduced the grim reaper and managed to talk his way back to life. Adam had always been a good story teller.

Adam smiled back at Robert, but there was something hollow in it. He took a deep breath as if about to speak, then faltered, as if unsure of what to say, what lie to tell.

Roderick stepped forward.

“Leave the poor man be,” Roderick said. “The important thing is that Adam is back amongst his brothers. There shall be plenty of time to hear of his adventures. For now let his weary bones rest.”

“My bones rested for four years,” Adam muttered, quiet but bitter. His friends heard him, and three men traded wary looks.

“We shall let you settle in. Welcome home,” Robert said, patting Adam’s shoulder. Kyle was not so eager to leave, but Robert was able to pull him out the door. Then it was just Roderick and Adam.

Adam sighed and sat in the chair. Roderick retrieved a bottle of wine and joined him.

“You do not seem happy to be back at Camelot,” Rodderick noted.

Adam shook his head, his long hair brushing his shoulders.

“This place is not as it seems, dear friend,” Adam said, his gaze directed out the window, tracing the horizon. The sun was setting to the west, nighttime approaching. “There is a rot here at court. A dark force which wishes to try our brotherhood apart.”

Yes. You. Roderick was not blind to Adam’s ambition. He’d known the man since Adam had been but a young page. Had helped him train, been something of a mentor until an unexpected equilibrium was reached. They were both each other’s sword and whetstone. So of everyone at court, Roderick was well aware of Adam’s ambition: the man wished not to be a mere knight, but to be king himself.

But perhaps others had been aware of Adam’s dark desires. Prehaps the King had known of the serpent in his company, and had taken steps to remove it.

“The King himself is corrupt, tainted,” Adam said, spelling it out as if Roderick didn’t already know Adam’s true target. “Kenny is not fit to lead—”

“Adam, stop,” Roderick said, voice calm.

“No, Roderick, you must hear this! Hear this and believe me!” Adam brought a fist down on the table. He scowled, pushing his hair out of his face. “Your strong heart is too straightforward, like an arrow that always hits the center. But the world is not so clear as the lines on a practice target.”

“I know that,” Roderick said, voice still calm. “I have seen much of the world. More than you have, something you seemingly still forget.”

“Oh? So can you so easily tell friend from foe?” Adam spat. “Can you tell a poisoned chalice from a pure one?”

He gestured at the goblets of wine before them. After the sweep of his hand Adam drew his arms close, hugging himself. He was blinking back tears of frustration, of hurt and anger. Roderick felt a stab of relief. Whatever had happened to Adam had clearly affected him, but at least this part of him, the side of him he revealed only when alone with Roderick, was unchanged.    

“Perhaps I cannot easily tell friend from foe,” Roderick admitted, “but that is only because I don’t see the world that way.”

Adam huffed in frustration.

“Your heart is too pure and strong—”

“I don’t see the world in terms of friend and foe,” Roderick said. “I see it in terms of us and them.”

Adam blinked, surprise quelling his tongue.

“And perhaps I cannot tell a poisoned chalice from an untainted one,” Roderick said, “but if you set a glass in front of me, I shall drink of it.”

Adam bit his lower lip, eyes downcast. Roderick’s words had calmed him, but now he looked genuinely touched, an emotion which Roderick knew always unsettled the younger knight.

“Roderick…” Adam said, voice choked, words unsure. Roderick had never met someone who stumbled so hard over ‘thank you.’  

“Whoever wronged you shall pay for it,” Roderick said. At this Adam raised his eyes. His usual, smug grin was back, his eyes bright once more.

“Truer words were never spoken, my friend.”  

[w0rmdahl]

the beginning — ilyily

film: i love you i love you (au)

synopsis: an overview of the complete first act of i love you i love you (2020), an arthurian inspired tale of free will and rebellion centered around a mischievous queen-to-be and the son of a knight.

word count: 5.2k

featuring: (oc) yuna min, (oc) samir devgan, (oc) king jin, (oc) sir kabir devgan, & more!

warnings: medieval time-y issues, physical violence (idk really)

a/n: hellooooo first piece posted to w0rmdahl :) here is something i wrote in one sitting immediately after finishing tgk <3 hope you enjoy!

samir hadn't always been the personally appointed bodyguard of the king's only child and expected queen to be. it came with work — taxing work the aforementioned princess yuna was never privy to. though, she never was privy to her fathers' ministrations; the old, wrinkled hands that pulled each and every string in the kingdom she called home.

sam and yuna's relationship started at the very beginning of their own lives. the son of the kings' knight was only a few months old when the princess was born, an unexpected pregnancy for the queen after having many unsuccessful attempts in the past who ultimately gave her own livelihood for that of the newborn baby girl. she was named after the mother she'd never meet and subsequently burdened with the shoes too big to fill for her father who still held the fond memories of his late wife. so, as little yuna began to grow too large for the kings' palm and too loud for his thinned patience, he'd wave her off without uttering a word at her thousandth question in the hour — too preoccupied in discussion with sir kabir devgan to hear her ask 'can i play outside?'

5-year-old yuna would hurry out of the room to then giggle to herself as she skipped down the dim and dank halls of the castle and out into the field behind the castle wall, stopping dead in her tracks as soon as she spotted him; a boy sitting patiently in the grass as he plucked dandelions. he had dark curly hair and mud covering his feet all the way to the knee, wide eyes flicking up to hers upon the sudden presence.

"hello." yuna would say with eyes squinting at the blinding the sun rays. she'd ask the unknown boy what his name was — what he was doing — if she could join him. shy young samir would introduce himself humbly to the princess just like his father taught him before inviting her in on his independent time outside in the sun. and here, in the large patch of tall grass just below the northern watchtower, the foundation for a strong and long-lasting friendship was forged by the small hands caked in mud and dirt — a detail that did not please the king once he found out.

yet, much to the annoyance to the 'great king jin', from that point it was only a matter of time before they grew into larger troublemakers. samir and yuna would always somehow find the time in their day to speak with one another at least once. sometimes samir would weasel his way into the castle to join her reading in the library, other times he'd lure her out of the stone walls to pick berries and admire her complexion in the warm light of the outside world. never in his wildest dreams would he ever lead her into danger, though —  that was all her own doing. son of a knight, samir had always been instilled with the duty of protecting the royal family at any and all costs, meaning he was the one shirking away when she'd beckon him into certainly-dangerous adventures.

"come on!" yuna would chirp over her shoulder as she crawled with fingers full of the thick grass blades, boots sputtering past her skirt to dig into the dirt. samir's eyes once again surveyed their surroundings in search for anything looming around in wait for their naive arrival, gaze running along the hills and valleys as he nervously called back. "i don't know — what about the king?"

"what about the king?" she repeated back to him without faltering in her pace up the rising ground "you worry too much, sam. now come on or i'll have to tell him you hurt my feelings!"

sam, with the stressed brow that appeared far too often for just a 14-year-old, finally let out an exasperated chuckle at her playful antics and joined her in the tiring journey up this particularly steep hill. he found his way to the top with a groan and couldn't help the smile that donned on his face as she helped pull him up the crest with a hand on his arm, finally realizing just exactly why the princess had been so adamant about this adventure.

"wow..." he uttered as his wide doe eyes surveilled the vast valleys laid before them, the sunlight bathing everything it could touch over the various peaks that left dark shadows in the trees below. from their spot on top of this mound they could see the raging foxtrot river. "how'd you find this?"

yuna would finally turn to look at him, gaze promptly meeting hers the second he noticed. "promise you won't tell?" she always said this to him — always checking in as if to make sure he had her back even though he always answered the same way. at this point he couldn't tell if it was true distrust or consent to further the wedge between him and his loyalty to the king.

"i wouldn't dream of sharing your secrets."

a blush would dust her cheeks as she beamed and tucked a dark strand behind her ear. "one of the cooks said there was gold at the end of the foxtrot river. she said she'd seen it at the top of the hillcrest with one lone tree swaying above her head." now, with her nod gesturing behind him, samir noticed the peculiarly lone tree whose leaves danced with the gentle wind that fluttered through their hair. "i thought maybe we'd check it out."

there was a beat as sam watched the sunlight filter through the leaves, a push and pull tugging on the tender strings of his heart before he internally steeled himself enough to turn back to the exceedingly more precious treasure beside him. "your highness," he spoke hesitantly — carefully "you don't really think there's gold out there to find, do you?"

the restrained frown on her lips could've killed him right then and there if he would succumb. but then again, she still needed to walk back to the castle after this.

"i think there's adventure out there. i think there's something else...something other than this."

sam would always find himself mulling over their conversations on his lone walk home. she had a habit of leaving him things to think on; great adventures to be had or the possibility of different lifetimes. for a princess yuna was so strangely drawn to something other than nobility, so wholly unattached from her royal bloodline that had famously held reign of the largest kingdom in the region for the last century. he'd hoped that maybe she'd come around to the idea of royal duties later, maybe she'd grow big enough to fit into her mothers' shoes, grow into the fully blossomed leader she could be. but, after a particularly stormy night when a heavy knock came to the devgans front door, it grew more apparent how far the princess was willing to go in order to avoid the looming title of queen.

samir found himself braving the storm alongside his father as they covered opposite directions in search for the lost princess. the angry winds whistled through the walls of the kingdom as the cold rain brutally pelted his cheeks in his seat on horseback, fingers numbing while he clutched the reins. sam followed along the foxtrot river calling out her name until his voice grew raspy and took in as much as he could visually whenever the lightning would strike and light up the dark sky for just a second, illuminating the virtually pitch-black wood he ventured into. it wasn't until an exceptionally bright strike allowed him to properly survey the surrounding wood and notice the shivering figure against a tree trunk that samir spotted yuna.

"your highness!"

the familiar albeit hoarse voice cutting through the howling winds brought the princess's face from her soaked knees, arms still wrapped around her legs to pull them close to her chest as her wet eyes found the boy hurrying off his horse and to her side. reins hooked around his arm so it hung near his shoulder, sam cupped her frigid cheeks in his similarly frozen palm, noting how she leaned into his hand.

"why are you out here? the king's worried sick!"

yuna's glossy gaze now made sense as they welled with tears, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows as her typical smile-ridden lips pulled into a pained grimace. "he's going to sell me off, sam." her voice was relatively quieter than his although she still had to project over the harsh white noise, "he said he's made a deal with king pyre of the east. i'll see out tomorrow and then...it's over, samir."

sam rode back to the castle with his own hand on top of hers belted around his waist, fingers intwining as he roped her arm around his shoulders to aid her inside, the rough and calloused skin only leaving her starkly delicate and clean hands once he began to start the fire in the dining hall. he'd spend the rest of the night by her side as he warmed her up (as well as himself, though he'd never admit it) and as they waited on the king or sir devgans arrival samir would wear himself thin reassuring her that everything would turn out all right in the end. everything would be okay because he said so. and when he saw the flash of disbelief in her eyes sam would pull out an old trick up his sleeve he'd never used before — one he'd never thought would see the light of day. until now.

"your highness...if i may be honest...when i count my blessings at night, i count you twice. for as long as i shall live, you will exist as someone loved wholly and entirely. show me your thorns and i will show you my hands, ready to bleed. and if you must die i'll envy even the earth that surrounds your body. for as long as i shall live, you will live within me."

this improper confession left a soft smile on the princess's face tainted by the tear stains running down her cheeks, her gaze scrutinizing his features under a microscope to look for supposed feigning for only a fraction of a second before softening upon finding nothing but pure unadulterated vulnerability and sincerity. from her spot beside him on the floor yuna would scoot closer and loop her arm in his to rest her head on his shoulder, his curls tickling the crown of her head. he was lucky she couldn't hear the pounding heart in his chest over the combination of sounds swirling around them, nor the thick gulp bobbing his adams apple as he swallowed back the fuzzy feeling bubbling under the surface. samir would statue in this spot even after she fell asleep and his back started to ache in the now uncomfortable position, all to lap up the final days he'd get to spend with the celebrated princess.

and then, by the grace of god, the dreadful day came for princess yuna min of elora to meet prince asa enoch of hidora — only for him not to show. samir, who made sure to loom around the princess all day, watched as the sun began to fall in tandem with the mask of patience on the kings' face, the moonlight illuminating the identical furrowed brow both royals shared. king jin went to bed that night uttering curses and arguments to himself as he went to his chambers for the night, heard only by samir who made sure to sneak into yuna's after the coast was clear.

samir nearly got himself caught the moment he stepped into her chambers with the laugh that emitted from his chest at the wide and wild-eyed grin on her face. he knew her well enough to know that, while the king's angry brow had been a result of flakey business deals, yuna's annoyance was merely due to the subjection of sitting still for an entire day. she couldn't have been more thrilled that the prince didn't show. the almost childlike-giddy pair would spend the night talking in circles about what could've happened that day, their theories about why the 'illustrious' prince asa didn't show, and samir would reluctantly have to pry himself out of her room so as to not get caught in the princess's chambers. he went to bed with half the mind that prince asa would arrive the following morning and sweep the king off his feet, maybe even sweep yuna off her feet. but then the following morning arrived with the king up and ready at the top of the day...and then midday...and then night. it wasn't until the fifth night past their scheduled meeting that a letter arrived signed by king pyre, father to asa — well — father to the late asa.

as explained within this letter, prince asa and all of the men accompanying him were tragically killed in a passing storm in the area. he'd sent more men out to find his missing son after not receiving a letter with updates and "found bodies scattered in the woods." so, with a heavy heart and a heavy hand king jin signed his goodbyes to pyre and subsequently whatever business deal it was that was great enough to rid of his one and only child. however, sam and yuna's relationship would not come out unscathed. in fact, this is when things really began to change.

in a meeting set up by the king, samir was offered a 'chance at the opportunity' to personally watch over yuna, though it came with a few conditions. while this would be proving his worth both to his father and the king as a potential knight of elora as well as appointing him in the princess's presence at most (if not all) times, the cons laid out by the king really painted a troubling picture. he would begin this apprenticeship under the guidance of his father, sir kabir, until he was satisfied with his sons' skills. this was the first troubling thing that caught his attention, and then king jin went on.

after completing the physical training samir would then present himself before the king for a fortnight in place of his father as the prestigious 'king's knight.' once and only once the fortnight had been completed, and if king jin was satisfied with samir's performance by the end of it, would he be granted the permission to claim the title of 'the princess of elora's personally appointed guard.'

and then, once he claimed his title, samir would have daily check-ins with the king to reveal all of what she'd spoken about that day. the king said he "wanted every minute detail down to the gory bits." failure to produce a 'satisfying' dialogue or withholding information would be considered as disloyalty to the king and result in the subsequent removal of this role.

"do you understand the guidelines i've laid out before you?"

samir gulped. "yes."

"do you agree meet the challenge according to my terms?"

the starkly smaller boy blinked up at the grizzly man before him, his signet ring twinkling in his big brown eyes. "yes."

samir began training the very next day. his father worked him to the bone from the moment the sun rose until the sky became pink and orange, signaling that it was time to head home and rest up. he went to bed nightly with aching muscles tender to the touch and yet there was still a smile lingering on his lips, his chest humming with who he was doing all this for. her name circled around his mind like the tumbling rocks kicked on his morning walk to the field he trained, and like the dust clouds that flittered through the air when he hit the dirt, her name settled on his tongue in the dim silence of his room. quietly, to no one but himself, samir would whisper the prized name that predated the princess's birth, the name uttered only by those worthy of such intimacies with her.

"yuna."

it took a full 2 months and then some before kabir gave his approval to the king. he told his now broader son the same night over dinner, stoically and subdued as he stated he "was shocked by sam's drive to improve and ability to do so quickly." samir had pride swelling in his chest from his father's words as he then adorned his fathers' role beside the king. he went into his first day optimistic and honestly a little cocky thinking that this so-called duty would be more or less standing around all day. he soon found out that this was in fact not the case, and when he wasn't patrolling the forest for bandits or accompanying the king in a leisurely but protected stroll samir was subjected to the crushing weight of overhearing what was going on in the other kingdoms.

by the end of the first week samir had learned about the looming attack expected from luneberg whose leader believed they owned all of the land west of the kublai river. by the beginning of the second week he had been formally prepared to protect the king and his kingdom whenever the 'lunes' arrived. and by wednesday this fateful day arrived.

snow had begun to fall when the first man in the guard tower called out "lunes!" sam stood by the king with restrained heaving breaths as he waited for instruction, waiting to be told to find yuna or venture out to the drawbridge where he could stop by her room. but before any instructions could be given lune soldiers stormed into the halls from around the back, hidden from the original watchtower that had alerted the kingdom. samir had no choice but to step forth and protect the king; lead him to safety and out of the violent corridors being stained with blood, urged on simply by the drive to locate yuna. only when he was able to finally hand the role of 'kings knight' back to his father did sam have the opportunity to turn back to the castle and brave the horrors occurring inside despite the calls of his name from behind his back. he'd gone specifically against the kings' orders to find yuna, sword drawn as he dodged in and out of every room hidden within the stone walls. he'd slain only a few unfortunate lunes before coming across the field hidden under the northern watchtower; the field they'd claimed as their own all those years ago.

almost hidden in the tall grass filling with snowflakes sat a man fighting to hold down the arms that emerged from the blades, nails digging into his throat to keep him as far away as possible. over the roaring cries of chaos that boomed from each and every corner in the kingdom samir could recognize the yelps and yowls of resistance as belonging to the one and only yuna. he wasted no time in plunging his blade through the back and out the chest of the beast assaulting the princess, using this lead to push him off of her and offer a hand out to the panting girl in the grass. upon finding her footing samir noticed the bruises that littered the soft skin on the side of yuna's face casting purple shadows below her eye and along her cheekbone.

"your highness..." was all he could say through panicked breaths, big brown eyes wet and wide as his delicate blood-stained fingers moved to almost touch the unfamiliar looking flesh. yuna would catch his hand to fully press her cheek into his palm and inadvertently leave crimson fingerprints on the angle of her jaw. this tender reencounter after far too long of not seeing each other would then be rudely interrupted by the heavy footsteps that echoed off the halls toward them, far too loud and fervent for just one man. it sounded like an entire brigade headed their way, and as samir stopped to analyze what he needed to do, there was a firm tug on his hand in her direction.

"come on, they won't catch us in the woods."

samir turned with the panicked shake of his head. "we'll die out there."

she pulled him again. "you'll die if we don't." the thunderous footsteps grew louder as he allowed her to pull him a step closer before then pulling her towards himself by their intwined fingers.

"it's snowing, princess, we'll freeze."

"not if we're together." her answer was immediate.

"i can't protect you from the elements, your highness."

yuna now squeezed his hand tight as the lune brigade loomed just around the corner. "i ask not for refuge in the cold but instead your company and protection from man. can you do that for me, samir?"

the towering boy above would stare back into her pleading eyes sparkling brighter than any of the stars in the sky and find his resolve within them, taking only a second longer to finally make his decision. by the time the luneberg soldiers made their way into the tall grass they only caught a glimpse of the princess's stark blue skirt before she disappeared into the white snow dusting the vast wood. with nothing but footprints in the snow leaving a discernable path to follow for as long as they moved quickly, the lunes chose to take their chances in the storm rather than return home with empty hands, unbeknownst to their fate located within.

samir and yuna would embark on a three day journey before finally returning to elora shivering and covered in filth. king jin sat them in front of the fire and filled their bellies while interrogating them about what happened — where they had gone and what they had been through. yet, neither had much to say, though it seemed obvious by the glint in their eyes that something had occurred within the woods. jin eventually gave up on trying to pry information from them and ushered his daughter to rest with plans to visit the apothecary the following day. yuna said her goodnight to the men before exiting the dining hall, leaving samir alone with the king who turned slowly, his usual furrowed brow forming in the light from the fire.

"you're late, samir. the fortnight was yesterday — training completed yesterday."

"my apologies, your majesty —"

king jin interrupted him. "i mulled over my decision whilst grieving my child. i was certain she'd been lost; to the wood or the snow or the lunes — i was certain i'd lost my only kin. i prepared to meet her again alongside her mother. and yet here you are now — shivering without a cape because you forgot to ask for it back..." jin trailed off with a mouthful of condescension growing the smile that curled his lips, looking like he was almost going to laugh before pulling his eyes from the flames to look at the anxious boy before him.

"you disobeyed direct orders, abandoned your duty, lead my daughter into the elements, and didn't return for three days."

samir's cheeks flamed red with shame as his eyes fought to disconnect from the icy glare produced by the king, yet he remained still, braving his reprimanding. "yes, your majesty..."

"but, on top of it all," the king took a breath and relaxed in his seat "yuna is home. you brought the princess back home safe and warmer than yourself."

his demeanor was suddenly so relaxed and — dare he presume — grateful. samir sat expectantly, listening with his full attention for king jin to get to what he was saying. what he meant.

"you may not have proved worthy as the king's knight, samir, but you have certainly proved yourself worthy as the princess's guard."

samir went home that night with an ear-to-ear grin as he reunited with his father. he laid in bed exhausted and yet entirely too excited for the days that would follow. the ceremony that would take place to grant him his knighthood, the endless hours that would be spent beside the beloved princess, the memories to be created with the beloved princess.

and his giddy anticipation would turn out to be quite a founded reaction; samir's knighting ceremony would be marked by the kiss pressed to his cheek as he said goodnight to the princess, the following days filled with the song of her laugh and the monumental view of her smile, cheeks flushed by the sun as they picked flowers or sat under the old willow tree. he'd appease her wild imagination and accompany her on horseback to pick apples in the very wood that granted him this opportunity only to stop by the kings chambers every night and go over all they'd done that day. he typically omitted some details, of course, but it didn't change the fact that his relationship with the princess was so heavily monitored nor did it ease the ache he felt as a result of the secrecy and inauthenticity feigned towards her. after so long of true friendship and trust built...

the straw that broke the camels back wouldn't come until the fateful days following princess yuna's 19th birthday.

king jin had grown noticeably grayer by this point, reminding both himself and the entire kingdom of his eventual end of reign, leading all of the watchful and anxious eyes to fall to the queen-to-be. he began implementing formal preparations the year prior, personally instructing her on the various different duties rulers have and the rules they abide by, all the while yuna pulled every card in the book to shirk her hereditary duties. samir had watched silently nearby as the kings patience grew thinner and thinner over the span of the year, paling in comparison to the growing resentment the pair harbored for one another until finally it could no longer be contained.

samir had returned from getting a breath of fresh air away from the bickering royals when he heard the kings booming voice echoing off the stone walls. he stopped with his back pressed to the wall to listen.

"you've always wished to be rid of me! father, i have been burdened by the blood on my hands! i stole her life as well as her name and it has tainted me in your eyes since the first breath!" yuna's voice was shaky and pitiful as if she was fighting tears.

"your impurities lie in your heart, not your name! you have been corrupted by your immature imagination ever since you were born!"

"why? because i dream of something more? something other than a lifetime of losing myself for others? because i want to be more than just a woman? because —"

the princess was cut off by a sharp, deafening smack that even made samir flinch from his place against the cool stone. the kings' voice had gone quiet now, only audible due to the unassuming manner in which sam entered.

"because you are just like your mother."

yuna sat on her knees with her hand on her cheek, wet, venomous eyes craned up at the man bent before her even after he noticed samir.

"escort her to her chambers, samir. she needs rest."

he'd do so promptly with a hand placed gingerly on her back, internally seething at the burning red skin on her cheek that lied below the laceration from jin's signet ring, swaying him further into her fantasies even before she told him "i'm leaving tomorrow night. come with me." he originally denied her preposterous idea before appeasing her with the promise of 'thinking about it' as he left her chambers to return to the kings' with a lump in his throat, tongue bitten between his teeth. though, sam wouldn't alert the king until the following evening — the final day of elora.

the following morning began with sam attending to yuna's cheek. his father had taught him plenty of remedies for injuries far less severe than this one, even ways to rid the healed skin of scarring later, the whole time being persuaded into joining her pursuit of a new life. he always managed to find new reasons not to abandon elora, more reasons why it was an awful idea to venture into the unknown in search of something 'better.' but as the sun made its way around the sky it grew more apparent how certain she was about her decision, and by the time she clarified she'd "leave with or without him" samir realized he had to do something.

with great pain he brought himself before the king just as the sun began to set and revealed the awful truth of what yuna was planning; how she said she'd steal a horse and ride as far as she could away from elora until she had to figure something else out. he didn't realize his fatal mistake until the king clarified on when this information had been made apparent.

"last night, your majesty."

"and you didn't think to mention this then?"

"...your maj—"

"what else have you 'forgotten' to mention, samir?"

"n-nothing, your—"

king jin didn't even let him finish before throwing him in the dungeon, alone and sewer-level as temporary punishment for his disloyalty. "i'll deal with you later" the king would say before leaving the boy to his solitude in search for his scheming kin. samir spent this time — only a couple hours, really — imagining the anguish on yuna's face as he was hanged in the square, martyred as the face of treachery in elora. he clutched at his heart when he realized the life that she'd be sentenced to and for the first time openly let the tears run down his face, sobbing pleads of forgiveness to no one but himself in the dark cell.

and then — like a knight in shining armor, a light in the darkness — yuna crept down the dungeon steps, a crowbar in hand as she whispered to call out for him.

"prin—yuna!" he'd call back. samir was already apologizing the second she found him, grabbing for her hands despite her efforts to lodge the crowbar between the bars until she finally took his hand.

"prove your sincerity by leaving with me. tonight. i'll get you out of here and then we'll leave and never return to elora again. can you do that for me, sammy?"

sammy; the greatest accolade to come from their voyage through the snow. well — second greatest — behind that of the privilege to call her informally. yuna.

"yes."

yuna used all her weight to finally bust the cell open, slamming herself into it until the rusted metal succumbed to the force. sam would pull her into a tight embrace against his chest before the fated duo would run hand in hand out of the kingdom and onto the path of a new life; one with only one constant in the form of the others' company.

[topherwrites]

Because I’m a Hozier whore, tell me more about Like Real People Do 👀👀👀

Liz, I too am a Hozier whore! (seeing him live in a month actually!)

Like Real People Do is a medieval-inspired au. Jake is a knight and part of the royal guard and reader is a princess.

It's definitely built around the ideas of chivalric romance and arthurian tales; Hildebrand and Hellelil, Domnei, Guinevere and Lancelot, Tristan and Iseult.

It's all about devotion on this here blog, baby!

here's a very small snippet!

“I hear you’re competing in the tourney.” The point of the needle breaches through your handkerchief, firm fingers taking hold, you pull the thread taught. The sun warms your skin, golden light bathing where you sit, secluded in the gardens. Only he would know to find you out here, only he would dare gaze at you for so long without announcing himself. “Have I ever not?” “No,” your eyes flick over your shoulder, a hint of a smile on your lips, “I suppose you never could pass up an opportunity for attention.”

wip ask game

[clytemnaestraes]

Lady Stoneheart + Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: Parallels and Symbolism

The steel was polished to such a high sheen that she could see her reflection in the breastplate, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of a deep green pond. The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief? — Catelyn, ACOK

Catelyn's face reflected in renly's green armour reminded me of the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I decided to dig into it and surprisingly found many things evocative of Lady Stoneheart.

1. A Judge

The Green Knight appears in Arthurian tales as a judge or tester of knights, challenging them to honour their promises. Lady Stoneheart plays a similar role in ASOIAF by demanding that jaime and brienne honour their promise to return her daughters or face death.

2. Colours: Green + Grey

It has been argued that green is wrongly attributed to the green knight owing to a mistranslation of the Cornish word glas, which means grey. In another variation of the story, the knight is often called "the man of the grey mantle".

Lady Stoneheart is heavily associated with grey.

Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart. — Brienne, AFFC

3. Identities and Aliases

At the end of the story, the green knight reveals himself to be Bertilak de hautdesert, Lord of a castle. Before getting resurrected as a fire wight, Lady Stoneheart was Catelyn tully stark.

On my honour as a Tully, on my honour as a Stark. — Catelyn, ASOS

4. A Game (of thrones)

The word gomen (game) is found 18 times in Gawain. Its similarity to the word gome (man), which appears 21 times, has led some scholars to see men and games as centrally linked.

The story itself began with a "Christmas game", known in folk stories as a "beheading game".

What... what game?

The only game. The game of thrones.

Catelyn ends up as Lady Stoneheart because her son wins every battle but loses the war, i.e., loses the game of thrones. Catelyn too was one of the players of the game, of course.

5. Winter, seasonality, and the rise and fall of things

The Green Knight tells Gawain to meet him at the Green Chapel in "a year and a day"—in other words, the next New Year's Day. Scholars interpret the yearly cycles, each beginning and ending in winter, as the poet's attempt to convey the inevitable fall of all things good and noble in the world

Winter is of course an extremely important motif in ASOIAF:

They are the knights of Summer, and winter is coming. — Catelyn, ACOK

It's also interesting to note that feasts are important events in both stories: the green knight first appears at a Christmas feast and Catelyn is killed at a wedding feast.

6. Trophies and Temptation: Girdles and Flayed skins

Roose bolton offers a piece of theon's flayed skin to Catelyn, and she is tempted to accept it.

"May I offer you this…small token of revenge?" Part of Catelyn wanted to clutch the grisly trophy to her heart, but she made herself resist. — Catelyn, ASOS

As Lady Stoneheart, she fully gives in to her temptation and ruthlessly pursues revenge.

"...She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We'll give her those, as many as she likes." —Brienne, AFFC

In Gawain's story, he is gifted a girdle by his hostess, the Lady Bertilak. He had earlier promised his host that he'd return whatever he got at the end of the day, but Lady Bertilak insists that it's a magical girdle that will prevent Gawain from being killed at the hands of the green knight. He gives in to temptation and keeps the girdle.

7. Chivalry and Contradictions: So many vows

The knight's code of honour requires Gawain to do whatever a damsel asks. Gawain must accept the girdle from the Lady, but he must also keep the promise he has made to his host that he will give whatever he gains that day. Gawain chooses to keep the girdle out of fear of death, thus breaking his promise to the host but honouring the lady.

Gawain's dilemma about whether to keep the girdle as ordered by his hostess or return it to his host and honour his promise to him reflects jaime's dilemma and the contradictory vows of knighthood.

So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other. — Jaime, ACOK

It's also interesting to note that the five pointed star or the pentangle is heavily associated with Gawain, reminiscent of the seven pointed star of the faith associated with Westerosi knights (and by extension with jaime) as they are anointed by the faith.

8. Wounds to the neck

Catelyn's throat is slit by the freys before they dumped her in the river, and as a result, she is unable to speak properly.

At the story's climax, Gawain is wounded in the neck by the Green Knight's axe.

The symbolism surrounding wounds:

During the medieval period, the body and the soul were believed to be so intimately connected that wounds were considered an outward sign of inward sin. The neck, specifically, was believed to correlate with the part of the soul related to will.

Hope you enjoyed this post!

[blueeyesking]

Come out, Critias! Pt. 3/3

[It's Seto's final turn. He doesn't have anything in his deck that can save him now...

However, upon touching the card he will draw, Kaiba's mind and spirit are transported somewhere else.]

Seto floats above two frozen dragon statues, in a large, intricate room that he doesn't recognize. Drawn to one by some unseen force, Seto gazes at the sword lodged into the great dragon's throat.

"I must be hallucinating... Am I supposed to remove the sword? What is this, an Arthurian myth?" Seto mutters to himself, incredulous, as he moves to take its hilt in hand. The sword gives with little effort, sliding free of the cracking ice, which shatters off of the dragon only a moment later. It roars in triumph, then looks at Seto expectantly, eyes shining with intelligence.

Seto's eyes meet its, and widen in shock.

"...How do I-? I know you." He floats forward, and places his hand on its dark snout. "Your name... is Critias."

[A bright light overwhelms the man, who is suddenly back in the Duel, about to draw.

"Well? Are you going to take your turn? Or have you realized you can't win, Kaiba?" Alister calls at Seto, hand on his hip confidently.

"SHUT UP! You don't know who you're messing with!!" Shouts Mokuba from behind Seto, banging on the barrier between them created by the Seal.

"That's enough, Mokuba," Seto shushes his brother. Alister laughs.

But Alister can't see the card under Seto's fingers glowing.

Without his usual dramatic flair, Seto draws- it's a card he's never seen before, and looks just like the dragon in his vision. It doesn't exist in his deck! But he knows its power, somehow... Kaiba stares at it a moment, then nods, as if to the dragon depicted.

"I use the Fang of Critias!" Seto holds the card aloft, and it glows with the effect of an activated spell.

"What?!" Alister leans on his side of the duel ring with both hands, incredulous and shocked. "But you don't have that card!!"

Seto laughs at the boy, triumphant. "I do now! Fang of Critias merges with my set Trap card: Crush Card Virus!"

"But you can't merge a trap card with a monster?!"

"Well, I just did! That's the effect of Fang of Critias!" Kaiba casts his hand out, as if showing off a new exhibit. "Behold, Doom Virus Dragon!"

The monster roars, manifested on the field, dwarfing Alister's monsters.

"And Doom Virus Dragon's effect destroys every other monster on the field with an attack of fifteen-hundred or higher!"

Doom Virus Dragon releases a blast greater than even Blue-Eyes White Dragon's Burst Stream, shattering all of the monsters on Alister's side of the field and leaving him with only a single face-down card for defense.

"Go! Doom Virus Dragon! Attack Alister directly!!" Kaiba points his direction to the dragon, who charges up its devastating beam, releasing its fury on Alister- "It's game over!"

"I activate my set spell: Contagion of Madness!" Alister casts his hand out, flipping the spell card. It deals half of the directly attacking monster's ATK to its controller, simultaneously to the battle damage it will inflict upon its target.

Alister's LP: 0

Seto's LP: 0

The duel ends in a draw, releasing both men from the Seal and flinging Seto back against Mokuba, who falls under his older brother's weight.

"From the darkness of the opposite hall, cut off by the duel ring, the Kaibas hear Alister's voice as he retreats, "This isn't over, Kaiba! I'll be back- and you'll pay for what your father did to me!"

Seto stands, brushing himself off, then helps Mokuba to his feet. He stares at the mysterious new card in his hand: The Fang of Critias.]

[mythicamagic]

Bloodstained Roses: A Chevalier x MC two-shot. Part One.

Summary: Chevalier has been hiding a secret affliction, something he comes to learn as: Hanahaki Disease.

AN: Part two is almost finished and will feature smut. Please comment if you want to be tagged for the next part- but feel free to read it on ao3.

EDIT: Part two be here

TW: Blood

-----------

Gloved fingers found the base of his neck, massaging his throat for the umpteenth time that day. Chevalier frowned, words shifting out of focus on the page of his recently acquired book on Arthurian Legend. 

Odd. He didn't usually get sick. Logically he assumed a sore throat was the prelude to a cold, but this particular irritation had been with him for more than a week. It was beginning to affect his voice, and that was not acceptable. Perhaps he’d have to swallow his pride and seek out medicine after all. 

Chevalier cleared his throat, trying to mask the wince on his face.

A faint noise caught his attention- the soft click of a door falling shut.

“Good afternoon, Prince Chevalier.”

Blond lashes swept shut briefly in a silent wince. Hello idiotic Rabbit.

He said nothing in response to her greeting, refocusing on the page and trying to ignore the way his body responded to her presence. The room seemed just a little warmer. The pain in his throat mercifully died down.

As per usual, she approached without an ounce of wariness, beginning to browse through his private collection. No one else had access to his personal library as she did. Well…no one else had mustered the courage to ask him for one of his books either. 

"How are you enjoying it?" Her gentle voice caressed his hearing again. 

Chevalier looked up from his position, reclined on a sofa in the library. He noticed her motioning with a smile to his book.

"It's fine. Better than the ones that focused on Lancelot and Guinevere."

Emma gave a short, soft giggle, continuing to peruse the volumes on the towering shelves. "I thought you'd say that."

Chevalier sat up, watching the arch of her back as she bent to squint at certain titles, running a finger over the spines in a way he shouldn’t have paid so much attention to. 

"Although…I found the part where Arthur let Morgause into his bed incredibly foolish."

Her delicate finger paused on an old tomb. Chevalier imagined bringing it to his mouth and running teeth and tongue over her hand. 

"Yes, I agree. He's so wounded by Lancelot and Guinevere's love but commits an affair himself. It's messy," she murmured, glancing at him. "I suppose a lot of love and relationships are."

He shook himself, closing his book with a firm, dismissive sound. "I've read many stories like it. If that is what love leads to, I've no need of it," he swung long legs off the sofa and stood. Somehow their discussions always devolved into this kind of idiotic talk. 

"Not all love leads to hurt like that," she smiled encouragingly, ever the optimistic voice in his dull, repetitive days.

He frowned, sweeping a frosty gaze over her critically. "What would you know of it?"

Emma blushed, directing her gaze to the ground. Chevalier couldn't resist. He strode over and flicked her forehead. 

"You lecture me blindly, Belle."

"I wasn't lecturing,” she cradled the offended spot, frowning in a way he’d describe as adorable. “Just defending love. Don't you want to marry for lov-"

she stopped, words dying on her tongue- as if realizing mid-sentence the naivety of her words when applied to royalty. His kind wasn't meant to marry for something as precious as personal attachment. 

"I'm sorry, Prince Chevalier," she quickly bowed her head in apology. "I misspoke."

Her sudden formality and inability to meet his gaze only served to irritate him. Chevalier caught Emma's chin, guiding her head to tilt up once more. Strong brown eyes met flinty blue. His breath caught a little. She was truly the only woman who could bare to look him in the eye in such a steadfast manner.

"Of course you did, you're an imbecile, as we've previously established," he smirked. "But I did not ask for an apology, so don't give one."

Emma's face warmed into a much better expression, one more befitting her lovely features. Chevalier shook himself and turned to the shelves as he released her, pretending to browse.

"Is it alright if I…overstep my bounds again and ask you a question?"

Chevalier said nothing but she knew his habits well enough to know that was an answer in itself.

"Does the idea of entering an arranged marriage bother you?"

His gloved finger stopped on a book spine. "It is something expected of royalty. I've long prepared myself for it."

"That doesn't answer my question. Does it bother you?"

He wondered why it mattered so much to her. 

Chevalier ensured his face was blank, voice measured and controlled as he slowly straightened and met her gaze.

"No."

Something dimmed in her eyes. A fire doused. The sight of it caused his throat to tighten, flaring with such immense dryness it made swallowing painful- brittle and sharp.

Chevalier's breath shook, heart squeezing so tight he felt lightheaded. He turned his back to her, blank mask splintering just for a moment. 

What is this affliction?

“I see. I uh- I should probably go, I forgot but Sariel needed me for something-” Emma was muttering, quietly excusing herself. A moment later and that door was clicking shut once more, the small library plunging into silence. Chevalier finally relaxed, gripping the bookshelves to keep upright.

Air was rattling through his throat as he attempted to breathe normally, choking on a cough. The room was spinning. His heart thundered so fast it was like Obsidian were at their gates- beating their infernal war drums. He needed to calm down. Was this a panic attack? Surely not-

He was the Brutal Beast. Immovable, unemotional. And yet he’d never felt more powerless.

Trying to slow his breathing, Chevalier coughed, hard. Tears stung into his eyes, and he doubled over. His legs shook, knees trembling with the effort to keep him upright as he gagged and shook, aware of some unknown thing unfurling in his windpipe and travelling up as he dry heaved. Then, suddenly- it had travelled to his tongue. Chevalier coughed, spitting. Something burst out of his mouth, scattering to the polished hardwood floor like grim, dew-coated confetti and landing in a wet heap. It took a moment before red-rimmed eyes peeled open to look.

Red rose petals awaited him. 

Chevalier stared uncomprehendingly. Shaking fingers touched his lips. When he pulled them away for inspection, his chest tightened. Flecks of blood and spittle had intermingled on his black glove, stark and clear like a fresh wolf's kill on scorched earth. 

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

He was a creature of habit. As such, the first place he turned to in search of answers was books. Books were reliable. He trusted them to give him what was needed, always. Since Chevalier could not recall eating an entire bouquet of roses and had never seen anything in any medical textbook pertaining to the random vomit-cough of shrubbery, he sought the most forgotten archives for an explanation. 

But there was nothing. 

Not even textbooks from Jade, Bentonite or the furthest, obscure reaches of Obsidian yielded results. Chevalier closed one of his oldest and most precious medical journals. 

His throat had steadily been worsening over the weeks, to the point that his speech was impaired because of it. No amount of honey or herbal remedies soothed the ache. Eating food had become a struggle, and even water made him choke, fighting to keep it down. It felt as though sandpaper coated the inside of his throat, blistering with each strain of his vocal cords. He imagined that was where the blood came from. Fortunately, he wasn’t a very talkative person to begin with. Unfortunately, he had Clavis for a brother. 

“You seem so tight-lipped lately!” Clavis was saying with exaggerated dismay, throwing himself down onto the sofa beside him in the library one rainy afternoon. Chevalier felt himself be jostled, but did not react. “Yves mentioned something about hearing you cough. Has the mighty Brutal Beast finally fallen prey to a mere human illness? The horror! I guess I’ll just have to take over as faction leader. Poor you~ hope it’s nothing serious enough to hinder your abilities with a blade.”

Chevalier said nothing, continuing to ignore him and read his book. If Clavis thought he could send more assassins after him because of this sickness, he was gravely mistaken. 

“Really though, this is highly unusual. Have you really lost your voice?” Clavis peered at him suspiciously. “If that’s the case, the roundtable meeting coming up is sure to be a very interesting affair.”

When Chevalier still didn't answer, his brother’s golden eyes flicked over him, losing some of their mischievous sheen. 

“You could write something down, you know?” he said quietly.

Chevalier finally glanced at him, noticing a rare moment of genuine advice. “...I will…solve this myself.”

"Hmph. Want to know what I think? Of course you do, I have a brilliant mind," Clavis smiled, gaze sharpening. "Books only get you so far. I'm going to call a doctor here to solve this conundrum unless you'll let me examine you myself."

Chevalier made a face, squinting. The royal doctor was a stuffy old man with cold hands. Chevalier had never particularly liked him due to the fear in his eyes. It made his work sloppy. Besides, even if they summoned Four Eyes and he arranged for a new, private doctor- Chevalier knew the experience would be the same. They always looked at him like he’d bite their hand off.

"Fine," he grunted in a clipped tone. He doubted Clavis would be of any help, but perhaps it would be amusing to see his confusion. 

Clavis took to examining him with a seriousness his smile belied. He said something about Chevalier being weakened, making him more of a target for their enemies, but the elder brother was barely paying attention. He concentrated on breathing, unable to suck in air through his mouth properly and instead taking quiet, rasping inhales through his nose when possible. 

Clavis put steady hands on his back and chest, listening as Chevalier struggled, finally having to put an ear to his chest and frowning. Clavis then straightened, lighting a candle. "Open your mouth," he muttered, gesturing.

Reluctantly, Chevalier obeyed, holding still as Clavis leaned in slightly with the use of light to inspect the back of his throat. He suddenly reeled backwards. 

"What in the seven Hells…!?"

The upset jerked Chevalier, and he wheezed, coughing before he could safely smother it behind his glove. A burst of petals scattered out, fanning around Clavis' frozen features. The smile that never left his face wavered, just for a moment. 

To his credit, Clavis didn't make a racket about it. He pulled out a handkerchief, which Chevalier mutely accepted, wiping his pale mouth with trembling fingers. His body felt feverishly warm.

"Well, you're running a temperature," Clavis said calmly. "That's a nasty cough you've got too, but no signs of a traditional cold. Most troubling of all is what looks to be thorns and budding flowers growing at the back of your throat."

Chevalier stopped, staring ahead blankly. Clavis picked up one of the dewy rose petals and inspected it with an unreadable look.

"How?" Chevalier tried, massaging the base of his throat. How was this possible? 

"Don't ask me. The fact that you let me examine you tells me that no medical textbook has ever recorded something like this- since your wonderchild memory never fails,” Clavis tilted his head, considering. “This is more like something out of a fairy tale."

His words sparked something vague inside Chevalier. Fairy tales made him think of Emma. 

He cast his mind back but couldn’t recall any children’s stories pertaining to coughing up roses, but his mental catalogue of such fanciful stories was limited. If anyone would know of one- she would.

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

Clavis had offered to ‘extract’ the small thorns that appeared to be growing inside his throat, but Chevalier declined. Neither brother panicked at the unusual circumstances, yet even Clavis couldn't quite hide his wrinkled brow.

“If you leave it untreated- strange curse or not- you’re likely going to die, dear Brother,” Clavis had smirked, his eyes oddly mirthless. “And I can’t have that. Only I may have the pleasure of killing you after all. I’ll see if I can work on a little something in the meantime…”

Chevalier strode down the hallway, sweat beading on his brow. He doubted that even with Clavis’ pharmacology knowledge that a cure could be made so easily. 

In all honesty, he felt little toward the idea of dying. A kind of cold numbness settled over his shoulders the moment it was suggested. It was irritating of course. Chevalier had no intention of succumbing to something that wasn’t a fatal wound received on the battlefield. Only that kind of death suited him. 

His body would not become an empty vase for flowers. That had never been his destiny.

Firm knuckles rapped on the smooth white wood of a door. Chevalier straightened, knowing the hour was late and his visit was highly unusual. 

Emma’s door cracked open before the woman herself peered out from within her room. A complicated mix of surprise and happiness lit up her features at the sight of him.

Chevalier blinked. Why did she look pleased to see him? Relived? No one ever looked at him like that.

“P-prince Chevalier,” she spoke quietly, opening her door wider. “Is everything alright?”

He slipped inside her room soundlessly, aware of his cloak brushing her side. He glanced around the gently lit space. She’d been reading by candlelight. The sight made his lips faintly curve upwards. 

“Book-” he rasped, taking a slow breath. “I need a fairy tale book. About…roses.”

“Roses? The tale of Beauty and the Beast features a rose?”

He shook his head. “Do you know of one-” he panted softly, forcing his face to remain neutral, “-one that features someone coughing up roses? Perhaps they die- because the flower seems to be growing inside them.”

Brown eyes widened. Emma’s hand subconsciously drifted to her throat, and Chevalier’s eyes followed the action, wondering what it meant. Did she know?

The rabbit didn’t question him further. With a distracted look, she nodded. “I know it. It’s from a country overseas. The tale of Hanahaki Disease. I have a copy back at the bookshop.”

Chevalier waited, knowing he didn’t need to ask. She bit her lip, “did you want to read it?”

He nodded, hands curling into loose fists. He loathed feeling so powerless. “Soon.”

“I can go tomorrow if you like. I’ll be quick?”

“I’ll join you.”

“A-alright?” her brows pulled together, and Emma daringly took a step closer to him. “Prince Chevalier…I couldn’t help but notice that you look much paler lately. If you’re taking on too much work, or need anything at all, I’d be happy to assist.”

Anything?

Several ideas came to mind. All of them oddly gave him some measure of peace. Just the idea of holding her soothed his strained heartbeat. She had such a gentle scent. Like old and new books mixed with fresh sunbathed linens. Perfectly domestic and unremarkable- and yet he’d never wanted anything quite so badly.

“It’s unnecessary to ask. I’m perfectly capable of-”

A cough violently erupted from his throat, harsher and stronger than before. He barely had time to muffle it behind his hand, staggering against the wall.

“Prince Chevalier!”

He barely felt her gentle touch on his back, nor heard her exclamations of alarm. Chevalier concentrated on trying to stabilise his breathing, aware of how rasping and rattling it sounded. Like something was dying in his throat.

“S-should I get Sariel?”

“No-!” he all but snarled, gritting his teeth together. He couldn’t see her expression but he felt her keen worry all the same.

“Wait here- I’ll go fetch some water!” he thought he heard the rabbit say, before dashing off.

Don’t go.

Chevalier squeezed burning eyes shut, aggravated by that pathetic plea in his mind. While alone, he manages to grab a vase of flowers and cough up a lungful of petals he’d been holding back. What alarmed him was when he felt something else coming. Something long and thin that unfurled from the thorns at the back of his throat. Parting pale lips, Chevalier reached in and retrieved the long stem, gagging and finding it a miracle he didn't retch. Gasping harshly, he started at the freed dewy rose, a long stem covered in thorns held between shaking fingers. His laboured, rattling breaths filled the room- and to his own ears, it sounded like the gasps of a dying man.

Hearing Emma’s return, Chevalier placed the vase aside, hoping she’d overlook the newly appeared rose sitting neatly within the arrangement.

A cool glass was shoved into his hands, Emma’s warm brown eyes frozen stiff with worry. To hasten the departure of such a troubled look, Chev took careful sips, relieved when his throat seemed to soothe. He managed to swallow the taste of copper.

“Are you alright?” she murmured, leaning in close. 

He swallowed once more before finding his voice- weaker than usual. “Fine.”

“There was nothing fine about that! Y-you scared me there,” Emma took out her pink, embroidered handkerchief. Chevalier stiffened, feeling her dab it lightly against his cheek. It came away damp- and it was only then he’d noticed his eyes had been leaking. They stung like a wound.

“I’ve never seen you like this before. Have you-" she wet her lips nervously, "have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s not something a… regular doctor can deal with,” he straightened, taking the handkerchief from her and wiping the remainder of his face. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. 

Noticing the roaring silence, blue eyes flicked to her lovely features. Chevalier found his voice gentling. “I am seeking a cure, there’s no need for anyone else to know so tell no one. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the potential ramifications if you did,” he paused, massaging the base of his throat. “Why do you look so concerned?”

“Because I AM concerned!” she burst, stilling and coming back to herself. Sariel’s training seemed to settle over her, a countenance more befitting a Lady. She wore it like armour, and he silently approved.

Emma shook her head, rubbing her throat absentmindedly as if mirroring him. “You always handle everything alone,” she murmured sadly. “There’s something more to this, isn’t there? You can tell me, Prince Chevalier. I wouldn’t betray your trust.”

“Telling you would change nothing. I wouldn’t feel relieved by sharing it. That is a sentiment you and others share…but not me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper as he shifted to lean against her bedroom window, gazing at the dark expanse of gardens outside. The cool glass felt good against his burning skin. “I feel…more assured by handling it alone, as I always have. It is just- a-another way the Brutal Beast differs from you.”

He reached out with the intent of giving her handkerchief back, but gentle fingers pushed up against his hand.

“No, keep it.”

Chevalier blinked, studying her worried features as she looked at him with such heartfelt emotion it made his chest shudder. “I’m sorry for trying to meddle. Just- please bear what I said in mind if you ever feel like talking.”

His heart tripped within his ribcage, squeezing. His fool of a Rabbit was so painfully earnest that it hurt to look at her sometimes. Chevalier scoffed to cover it up, muttering a time for them to meet the following day before stalking out of the room with only the tatters of his dignity intact. 

If he were someone else, anyone else, he’d take Emma up on her generous offer. But he was Chevalier. Brutal Beast and cold second prince of Rhodolite. Feared and isolated since childhood- which suited him just fine.

But Emma was not like him. He’d watched her a few days ago from his position by the office window, observing how she smiled and laughed with royalty such as Black, the Show-off and Bear, acting no differently with servants. 

What would become of someone like that if he shut her in with him? Selfishly stole her away into the labyrinth of his personal library? People would become fearful and wary of her too if she kept company with him. She wouldn’t flourish as she did now, in the light. 

He refused to bind such a rare, precious woman to his side if it meant that smile might wilt from her face. Someone equally as bright and gleaming as she should bask in her sunny warmth. He would be content with watching what became of her. Happiness would always find Emma, Chevalier was certain of it. 

But it wouldn’t if she was his. They were ill suited.

Shaking fingers curled tighter around the pink handkerchief in his hand, before tucking it away in his pocket.