#she's not gandalf the white with the symbol of the light on her shoulder this time

[strangerthings4theories]

Billy Is A Christ Figure, a.k.a. He Will Die And RISE AGAIN

This isn’t a radical statement. Literature and film teem with “Christ figures” who symbolically (or literally) die and rise again. Billy is just one of the Duffers’ additions to a long, venerated tradition.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

>>Billy’s story lines up with the Christ figure concept.

I really like how Christopher Lansdown explains it:

Christ figures in literature are - when done well - characters who relate to the rest of the story as Christ related to the world. [Salient features include...]

1. Saves the world from the effects of the misuse of free will. 2. Has a dual-nature where one of these natures is what allows #1. 3. Bridges the gap, in his person, between the two natures. 4. Sacrifices himself willingly for the sake of the world. 5. In sacrificing himself, takes the problems of the world into him and conquers them, thus saving the world from them. 6. Comes back from the sacrifice because of his other nature.

Billy’s storyline hits several of these notes already. First, he saves the world by sacrificing himself willingly. Second, he’s presented as having two natures: his corrupted monster-self (the bully in S2; the puppet of the Mind Flayer in S3) vs. his innocent child-self. (You could describe him as being human and divine too. I’ll get to that in another post.)

When he stands up to the Mind Flayer at Starcourt, he begins the process of integrating his two natures. That’s why he looks so childlike here: his innocent child-self is coming out for the first time in years.

All that’s left is for him to “come back from his sacrifice.”

>>The Duffers infuse Billy with Christ symbolism.

The most obvious example, imo, is the special necklace they gave him. The genius @aeon-of-neon​ figured out that his necklace is a Lady of the Pillar medallion - i.e., a depiction of Mother Mary with baby Jesus. 

On its own, the necklace tells an incredible story. It suggests Billy is symbolically the Christ child, and at some point his mother - symbolically the Virgin Mary - had the medallion blessed to protect her son. (I think we all recognize Neil wouldn’t give a shit about protecting Billy.)

The show reinforces that reading in subtle yet mind-blowing ways. In his last shot in S2, Billy is pictured in front of a Christmas tree. This associates him with the meaning of Christmas, which is the birth of a child who will save the world.

In the sauna in S3, Billy passes in front of a poster for the Hawkins Fourth of July parade. A lot of people have latched onto the “American” symbolism here (as they should - I’ll address that in another post). I’ve even seen people talk about the stars on the poster giving him a crown of thorns or saintly halo. But I haven’t seen anyone mention that the poster gives him a crown of stars like Mary, Queen of Heaven. 

"A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth. Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crowns on his heads." (Revelation 12:1-3)

Combined with the necklace, this small detail suggests his mother, aka the Virgin Mary, is watching over him as he battles the Mind Flayer, aka the Dragon.

Now look at this screenshot again--

See how prominent his necklace is in the frame? That’s not an accident. The Duffers had to direct and light this shot just right to achieve the desired effect. If you look closely, Dacre is standing in an awkward, unnatural position. I can practically hear the Duffers saying, “Shoulders forward, Dacre... a little more... now tuck in your abdomen and push your chest out... that’s it!” All while they’re trying to avoid getting too much light on the necklace. It needs to be well-lit but not washed out.

All that work was for a good cause. The shot suggests Billy’s mother is with him in his moment of sacrifice. He’s just reclaimed her memory, and now he’s honoring it as he lays down his life for the world.

Yeah, it hurts :)))) but there’s more to cover...

...such as Billy’s crucifixion poses.

The crucifixion pose is common enough in film that it gets its own entry on TVTropes. The first sentence of the entry? “It’s very common for a character who just performed a Heroic Sacrifice to be lying with their arms outstretched like the crucified Jesus.” 

We see that with Billy multiple times.

In the sauna, El lifts Billy in the air right before she deals the “death blow.” He hangs there for a moment, arms outstretched. My inner Christian teenager thinks of John 3:14-15: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man [Jesus] be lifted up [on the cross], so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

To really drive the point home, the Duffers put Billy in the crucifixion pose AGAIN, at the moment of his actual death, while he shouts at the Devil. (The Mind Flayer is symbolically the Devil/Satan. Stick a pin in that, we’ll come back to it at another time.)

The Mind Flayer then kills Billy by impaling him (Christ being impaled by the spear, anyone?), and Billy falls to the ground, arms outstretched yet again.

Guess who else dies sacrificially... and gets Christ symbolism at his moment of death?

It’s less obvious with Hopper; he isn’t shown with his arms outstretched. Instead, the Duffers give the crucifixion pose to Joyce right before she deals the “death blow.” She is in the pose on Hopper’s behalf.

Take a screenshot at the right instant, and the beams of electricity shooting out of the “key” machine even form a cross behind her. 

(This scratches the surface of another subject: the STRONG PARALLELS between Hopper and Billy. Stick a pin in that, too... *sigh*)

Well, guess what. We already know Hopper’s coming back. David Harbour even compared his return to the resurrection of Gandalf, the Christ figure of the Lord of the Rings:

"Gandalf the Grey who fights the Balrog and then becomes Gandalf the White. It’s the idea of the resurrection of the character. And mythologically, Hopper, in a sense, had to change. I mean, you couldn’t go on the way he was going on. He has to resurrect in some way. So it was a great opportunity to do that. So we’ll see a very different guy going forwards. The same guy but in a different vein.”

"[He] had to change... [he] couldn’t go on the way he was going on...” Doesn’t that describe Billy exactly?

»»————-　✼　————-««

Ugh, there’s a lot here, guys. I haven’t even touched on all of Billy’s Christ symbolism yet. I’ll have to save the rest for another time.

Until then, I’ll leave you with this very interesting song from Billy’s official Spotify playlist...

Muthafucka I’m back From the dead I’m about To raise hell Out of my coma I’m ready to show ya That season of my life is done...

»»————-　✼　————-««

P.S., all of this explains why Dacre proposed the idea that Billy’s mom was literally a virgin. It’s batshit crazy and makes NO sense... unless he and the Duffers were discussing Christ imagery for Billy.

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

[babygirlkiki1016]

Masterlist

Chapter 4: Between Two Races

Chapter 5: The Ugly Truth

The moon was almost out as the sun slowly lowered itself behind the mountains. I sighed, might as well enjoy it, this might be the only time I'll ever get to see it like this. With no enemies chasing us, just me and myself, and the maids who were trying to get me to wear a dress.

"What about this one milady? It's certainly beautiful, any man would love to see you in this kind of dress." It was a long black gown, not as fluffy as the others they had shown me. It was slim, and just my size, I ran my hand over the cloth feeling the soft texture.

"I'll try this one." Trying on the dress was the best decision, it fits me in all the right places. It hung off my shoulders slightly, showing my family's crest. My eyes traveled to the v-line that showed my breast. Well, it complimented my figure, even though I don't like showing my body that much, it made me feel beautiful. "Thank you, you are dismissed." I bowed and left my chambers, I could hear them giggling as I walked away. I wonder what they were so excited about, maybe they're eager to see the dwarves?

"Y/n! It's wonderful for you to join us for dinner." Elrond greeted as he walked up the steps with Gandalf. "You look extravagant."

"Thank you, as do you." He wasn't the only one who thought so, cause every dwarf at the table stopped and stared. Their jaws dropping in surprise, and each of them blushed as I smiled. The moment I sat down at the dining table, Thorin couldn't keep his eyes off of me. His gaze traveled to my chest, I couldn't tell if he was looking at my markings or my breast. "Thorin, eyes up here." He snaps out of his trance, but he did not smile or grin, he scowled at me.

"Don't you think that's a little too much skin your showing?" He growled I didn't think it would be a problem, but now I was doubting myself.

"Even if it is, what does it matter?"

"It matters cause you look like a whore." He took a sip of his wine, Elrond could sense my discomfort. I looked down in shame, all I wanted was to feel pretty, and here I thought this man could change. No, I wouldn't let him get to me, he's just another dwarf his words shouldn't matter to me. I held my head high, making his eyes widen at my new profound courage.

"A whore would be wearing much fewer clothes than I, all that matters is that I feel beautiful the way I am. And if you don't like it, then you can shove it you ignorant pig." The other two people at our table let out a small chuckle, for the look on Thorin's face was unexpected. He was speechless now but turned his focus to Elrond who examined one of the swords that he had taken from the trolls’ cave.

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin." He hands it back to Thorin with a small nod. "May it serve you well." Elrond grabs Gandalf's sword. "And this is Glamdring. The Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the First. I believe you will find it to be useful."

"What about this?" I hand him the blue stone I had found in the troll's hoard, he tilted his head to the side and put down Gandalf's weapon.

"It has your family's crest, I highly doubt you need me to tell you what it means."

"I know what the translation is, but why would it say to go back to the Kingdom of Larthas? There's nothing there but corpses and vines that have grown over time." He takes it from me and analyzes the markings, his brows furrowed as he racked his brain for what it could mean.

"I do not know, perhaps there is a secret there that remains hidden. Something only you can find out, you are the Queen after all. Only the royal blood can open the gates of Larithian."

"The gates of Larithian?" Thorin glanced between the two of us in confusion.

"The gates of Larithian is where our treasure remains, anything important goes in there. Yet it hasn't been open for so long." Were there more of my people out there? Maybe they made this gem, so one day when someone found it they would bring it to me. Why? What could be so important?

"How did you come by these?" Elrond still stared at the stone in his hand, I had a feeling he knew something about the stone. He just wasn't telling me what it was, he tried to look at it like he'd never seen it before but was failing.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs," Gandalf explained, which caught his attention.

"And what were you doing on the Great East road?"

~♪♠♪~

"Our business is no concern of Elves. It's already bad enough that she knows of our journey." Thorin glared at me, that fire in his eyes returning once more. I could feel a few looks of pity thrown my way, but I could care less. I was a Queen, no matter how much he hurts me I have to stay strong for my people.

"For goodness sake. Thorin, show him the map!" Gandalf ordered, his grip tightening on his staff.

"It is the legacy of my people. It’s mine to protect! As are its secrets."

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!" Thorin grimaced at the thought, but he knew that the old wizard was right. Though he looked at me with a hopeful look, I returned it with a glimpse of confusion.

"Can you read the map?" His request surprised me, he would rather have me, a digonisk read the map than an elf? "You do know everything about dwarves out there do you not?" Thorin takes out the map and hands it to me reluctantly. I open it, and read what I already knew, it was mostly about the quest. Elrond took this as a signal to leave, for he knew the dwarves wouldn't want him to listen in on their secrets. So now all that remained was me, Gandalf, Thorin, Bilbo, and Balin.

"What am I looking for?"

"It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text." Gandalf explains, walking with me to the pedestal. "You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?"

"Of course, it was one of the first languages that I learned during my lessons." I studied the symbols and spoke aloud. "‘Cirth ithil’."

"Moon runes, of course. An easy thing to miss."

"Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written. Luckily for you, I do not need the same moon as I can create my own." I lifted my hand over the map as the two dwarves watched, with my magic I created a crescent moon making the paper glow with blue letters. "‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.’"

"Durin’s Day?" Bilbo asked curiously.

"It is the start of the dwarves' new year, when the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky together. We still have time to make it to the mountain, as long as we move swiftly and take the fastest route. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened?" That's when everyone realized this journey was about to get a whole lot harder. Not only would we have to move fast, but that means barely any resting time for the rest of the company. After reading the map, I returned to my balcony, watching as the moon shined upon us. Lighting the town, making it glow with white light.

"You've been coming here a lot since you've arrived. Something on your mind?" Elrond joined me by the edge, his hands folded behind his back.

"Just wanting some peace."

"I do not believe that's the right answer." I looked up at him, he gave me a knowing look. Was I supposed to know what he was speaking of? "Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf told me about how he's been treating you this entire trip. And I can see it in your eyes, it hurts you when he speaks ill of you." He was right, I didn't like it when Thorin was rude, it was as if he wants to break my heart.

"I just don't understand why it hurts so much." He places a hand on my head, caressing my hair gently to calm me.

"Perhaps it hurts because you are in love with him?" In love with him?! That can't be, I haven't thought of him that way at all. Though I did appreciate his time with me, and I liked it when he was around. His voice soothed me, those ruff vocals were music to my ears. "You know I never lie, your hurt because you love him, and when someone that you love is rude to you it pains you more."

"Even if that was true, he wouldn't love me back."

"That's not what I see, earlier when he commented on your dress I could see the jealousy flaring in his eyes." Could Thorin be jealous of what other men thought? Is that why he's always so rude to me? Because he wants me to be safe, or he doesn't want me to do a certain thing? "You should talk to him, tell him how you feel. If you don't it will only get worse for the both of you." I turned away slightly, looking towards the exit of the garden. Maybe telling Thorin wouldn't be so bad, let's hope he feels the same. I thanked Elrond for the advice and made my way around the castle. Eventually, I spotted Thorin with Dwalin speaking on the bridge over the waterfall. My heart was pounding as I made my way over to them, but before I turned the corner I heard something I hadn't expected. I hid behind the pillar, listening to them speaking about someone, uttering my name.

"You laid a hand to her?" Thorin growled.

"It was an accident Thorin, I was just angry-" Dwalin went to go apologize but Thorin interrupted him.

"She is the Queen of the Digonisks, the one who is going to slay Smaug. You will be nice to her, for she is the only one who can kill that beast." My heart fluttered, he was defending me, maybe he did love me.

"So that's it, you want us to be nice? What about the pain you've caused her?! And for what, so she'll do your dirty work?"

"If we hurt her more, she might turn her back on us. We need her to kill Smaug." So that's all he wanted, he just wanted me to kill that dragon. I was nothing but a pawn to him, he didn't love me after all. I was stupid to ever think such an ass like him could ever have feelings like that. Besides, he did say he'd rather be dead than ever be with me.

"And what about after that? What happens after she kills him?" Thorin sighed in disappointment, it seemed like he was upset about something.

"Then she can take her scrolls and leave." I let my guard down again, I shouldn't have listened to Elrond, he didn't lie but he was mistaken. A moment later I heard shuffling, Thorin was coming my way. Quickly I pretended to be just arriving, which startled 'The King Under The Mountain'. "Y/n." He bowed and smiled at me, but I knew it was just an act. "What brings you here?" My heart wrenched, I couldn't do it, I couldn't tell him. I didn't want to face rejection, nor humiliation.

"I was coming to tell you something." My eyes met Dwalins, and that's when he knew I had heard their conversation. "Though it's not important, not anymore." Quickly I rushed away to my chambers as Thorin called after me, and the moment the hard wooden door closed I slid down to the floor with a soft sob coming from my lips.

@fili-is-my-lover @kirenia15 @lunariasilver @depressedchilipepper @tschrist1

[anghraine]

“we also are daughters of the great” - chapter two

I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot promptfic, but ... idk, I got moved to continue it, so here’s some Merry and Fíriel/f!Faramir (among others).

Last chapter:

As she walked away, Éowyn called out,

“Lady Fíriel!”

Fíriel paused, and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

Do not leave me alone here, Éowyn thought.

This chapter:

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

He would not have said that he’d do anything for her, the way Pippin had. But Pip seemed right enough that she was a creature of the heights. Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality alongside her gentleness. It made for an agreeable but very odd impression.

chapters: one

-

For Éowyn, the remaining hours of the day passed gradually. Her thoughts dwelt on her uncle and her brother and Aragorn, and whatever doom awaited them, then skittered nearer, to her own fate, and her useless present. Her arm ached; though she could endure pain, she knew it would have made her an easy target on a battlefield—even if she could have escaped the city, caught up with the army, and fought among them. She must have seemed ridiculous to Lady Fíriel.

Éowyn shifted her weight from one leg to another. The idea sat uncomfortably with her. Although they had only just met, and spoken briefly, she disliked the idea of appearing childish or silly to her. Fíriel had betrayed admiration rather than disdain, but that might arise from pity as well, whatever she said. Éowyn did not wish to seem weak to anyone, and certainly not a gentle, composed lady of Gondor—and the last of Cirion’s line, no less.

At least Fíriel had been true to her word; not long after their conversation, two healers appeared to lead Éowyn to her new, east-facing chambers. So she stood there at the window, gazing at Mordor and worrying, while the minutes crawled slowly by.

For Merry, however, everything seemed very fast indeed. 

One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden even as the terrible Ringwraith king descended, throwing all but Gandalf himself from their horses. Dernhelm rose, still defiant, and Merry’s horrified gaze fixed on him—her—Éowyn? Éowyn, so fair and valiant! Gandalf or no Gandalf, he had known suddenly what he must do. He stabbed his dagger into the wraith’s knee, and Éowyn drove her sword into the wraith until it shattered.

The Lord of the Nazgûl disappeared into nothing—Éowyn collapsed—Théoden was weeping over her, and Merry too, while a chill numbed his right hand and crept up his arm. It was Gandalf who insisted Éowyn was alive, and ordered her and Merry carried in a rush to the Houses of Healing. Everything grew colder yet, and hazy, until he could scarcely move and scarcely see. Before he quite knew what had happened, he fell asleep.

His sleep was unpleasant: cold and grey, filled with terrible voices that whispered of the dead he had not saved. Some of the voices sounded like the king of the Ringwraiths and he kept stabbing at it, then remembering that the Barrow-dagger had broken. They were all dead, Pippin and Éowyn and Théoden and, somehow, Gandalf and Strider. But no—that didn’t make sense—he couldn’t quite remember—

Another voice joined in, and even in that icy dream, it surprised him.

“Awake,” said Strider, in the commanding way he had sometimes. 

He sounded very far away. Merry couldn’t see through the mists, or pinpoint the source of the call.

“Awake,” Strider repeated, even more firmly, and Merry felt a growing warmth, driving the cold off. Even his hand no longer felt numb, and he couldn’t hear any voice but Strider’s.

“Merry.”

Merry opened his eyes. Strider stood nearest him, pulling his hand back from Merry’s head, but Pippin was there, too, alive and well but for his anxious face, and Gandalf just behind him. A mildly sweet fragrance filled the air about him. Just the smell of it made him feel better. And starving.

“I am hungry,” he announced. “What is the time?”

“Past supper-time now, though I daresay I could bring you something, if they will let me,” said Pippin, his voice a little unsteady. Now Merry could see that Pippin had acquired armour, too: a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree. He had never looked more like the Thain he would be someday.

“They will indeed,” said Gandalf. “And anything else that this Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in honour.”

Well, that sounded very nice.

“Good!” Merry said. “Then I would like supper first, and after that, a pipe, if Strider will provide what is needed.”

“Oh?” said Strider.

“I had some of Saruman’s best in my pack,” said Merry, “but what became of it in the battle, I am sure I don’t know.”

Strider looked sternly down at him. Really, he was bigger than anyone had a right to be. Maybe he’d drunk Ent-draughts at some time or another—though Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been, and Merry couldn’t imagine either of them doing it at all. 

“Master Meriadoc,” Strider said, in his severest tones, “if you think that I have passed through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack has not been found, then you must send for the herb-master of this House. And he will tell you that he did not know that the herb you desire had any virtues, but that it is called westmansweed by the vulgar, and galenas by the noble, and other names in other tongues more learned, and after adding a few half-forgotten rhymes that he does not understand, he will regretfully inform you that there is none in the House, and he will leave you to reflect on the history of tongues.”

Merry blinked.

“And,” Strider added, “so now must I. For I have not slept in such a bed as this, since I rode from Dunharrow, nor eaten since the dark before dawn.”

Guilt jolted through Merry and he seized Strider’s hand, kissing it. 

“I am frightfully sorry. Go at once!” he said. “Ever since that night at Bree, we have been a nuisance to you. But it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is out of place.”

Strider’s scowl dissolved into one of his rare smiles. He said, “I know that well, or I would not deal with you in the same way. May the Shire live forever unwithered!”

With that, he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head, then left with Gandalf. As soon as they were gone, Pippin started to laugh.

“Was there ever anyone like him? Except Gandalf, of course. I think they must be related.” 

Now entirely perplexed, Merry just stared at him.

“My dear ass,” said Pippin, “your pack is lying by your bed. He saw it all the time, of course. And anyway, I have some stuff of my own. Come on now! Longbottom Leaf it is. Fill up while I run and see about some food. And then let’s be easy for a bit. Dear me! We Tooks and Brandybucks, we can’t live long on the heights.”

Merry thought about it—about Great Smials and Brandy Hall, and Meduseld and this monumental city, about their families back home, and Boromir and Éowyn and Strider. Aragorn.

“No,” he agreed. “I can’t. Not yet, at any rate. But at least, Pippin, we can now see them, and honour them. It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots, and the soil of the Shire is deep. Still there are things deeper and higher; and not a gaffer could tend his garden in what he calls peace but for them, whether he knows about them or not. I am glad that I know about them, a little.” Then he shook his head, clearing it. “But I don’t know why I am talking like this. Where is that leaf?”

Pippin’s armour clinked as he climbed off his stool and produced the pipe and leaves. Merry almost laughed, himself, at the sight of him, looking as near a fine soldier as any hobbit could be, but with a pipe in one hand and a little pouch of Longbottom Leaf in the other. His face must have spoken for him; Pippin wrinkled his nose and ran off to get some food.

By the time that he returned, Merry was truly ravenous, enough that he didn’t think to ask much of anything until he’d swallowed half of the meal in front of him. Then he slowed, new thoughts jabbing into his mind.

“Lady Éowyn,” he said. “Do you know what happened to her? Is she—”

“Alive,” said Pippin. “Strider brought her back, just like you. She is resting not far from here. The king and Éomer are seeing to their people, I believe.”

Merry relaxed, but Pippin had hardly spoken when his brows drew together.

“What is it?” Merry asked. 

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” he said slowly, “but I wish he—Strider, I mean—Aragorn—I wish he could have gotten here just a little earlier.”

Merry chewed, then swallowed. “Why is that?”

“So he could have saved Lord Denethor,” said Pippin, his face clouding over. “I swore myself to his service, in return for Boromir, and … well, because I wanted to. He fell leading the retreat against the Black Riders; he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together, and he got pierced by an arrow. The healers kept him alive for awhile, but not long enough. He died just after they brought you and Lady Éowyn here.”

“Oh,” said Merry, feeling rather blank. He knew of the Steward dimly, through Boromir’s proud accounts of his father, and through the message sent with the Red Arrow, which had struck him as courteous. But he thought of Théoden, and felt a burst of sympathy. “I am sorry, Pip. Was he kind to you?”

Pippin nodded, then shook his head, then just deepened his frown, looking bewildered as much as anything.

“He was strange,” he said. “More like Gandalf and Aragorn than Boromir, though not as powerful as Gandalf, I think. But the same sort of person, if that makes sense. Gandalf said Denethor could see people’s thoughts, even people far away.”

All right, not like Théoden.

“I think it was true,” Pippin added. “You’d understand if you met him.” He grew solemn again. “Not that you can. He’s gone, like Boromir. There’s only Fíriel left now.”

“Is that Boromir’s sister?” said Merry. He had even less of an idea of her, beyond a vague impression of her existence and Boromir’s affection for her. But he felt sorry for the unknown lady, nevertheless—all the more when he thought of how her brother had died. Despite everything that had happened since then, his throat tightened.

“Yes,” Pippin said, and thankfully, his smile returned. “I like her.” 

The words would have been tepid enough on paper, but Pippin pronounced them with so much fervour that Merry’s brows rose. 

“What is she like?” he asked.

Pippin tilted his head, thinking about it. In fact, he thought about it for so long that Merry might have poked him, if not for the chainmail.

“A bit Elvish,” he said at last. “She belongs to the heights, right enough—but isn’t so far-off, if you understand me. It’s hard to explain. You can talk to her, and at the same time, she … you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her.”

He flushed a little as he spoke. Merry hid a smile. 

“Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said.

Pippin turned redder. “No! Don’t be absurd, Merry. It’s not like that. You’ll meet her sooner or later, and then you’ll see.”

Merry just laughed, more amused to see Pippin admiring a daughter of Men than he would have thought he could be by anything, a few hours ago.

Regardless, it seemed that he’d scarcely finished talking and smoking with Pippin when Legolas and Gimli came to see them, and they all walked and talked until he grew tired, and they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour—but before long, the rest were all riding out to confront Sauron himself, in Mordor. 

Merry watched sadly, feeling very alone, and fearful of what might happen to them all. Pippin’s young friend led him back to the Houses of Healing, saying something meant to be reassuring, but Merry barely heard it. And in the Houses, the hours rushed inexorably on, while Merry tried to calculate the army’s progress in his head, for no messengers came, and nobody seemed to know anything about what was happening out there. But the more the time passed, the closer they had to be getting—and here he was, doing nothing.

As dreadful as he felt, it seemed like he’d only just turned around when he realized it’d been two whole days. They wouldn’t be in Mordor yet, but they’d be making progress, unless something else had gone wrong.

“Master Meriadoc! Master Meriadoc!” 

Merry turned to squint at a servant of the Houses. He’d mostly been left to his own devices, apart from the healers who insisted on examining him every day. 

“Yes?” he asked.

“If it is no inconvenience,” said the servant, “there is someone who would like to see you.”

“See me?” repeated Merry. He couldn’t imagine who would feel the slightest interest in him, except perhaps Éowyn, and he gathered that she was still recovering. “Who wants to see me?”

The servant straightened, looking proud. “The Lady Fíriel, master. She is waiting here in the Houses now, if it pleases you to speak with her.”

Merry didn’t know whether to take this as real concern for what pleased him or not, or just part of the people of Gondor’s odd way of talking.

“Well—certainly,” he said, baffled but curious. 

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyway, and he didn’t want to be impolite, particularly not to Boromir’s sister. He trotted after the servant towards a wall overlooking the gardens, where a few healers and recovering soldiers were walking to and fro. He didn’t see Éowyn among them, but he did see a woman standing at the wall. He couldn’t make out much of her beyond black skirts and black hair that hung loosely down her back; still, he felt sure that she was indeed Fíriel of Gondor.

“My lady,” the servant began, and the lady turned around.

She had a pretty face, but Merry was struck less by this than by how much it resembled Boromir’s. And Aragorn’s, in some odd way that he couldn’t immediately identify—more of an air than any particular feature. 

“You must be Meriadoc,” she said.

Merry bowed, a little awkwardly; he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“I am,” he said.

Fíriel swiftly walked over, and held out her hand, which Merry took in some confusion. She shook his in the manner of the Shire, her face lighting with a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother. Merry appreciated this, even while feeling a little unsettled. She was tall like Boromir, too—very tall. The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim, to be sure, but though no man, she must be taller than many if not all of the Riders. Certainly more than any woman he’d seen except Lady Galadriel.

“I am Fíriel, daughter of Denethor,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

The servant quietly withdrew, leaving Merry and Fíriel all but alone, her gaze fixed on him. He repressed the impulse to dust off his borrowed clothes, unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him. That, perhaps, was what reminded him of Aragorn: both the colour and a keen, intelligent attention. 

“You are, er, welcome,” he said. Even to himself, his tone seemed flat and strange.

“Perhaps you would walk with me, unless the exertion is too much,” said Fíriel.

“Oh, no,” Merry said, then flushed. “I mean, it isn’t.”

She gestured towards the steps that led down to the gardens, a certain gentle command in the gesture, and they walked together on the greensward, among the early foliage. After a minute or so of silence, she said,

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

He would not have said that he’d do anything for her, the way Pippin had. But Pip seemed right enough that she was a creature of the heights. Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality alongside her gentleness. It made for an agreeable but very odd impression.

“What is it, my lady?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound rude.

“I am a healer, of sorts,” said Fíriel, which did not at all surprise him. “I have often worked in these Houses, and I wish to help those whom I can. I just met with one of these people, a person recovering in body but not in spirit, and I hoped you might be able to assist me.”

More puzzled than ever, Merry said, “Well—if I can help—but I don’t quite see how.”

“You accompanied the Lady Éowyn to Minas Tirith, I believe,” she replied. 

All at once, his confusion cleared. “Oh! Yes. Is she the one you’re trying to help?”

Fíriel nodded.

“I would like to help her,” he said frankly, “but I still don’t see how.”

“I know very little of her,” Fíriel told him. “I thought you might tell me more, so that I might better understand her malady, if you can without breaking her confidence.”

Merry was already nodding, now eager to comply. Despite how little he knew or understood Fíriel, he felt a sudden conviction that this gracious lady might indeed be able to help, if anyone could. 

“I don’t think there were any confidences,” he said, thinking it over. “Except as Dernhelm, of course, though she still didn’t tell me.”

“Dernhelm?” said Fíriel.

“That was the name she gave when she brought me with her,” said Merry, realizing how little Fíriel—or anyone here—would know of the story. Nothing, really.

So he took a deep breath, and told her everything.

---------

Notes (LOTS OF NOTES)

1) One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden: One of the underlying ideas of the verse is that canon Faramir wouldn’t be there to exercise his vaguely supernatural command over “men and beasts” in the retreat across the Pelennor, which has multiple consequences, but one of them is that there’s no pyre preventing Gandalf from joining the battle. He suggests in LOTR that he would have been able to save people in the battle if not for the pyre.

2) “I am hungry,” he announced: much of this scene is taken from the book, but of course without Merry’s mourning of Théoden.

3) a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree: taken from the earlier description in the book.

4) Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been: UT says Éomer was of like height with Aragorn, inheriting the trait from his Gondorian grandmother, while Boromir is described in Fellowship as only a little shorter than Aragorn. In another note, Tolkien says that Aragorn would be at least 6′6″ (so potentially even taller!) and Boromir, “of high Númenórean lineage,” 6′4″. Very tall indeed to a hobbit :)

5) he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head: in the book, he does kiss Merry before he goes!

6) he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together: one of the other consequences of no canon!Faramir to do it. The fic assumes that Denethor’s avoidance of battle wouldn’t extend to a situation where he’s probably the only person who can lead against the Witch-king/Ringwraiths (with Imrahil needed for the sortie). 

7) But the same sort of person, if that makes sense: while Denethor is obviously not a Maia, we do hear in ROTK that “Pippin saw a likeness between the two,” and also that Denethor is more reminiscent of Aragorn than Boromir. 

8) I like her: Pippin’s instant love for Faramir in the book is carried over to Fíriel here.

9) A bit Elvish: in ROTK, Faramir is described as “one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race”

10) you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her: genderbent version of “he knew now why Beregond spoke his name with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even under the shadow of the black wings.”

11) “Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said: one of the things that’s always entertained me about this verse is that Pippin’s love for Faramir basically becomes a scaled-down version of Gimli’s for Galadriel.

12) they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor: I didn’t feel like replicating the fairly extensive conversation they have about it in the book.

13) Pippin’s young friend: Bergil does lead Merry away in the book.

14) there is someone who would like to see you: in the book, we only hear that the Warden tells Faramir that Merry would know more of Éowyn and accordingly, “Merry was sent to Faramir” and “they talked long together.”

15) She had a pretty face: Faramir is described as having a “fair face.”

16) how much it resembled Boromir’s: from ROTK—“Pippin gazing at him saw how closely he resembled his brother Boromir.”

17) She shook his in the manner of the Shire: since Fíriel isn’t in battle, I imagine that she spent a bit more time with Pippin and picked this up.

18) a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother: Frodo describes Boromir’s face as “fair and pleasant” in FOTR.

19) She was tall ... very tall: Faramir is described as “very tall” in TTT and elsewhere said to strikingly resemble Denethor, who was “very tall and in appearance looked like an ancient Númenorean.” Fíriel isn’t quite as towering as Faramir (who has to stoop to kiss the forehead of the tall Éowyn), but she’s still over six feet.

20) The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim: this is according to UT.

21) a keen, intelligent attention: TTT—“a keen wit lay behind his searching glance.”

22) unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him: Faramir is generally portrayed this way, but ROTK specifically says that Faramir picks up more than Merry actually says in this scene.

23) a certain gentle command in the gesture: Faramir is described as “commanding” in TTT, but also gentle throughout.

24) Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality: ROTK says Faramir has an air “such as Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and remote.”

25) “I am a healer, of sorts”: this is necessary for Fíriel to be present at all, but I also thought that a Faramir who couldn’t be a warrior would be, in some ways, freer to follow his(her) temperamental inclinations, so it seemed pretty natural for Fíriel to be a scholar/healer. It’s “of sorts” because she does have Númenórean gifts, but they’re very different from Aragorn’s kingly healing.

26) this gracious lady: Denethor accuses of Faramir of always trying to appear lordly, generous, gracious, and gentle; my interpretation is that he (and therefore Fíriel) really is those things.

[thatfairyfangirl]

Written In The Stars Chapter 8

“I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed. By order of Wormtongue.” The guard informed as he stood forward, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The four looked to Gandalf, as he nodded Steluta untied her belt of pouches and began pulling daggers from everywhere, taking much longer than her male travelers. Legolas watched, wondering how she kept track of them all. “And your staff.” He added.

“Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?” Gandalf asked with a shaky voice, convincing the guard it was needed for support to let them pass. The princess smirked at the trick...and they think her people to be the swindlers? “The courtesy of your hall has lessened of late Theoden King.” His voice rung out clear as he passed over the stone floor, Wormtongue whispering slimily in the king's war.

“And why would I welcome you Gandalf?” The king asked weakly, hunched over in his old age.

“A just question my king.” Wormtongue agreed as he rose. “Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear with strangers from strange lands and no lands at all.” Steluta could feel Legolas's hand clamp down on her shoulder, reminding her to take the insult with stride. Her deep eyes looked over to him seeing his face tense with anger enough for the both of them. “Ill news is an ill guest.”

“Be silent!” Gandalf demanded. “I have not passed through fire and death to trade words with a witless worm.” He continued as he produced his white staff.

“I told you to take the wizard's staff!” He growled as he backed away, allowing the guards loyal to him to rush forward. The four traveling companions defended their friend as he continued slowly forward, none needing a weapon to be of use in combat as the wizard broke the spell upon the king.

~ ~ ~ ~

“You have three hundred good men riding North.” Aragorn interjected into the argument. “Eomer is still loyal to you.”

“And all you need to do is ask of it and help from the road will be at your doorstep. You sit on a crossroad. Often my people pass over your land.” Steluta added as she sat by Gimli sharing in a meal. “I can call them if you like.”

“Eomer would be a thousand leagues away.” Theoden protested stubbornly. “And though I thank you for your offer I can not see the aid they might lend. They are song masters, not fighters.” He paused in thought. “No. We must make for Helms Deep.”

~ ~ ~ ~

The princess and the elf both mounted a pale horse, Steluta finding its back smaller than the large wagon pullers she was used to. Her hand hooked around his leather clad waist, pulling herself in close enough to smell the sweetness of his long golden hair as the treck began. Deep inside she felt her heart stirring for him as the horse moved beneath them. Gimli and Aragorn shared knowing grins as they watched the two nestle into each other atop their steed. In her grip on him Legolas could feel her worry for the battle to come growing deep within her. To distract her he spun her the tale of Beren and Luthien. As his words fell on her he couldn't see the smile behind him, but he could feel it growing, bringing the weight off her soul.

As the people of Rohan trudged onward across the planes Legolas and Steluta eventually both dismounted from the horse to save its strength, each of their hands held the rains, every now and again she could feel his silky fingers brush against hers as they both strode more gracefully than the mortal folk around them. With each brush of fingers they took turns glancing from their path to each other. “When we first met you bore that same flower in your hair” Legolas finally spoke with a sheepish smile on his lips. “But I realize now I never told you how it suits you.”

Her eyes scanned the open plains as she made an attempt to hide her smile and the light pink gracing her cheeks at the compliment. “The symbol of the white rose has always held a happy place in my people's hearts, we call the blooms stele stralucitoare. It means brilliant star.” His sky blue eyes shone and his smile widened with joy as she spoke, finding more and more he loved learning about her and her people. “They say we will know Mandalay by the blooms growing where once before the land laid barren.”

“And that is why you visit both lands new and old?” He asked as the word she used on the river tugged at his memory. “What does Mandalay mean?” She opened her mouth to answer but before she could he dropped the leather straps and rushed forward, hearing danger approaching. As he rushed off the horse that stood between them grew restless, along with all the others. She caressed the beast, calming it as she watched her fair elf scan ahead, searching for the source of the sound. He leapt from his rocky perch as the sound of snarling and snapping wargs became clear. Hearing the thwip of his bow string she quickly jumped up on the horse's back. “A scout!”

“Wargs!” Aragorn warned as he darted toward a horse of his own. “We're under attack!”

“Come on pretty boy.” She called out to him as she charged her horse toward him. In a single fluid movement he grabbed hold of the rains leaping up into her saddle as she scooted back. She knew she wasn't long for the beast, only needing its speed to deliver her close enough to fight. Once the clashing of weapons began she slid herself from her mount digging a pair of daggers into the hide of one of the foul snarling beasts and then its rider, legolas shooting another between the eyes as it rushed behind her weapon held high.

As the battle raged she sliced and slashed until she spotted Aragorn, hand tangled in the fur of a warg charging blindly toward a cliff. “Aragorn!” She called out with worry for her friend before rushing towards it, leaping on the warg's back, plunging a blade into its skull causing it to slide to the ground. But the beast was too large and its speed was too great. Though it had been slain it still fell over the edge, taking the two heros with it.

As beast and orc fled in retreat Legolas's eyes searched the field. “Steluta! Aragorn!” He called out unable to find his friends. As he neared the cliff he spotted a small patch of white beauty gracing the dried grass. “No…” he whispered to himself as he bent down for a closer inspection, finding Steluta's white rose. A wicked cackle gurgled behind him as he stood, turning to find a half dead warg rider.

“Tell me what happened and I'll ease your passing.” Gimli demanded of him as he lowered his axe to the orc's neck.

“They're dead.” He answered, glad to give such I'll news with his dying breaths. “They took a tumble off the cliff.”

Legolas looked down to the bloom as anger and denial took him. Bending down the to creature he pulled it in closer to him. “You lie!” It gave one final cackle before falling to the earth below it, all life in him spent. Legolas already knew it to be no lie but as the sun sparkled on the evenstar the orc had plucked from Aragorn he could no longer deny it. With great fret he sprinted to the edge of the cliff searching for any sign of his friend, or his love...none to be found. And for the first time in his life the elf prince knew the heartache of true sadness.

~ ~ ~ ~

Aragorn and Steluta floated down the river only but a little, only long enough for them to reach a caravan camped on the edge to spot them both. “It is the star!” One of them called out as he fished them both from the waters. Her people bound their wounds and set them to rest a while on a soft bed of fur in one of the wagons.

Steluta rose with a gasping breath at the deep whinny of one of the large wagon pulling horses. “Praise to the song and the stars.” She muttered as she rushed from the bed to find the leader of this specific group.

“My Lady Star! You have woken!” A young woman called out with delight as she rushed to wrap her arms around her princess.

“Lavina!” Steluta cried out in return greeting her old friend. “Oh my heart sings with all the stars to see you!” She caressed her former companion. “Tell me does your father still lead this camp?” She nodded. “You must take me to him. I am on a matter most urgent.” Lavina took her friend's hand leading her to the dancing circle where Lavina's father clapped along to the music of old. With a deep bow of respect she beckoned him away to relay the tale of her travels from the royal caravan across the lands of Middle Earth. “We must go to Helm's Deep. The horse men need us. Pack all the food and armaments you have. I will ensure personally they will be replenished. He nodded obediently for his princess. And with a whistle from him the joy of the dancing circle was broken and the race to aid was at hand.

“Come my lady,” Lavina offered kindly, “we can call our brethren from my wagon. We passed two others on the road not far from here, and Danior told me just last night your family were on this way as well. Let us build a great army of Mandalay for your friends.

[dopecreationgiver-blog]

modafinil

Treatment with light and color

Our body consists of constantly moving particles, the characteristics of which have long been studied using computed tomography, positron emission tomography and other diagnostic equipment. Electromagnetic waves emitted by the human body are indicated on the tomograms by multicolored strips. What is surprising is that people have not forgotten about the healing properties of light as such. In clinics, they gradually begin to practice color treatment again. So, the light of blue fluorescent lamps is already used to treat jaundice of newborns. And, as evidenced by the results of a recent study in Italy, turquoise lamps in this sense are even more effective. It is remarkable that in addition to real physical light and color, one can use his mental image: not to see the color, but to think about it or feel it. As already mentioned in the previous chapter, the aura of each archangel has a certain color, only its own; to use the color of the archangel, to imagine it in his mind means to call the archangel himself. For example, mentally shroud yourself or another person with iridescent radiance, and you will come close to freeing the energy blocked in past lives and balancing karma (blocked energy and imbalance of karma were precisely the main causes of all your troubles). If you call all the colors of the rainbow, the powerful healing energy will spread not to one, but to several levels of your being. An iridescent glow is a symbol of the archangel Raziel, also known as the "Arcangel Archangel." In Raziel, great wisdom is combined with a huge magical power - remember Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings. Behind him, Raziel has large angel wings. People with high spiritual aspirations - spiritual guides and healers - help to stop worrying about their gift of healing. Especially Raziel is attentive to those who in this or the previous life had to suffer because of their extrasensory or healing abilities. Australian Meredith did not really believe in angels until the medium told her that she had two guardian angels. He described them in detail; one of them was endowed with female energy, the other - male. Meredith did not attach much importance to the words of the medium, but two days later her friend told her that during meditation saw two angels next to her. And described them exactly as a medium. Meredith was amazed: she did not say a word to her friend about her meeting with the medium. And then modalert  the woman thought: maybe angels really exist! Soon, in the hands of Meredith came my deck of angelic fortune-telling cards. Learning to use them, Meredith gained the ability to feel that people are surrounded by angels - she even learned to see them. The daughter of Meredith had attacks of epilepsy, the baby was almost unable to learn. She is already five years old, she was soon to go to school, and Meredith was very worried about this. "I put her on her knees and began telling her how her angel would protect her," Meredith recalls the first day of school for her daughter. - And suddenly felt near the presence of some powerful energy. I turned around. Behind stood a beautiful angel, she was pacified. She said her name was Mary and that she would take care of my girl. As if my mountain fell from my shoulders: I accompanied my daughter to school and knew that she was in good hands. Three years have passed since that day, and at school she has never had an attack! However at home at the girl there were on three-four attacks in a month. Of course, Meredith was very worried. And one night, when her daughter was fast asleep, she plunged into deep meditation. She called her angels, the angels of her daughter and in general all the angels who could respond to her call. Meredith imagined that the daughter was lying on the table, and around the table were angels and nourished her with healing energy. Meredith asked the angels what color the energy that the girl needed so much. Intuition immediately prompted: this energy is "the color of the rainbow." Then the woman presented how from her hands and palms the rainbow energy flowed and poured into the baby. After a while, she again received a message from the angels. - I was so afraid for my daughter; I felt that I was powerless to help her, "Meredith recalls. "But the angels told me that my daughter herself chose this fate - she wanted to do something in life. They also said that everything that is required of me is to love her. And once again stressed that she herself must dispose of their health. It was not easy for a loving mother to listen, but the words of the angels helped her to deliver the girl's destiny to God. In the morning, Meredith told her daughter about the circle of healing angels. And then she asked: "What color do you think we sent you?" In response, Meredith expected to hear "Pink!" - her daughter's favorite color, - but the baby said: "The color of the rainbow!" "My heart skipped a beat!" Says Meredith. - I realized that at some level the daughter understands everything that happens to her. After a treatment session with iridescent energy, Meredith followed the advice of the angels Emerald green color

Emerald green color is associated with the archangel Raphael - the main healer among the archangels. When you call on Raphael, he sends an emerald green light to the sick man. The body absorbs this light, like a balm or a quick-acting medicine. You can also imagine emerald light around yourself or someone else - the effect will be the same. Calling light is the same as calling the archangel, for light is the very essence of angels. Before meeting with the doctor, Shannon asked the archangel Raphael to attend this meeting. She asked him to watch what was happening and to make the healer really cure her body, soul and mind. The session lasted two hours, and all this time, before Shannon's inner gaze, emerald green light shone. "I see emerald shine around you," said the healer, although the woman did not tell him anything. About a week later Shannon bought the book "Archangels & Ascended Masters", from which she learned that the emerald green is the color of Raphael's aura. Surprise Shannon was no limit: - I witnessed one of the brightest and most beautiful healings. When Raphael is near you, you can see with an inner gaze an emerald green light, and green sparkles flash before your eyes. Above the mutilated or diseased person, the emerald glow remains until the person becomes better. Often I noticed such a glow above the kneecap or other part of my client's body. When I asked the patient about this, she answered that she had recently prayed for healing, because she had damaged the knee cap. The emerald color indicates that the prayers of a person are heard and that they have not remained without attention. Sending colored light to a mutilated or diseased organ is a very effective method. It is especially good when you need to cure a child or an animal: children and beasts believe you unreservedly, and this faith contributes to a speedy recovery. I will give two examples, of which it is clear that one must believe and trust as children and animals modafinil believe and trust. Kathleen, the eleven-month-old daughter of Louise Ring O'Hanley, had a strange growth in her mouth. Four doctors failed to diagnose and sent the girl to a specialist in oral surgery. The surgeon has appointed or nominated operation with anesthesia. Louise was horrified by the very thought of having her little one do the operation. Fortunately, at that time she read a book about angels; the weekend before the operation, Louise spent in prayer. Mother asked Raphael to send a stream of emerald color into Kathleen's mouth and completely cure her. By Monday morning, there was no outgrowth in his mouth: he disappeared once and for all. The operation was canceled. "I believe in the power of prayer!" Louise says now. Like most other children, Kathleen trustingly perceived the light of love coming from her mother and Raphael. If you want to heal yourself, ask the angels to help you become open and trustful. Remember: angels are capable of any help, including they can instill faith in you and make you more receptive to treatment.

www.e-puzzle.ru

Donna Mead from New Zealand helped her best friend, who had just moved to England. The fact that the girlfriend had a dog - fox terrier Daisy, which, in accordance with the new rules, could not go to England together with the hostess. Within six months, the animal had to undergo a "quarantine" - that's Donna and took Daisy to herself. The dog recently suffered a stroke, and now it was hard to move its hind legs; she had many clots in her blood. Besides, Daisy suffered a skin disease. Donna very responsibly went to her duties: she bathed Daisy in a special shampoo, drove to the vet and walked regularly. For three months everything went fine, but then Daisy fell into a terrible sleepiness: even a favorite delicacy could not make her go up. Donna took the dog to the vet so that he could determine where the energy and cheerfulness of the poor animal had gone. The diagnosis was very serious: Daisy developed blood cancer. The veterinarian advised to put the dog to sleep, especially if it becomes worse. But Donna could not surrender; she took Daisy home. Donna decided to turn to the angels. Here's what she says: - I asked the archangel Raphael to wrap the dog in white and green light - I myself agreed to become an intermediary. Before my eyes there was a wonderful sight: through the whole body of Daisy passed a green and white light, forming a color cycle. First large rings of light covered the entire body of the animal, then they became smaller. Intuitively, I realized that light drives out the disease from Daisy; the rings all diminished until they disappeared altogether. I opened my eyes and looked at the dog - she looked at me. I thanked Archangel Raphael and started my own business. The next morning, Donna again took the dog to the vet.