#uthyres

[gingersnaptaff]

Looked through my Welsh Encyclopedia of Arthurian / Historical stuff and am gonna do a short post about GIANTS (and the Cath Palug as it's a giant cat. The Kay / Cai lovers of the Arthurian random will LOVE IT) on Wednesday. Enjoy my insane fuckin ramblings again. 🙄🙄🙄

(Also, I haven't forgotten the Welsh marriage laws. Pls don't worry.)

[cain-e-brookman]

Incorrect Quotes

this is so much fun, thanks for the tag @spideronthesun!

Tagging: @eternalwritingstudent @illarian-rambling and @skullduggeryandfilibuster

Rules: Use this link to generate quotes.

Silas: I bet you’re wondering why I gathered you here today. It’s because we need to have a discussion about how some people in this room aren’t getting along with other people in this room. Crucius: Why did you say that so vaguely? Tavi and I are literally the only people you called in here.

--

Uthyr: You remind me of the ocean. Crucius: Because I'm deep and mysterious? Uthyr: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

--

Crucius: Tavi, I need some advice. Tavi: You need advice from ME? Crucius: Yeah, frightening, isn't it?

--

Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and- Silas: No returns. Demon: *sobbing* But it's making me sad...

--

Hesperos: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be? Uthyr Maybe a bit tipsy? Crucius: Drunk. Silas: Wasted. Tavi: Dead.

--

Hesperos: Uh. . Hey, Felix, i uh, I’ve been stabbed. Uthyr: WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU? Hesperos: Wait- You aren’t Felix. Sorry- I didn’t mean to call you- Uthyr: NO, WHERE ARE YOU? I'M COMING THERE. I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE SOMEONE ALONE THAT'S BEEN STABBED.

--

Hesperos: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait. Hauk: You and me! Hesperos: *tearing up* Ok.

--

Hesperos: What is the most illegal thing you can do with one gold? Crucius: Exchange it for a hundred copper, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it.

[gawrkin]

Marwnad Madawc or The Death-song/Elegy of Madawg

(Note: Uffern means Inferno/Hell)

[cain-e-brookman]

hello, im also trying to get back into the writeblr thing lol so far the tags have been a great place to find new blogs, so i'll throw mine in too!

writers, listen up...

i've fallen out of touch with the writeblr community a lot in the past few years, and i want to rectify that. the community aspect was what made me fall in love with tumblr, and what improved my writing for the better.

the golden days of my writing were when i was highly active and engaged in this wonderful community, but life and work and the horrors of self publishing have overtaken my energy in the past year. however, i have been really struggling with original writing, and i want to get back into the community here.

that said...

you write fantasy with queer characters

are an indie author

post frequently about your wips (taglists are a bonus!)

are queer

are a very active and friendly writer

if any of these apply

please, please reblog and tell me about your wip. gush over it. infodump. characters and ships and worldbuilding and plot, i want it all! this is your invitation to be as selfishly indulgent as possible. let's make some new friends and restore some community!!

boosts appreciated!

[thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny]

More Uther (in blue) and Merlin (in green) being adorable teenage boyfriends cuz I'll always be OBSESSED with them (my versions of them anyways.

(credit for pose reference goes to Kibbitzer): https://www.pinterest.com/pin/572590540140113917/

[cain-e-brookman]

If Uthyr had known the end of the world would make his hydrangeas wilt, he would have been prepared a week ago for what was coming.

the first line of my WIP has been the same since i started with a paragraph as a writing practice. the first scene is Uthyr in his garden, using his magic to heal his hydrangea plants (in his words, "foolish and sentimental given they were likely going to die anyway,") before being strong-armed into having tea time with Crucius. The chapter ends with Crucius mentioning the wind has changed, ("It tends to do that." "Not like this. Something's different.") It ends with Uthyr shaking his head, brushing it off, and going about his business.

I wanted to have a calmer opening chapter that had enough of a question to hook while also highlighting the life Uthyr leads and the values he holds. Since--as a healer--Uthyr isn't running off into valiant battle, I thought it was more fitting to show what was truly at stake within the story.

“The wind?” he asked. “What an odd thing to say.” He shook his head. Cabbage. Then his carrots. His tomato starts had probably grown enough to transplant as well. They’d need to get into the ground soon. Maybe if he was quick about it, he could take a walk down to the creek. He’d been watching the life cycle of the spotted frogs since spawning, greeting the first signs of legs on the pollywogs. When they were fully grown, he’d take a summer night by the water to listen to their first song. His father once told him the completion of change held a beautiful type of magic. The kind that inspired light and courage in even the most fragile of hearts.  Uthyr hoped to capture some of that magic for himself.

We're hitting rewind today! Let's hear about the start of your story! Tell me about the opening scenes of your story!

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello, I've just been asked by someone what Uther means. And I know that Arthur comes from the word bear, but I have no idea with Uther. Do you know, can you enlighten me?

We don't really know, but the original Welsh (Ythyr/Uthyr) is most likely derived from the Welsh 'uthr', which... Well, believe it or not, it can either mean 'Wonderful' or 'Terrible'. I suppose a good English translation to try to encapsulate that would be 'terrific'. Good, but terror also.

Given that he was a king, and his epithet was Pendragon, I'd imagine it's entirely possible the name very deliberately meant both.

[dubiousartiste]

Going for round 4.

Fourth character for my IRL campaign. XD Need my characters to stop dying. XD

Uthyr the Healer!

[tiodolma]

According to the Welsh Triads (a poetic compilation in groups of three), Uther Pendragon is said to be the creator of one of the three great enchantments of the Island of Britain, which he taught to Menw ap Teirgwaedd. While the enchantment itself is not described, Menw appears in other stories as a magician-knight in Arthur's court, most notably "Culhwch and Olwen". The Other Great Enchantments were created by Math ap Mathonwy and Rudlwm the Dwarf. Notably, Merlin is largely absent in these triads except as a bard. It seems Uther was originally a Wizard-king (per Celtic Standards of Heroism) like his brother, Aurelius Ambrosius.

oh wow this is fascinating

http: //norin77.50megs.com/triads.htm

Uther is in

TRIAD 28

Three Great Enchantments of the Island of Britain:

The Enchantment of Math son of Mathonwy (which he taught to Gwydion son of Don), and the Enchantment of Uthyr Pendragon (which he taught to Menw son of Teirgwaedd), and the Enchantment of Gwythelyn/Rudlwm the Dwarf (which he taught to Coll son of Collfrewy his nephew).

http:// mistshadows.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-transformation-of-uther-pendragon_9.html

so there is a piece of work which said Uther Pendragon taught magic/enchantment to Menw

Moreover Book of Taleisin clues us that he was probably a shapeshifter who could turn into some kind of fox or comet "gorlassar" or gorlois

We need to take another look at the relevant lines of "Marwnat Vthyr Pen" (Elegy of Uther Pendragon, Book of Taliesin), where the hero calls himself gorlassar: It is I who commands hosts in battle: I’d not give up between two forces without bloodshed. It’s I who’s called the very blue [or, given the context, 'the great blaze, conflagration'; cf. Irish forlassar, from the intensive prefix plus lasar, 'fire, flame']: my ferocity snared my enemy. It is I who’s a leader in darkness: Our God, Chief of the Sanctuary, transforms me. It’s I who’s like ['eil' here means like/similar to, not 'second' - unless God is to be considered the 'first'] a candle/luminary [transf. star, sun, moon; fig. leader, hero] in the gloom: I’d not give up fighting without bloodshed between two forces.

sourced from this blog:

http:// mistshadows.blogspot.com/2020/02/uthers-star-and-comet-of-442-ad.html

there's a suggestion that "gorlassar" could be linked to Gorlois.

.........

tbf i wouldnt be suprised if merlin got reinvented by monmouth by merging the welsh triad (possible actual shapeshifter) uthyr pendragon + aurelius ambrosius + the warlord bard Myrddin who famously got mad in the forest.

[gingersnaptaff]

Did a tiny prompt for @believerindaydreams about Gwyn having it out with Emrys in the Welsh myth/Arthuriana universe I have going on.

The torches had all burnt to stumps by the time I awoke again. A cold wind swirled around the room, ridding it of the stench of sweat and sex, and, beneath that, the salty sweetness of saline and seaweed.

Dylan moaned from my right. His blonde curls were dishevelled and his blue eyes were foggy with sleep. He hummed softly, pressing a delicate kiss to my warm cheek and he snuggled into me, giggling as I traced the hard planes of his chest with an inquisitive touch.

“Gwyn,” he laughed, shivering beneath my touch. “‘M ticklish.”

“I know,” I hummed, biting my lip to hide my self-satisfied smile. “I can tell, Cariad.”

At that he chuckled, husky and lovely. Then he pressed another kiss to my cheek and rolled atop of me, hemming me beneath him. “Well, if I were a normal man then I'd suggest you stop but-”

“Oh, we both know you're anything but.” I said before he cut me off with a kiss, one that made my heart pound against my ribcage and my head spin. Honeyed wine and salt melded on my tongue, a sweet, decadent flood. All the while, he squirmed as my hands delicately traced the still-healing tear in his side. His blood thrummed beneath the skin, the innate magic of it humming in my ears, and I was innately aware of his very being.

Of what made him him.

Sea, sand, and salt. Seaweed and dulce. The waves lapping at the shore had the same unhurried pulse as his heartbeat, his blood contained the same brackish cold as rock pools. ‘I hope,’ I thought, my eyes fluttering shut, a picture of a bloodied wriggling dune-like mass swaddled in furs taking shape beneath them. ‘The babe will be the same.’

He chuckled again, breaking me out of my reverie, his eyes flicking to my lips.

“You're staring.”

“Am I?” His hands slowly stroked down my spine, making me shudder. “Can I not stare at my pretty little queen? At that mother of my babe?”

Uneasiness rippled over me. My mother, pale and lifeless in her birthing bed bludgeoned me, her red hair as red as the blood that coated her thighs. What if I ended the same way as her? Devoid of her spirit, nothing more than ash on the wind?

My throat tightened, a keening cry wanting to spill forth.

With a burst of air, I exhaled choppily, and my voice was a husk, “I-”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, awaiting my words.

I couldn't tell him. I wouldn't. I'd agreed to have the babe long before this. It was preordained, set out in a path I had to rigidly follow. Again I trembled beneath him, becoming lost in the tidal wave of his eyes. All too willingly, I was dragged down beneath their waves. “I - Dylan, you can do whatever you want. I'm yours.”

He grinned, his whole face lighting up. His hands tenderly cradled my face as he stared at me, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. His breath stuttered in his throat as his eyes took me in, searched my face for any signs of discomfort, and I found myself growing wet beneath his hungry gaze.

He lowered his face to mine. His breath was cool against my lips. “And I’m yours. I promise you that.”

He kissed me then, sweet and soft. His tongue swept over my lips, begging for access, and I moaned, acquiescing all too eagerly. He tasted of braggod, of salt. Of me. His hands still cradled my head and I shuddered at every brush of his hands over my curves, my spine, my baby bump. He rested his hand atop it and smiled fondly, his eyes crinkling.

“Dylan,” I whined, pressing myself to him. “Please… I need you.”

“You've got me, fy môr,” he murmured soothingly, his hands dipping beneath the covers, tracing a ticklish path down towards my sex. “You've always got me.”

His hardness pressed against my thigh and I couldn't help but buck against him, every inch of my skin tingling.

And then… a soft moan shattered our peace.

We broke apart, giggling behind our hands, our eyes darting to just who had interrupted our intimate moment.

Arthur, with an arm thrown protectively across my waist, slept peacefully beside me. He was burrowed beneath the silken, rose petal strewn covers, sprawled out on his front, akin to how Cafall was resting in front of the fire. His lips were curled into a relaxed smile, while his cheeks were flushed with sleep.

It was strange to see him so at peace. Restful. Freed from the burdens that shrouded him like a mantle, his body was lax, the stiffness in his spine and shoulders drained away. His fingers twitched against my hip. I positively revelled in it, watching his eyelashes flicker as he dreamed, an odd warmth burrowing deep within my chest.

He huffed, wiggling a little as he further cocooned himself within the bedcovers. Dylan smiled at him fondly, his blue eyes soft in the moonlight, and I couldn't help but release the affectionate laugh that had bubbled up in my chest even as my heart skipped a beat.

Gods, I adored the pair of them.

Arthur’s briar patch of the scars that littered his arms were rough against my skin and I gently smoothed my hand over his as he moaned again, his breath quickening, smiling at the warmth of his wedding band against my palm. I let my hand rest there for a moment longer before I trailed my hand up his arm.

And then, with a careful finger, I traced the runes that Emrys had carved there, butchering him.

My heart panged for him, for the suffering that he’d endured.

The dark crimson of his scars blended in with the florid scarlet of his sweaty skin. The skin was puckered. Angry, red welts that looked akin to bee stings pierced his skin, and more littered his spine, his hips. Each one was a delicate spiral of fate-ingrained power that was a testament to Emrys’ willingness to circumvent fate however he could. My eyes prickled with tears as I became overwhelmed with a vision of him as a young, naive eight-year-old, chubby-cheeked and with bright, trusting eyes, looking upon Emrys and his father with a beaming smile as they led him towards the altar that had been laid out for him.

He whined again, low and trembling.

I frowned. Brushed away a strand of dark hair that had flopped over his eyes. The slackness of his features was a welcome relief compared to the tension that had plagued him for the majority of our wedding and I smiled, tracing the outline of his plump lower lip as I took him in.

Yet his peace, and our tranquillity, was soon shattered.

Arthur groaned in his sleep, his brow furrowing. He shifted slightly, whimpering, becoming a sob. A plea. His grip on me tightened, making me wince. Shallow gasps split the silence, "No, Emrys… Please. Don't.”

“Arthur?” I whispered, bending down to him, carding a hand through his hair. He thrashed wildly, his arms lashing out, and struck me across the face with an audible crack. Pain bloomed across my face, blade-sharp. A red-hot tingling shot up my nose, my skull booming like Gofannon striking an anvil. I yelped, high-pitched and agonised, while black spots bursting in my vision.

“Gwyn!” Dylan hissed in shock, his eyes wide as he shook my husband's sleep-slack body. “By the gods, Arthur, stop!”

I recoiled from him at once, scrambling away until my back hit the wall. Panic clawed at my throat as I took him in again, trying to ignore the fresh, throbbing wave of pain that besieged my nose. He was akin to drowning beneath the weight of his nightmares, his limbs flailing madly. “Arthur!”

“Emrys, by Bendigeidfran's head, please! I'm not - I don't wanna- Lemme go!” His eyes snapped open as a ragged scream left his lips. His chest heaved as he searched the room, agonised gasps leaving his lips. Wild-eyed, his voice cracked slightly, a tinge of desperation seeping through, muddying the silver blade of his voice. “No!”

“Arthur,” Dylan murmured soothingly as he clasped his trembling hand. “It’s alright, you're safe. D’you hear me? You're safe.”

He whimpered, curling in on himself as Dylan moved to be with him. “B - But-”

“It was just a dream,” Dylan gently rocked him back and forth as if he were a child. There was an odd sort of tenderness upon his face, a sweetness he usually only reserved for me, and it made my stomach flutter madly as I saw him grace Arthur with it. “Just a dream, Cariad.”

“But - but-” Arthur took a deep, hiccuping breath, blinking rapidly as he took in Dylan and I with fresh eyes. He relaxed against Dylan’s chest, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “It was so real. Everything was so real. He - He bore the blade and I felt - I felt him stab me. Carve into me. I - I -” He sobbed again, his eyes remorseful as he met my gaze over Dylan's shoulder. “And I’m sorry, Gwyn. I hurt you. Again. I - I didn't mean to, please believe me. I never-”

I laid a hand upon his shoulder, feeling his muscles flex as his body trembled beneath me. “Shh, Arthur. It's alright. I forgive you. I know you didn't mean to.” I pressed my lips to his perspiring temple, frowning at the vein that pulsed there. “Shall I get Cafall to sit with us the way you did for me after Gwydion? I think he'd calm you down.”

His lower lip quivered, his dark eyes glassy, clouded with exhaustion.“Yes.”

I nodded, resolute. Giving him another little smile, I moved off the bed and over to the fire, where Cafall was still sprawled out near the hearth. He dozed contentedly, his legs twitching in his sleep, as he snored. Every so often, a soft yap would break his silence, making his legs spasm wildly, and I was certain that he was imagining himself chasing rabbits. My heart clenched at his contentment, at the way his dark fur was varnished to an amber gloss by the crackling embers of the fire. It wasn't until I'd crouched down beside him and stroked his flank tenderly that he stirred, jerking awake to stare up at me with surprised yelp.

“It’s alright, boy.” I murmured soothingly, my fingers tangling in his smooth fur, grinning as he nuzzled at my baby bump protectively. “But I'm sorry I scared you. I just need you to come with me and see Arthur because he needs a hug from his favourite hound.”

He woofed excitedly, thumping his tail loudly against the mat-covered floor before he stood, barking in agreement, his eyes alight with delight. He barrelled past me, hurling himself onto the bed and covered Arthur with sloppy kisses, yowling happily as Arthur laughed brightly, while his eyes crinkled up with fondness as he stroked Cafall's snout.

“Cafall!” He burst out laughing under his hound's assault, twisting in his blankets as Cafall kissed his face, all too eagerly licking up the tear tracks that had dried to a crust on Arthur’s reddening cheeks. “Stop - Hey, that's enough! ‘M alright!” He yelped softly as Cafall placed a paw on his chest so as to stabilise himself while Arthur fought to free himself from beneath his enthusiastic hound, and Dylan grinned, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter, before he aided Arthur in freeing himself from Cafall’s claws.

“It seems he was rather worried about you, although I can't say the same,” Dylan deadpanned by Arthur's side.

Arthur, despite himself, laughed. Slowly, ever so, he was coming back to himself. He nestled into Dylan’s side, curling up into a little ball, his dragon dark eyes shining, becoming the richness of polished bloodstone. Sighing contentedly, he twirled one of Dylan’s unruly curls around his finger, the fire burnishing it to a molten honey.

Dylan dropped a soft kiss to Arthur's hair, humming softly, the noise similar to sea-silver. ‘Llŷr's Joy, the barddau would call this,’ I thought, an extraordinarily fond smile twisting on my lips as I gazed at them. ‘And they'd be right to.’ Then, he took a deep breath, motioning for Arthur to do the same. “There we are.” He murmured once Arthur had done so. “And again.”

Arthur did so, his breath reverberating choppily in his chest. His face, pale and drawn, still bore a mottled quality to it. Pen y Draig crimson ravaged him. It was as if he bore the tell-tale flush of consumption, and the dark bruises rimming his eyes served only to heighten his sorrow. His soul-shattering sadness.

Gods, his blood was surely thick with grief, or trauma. Positively quicksilvered with the stuff. And, if I am honest, I could not tell you which I found harder watching him bear. To see him be brought so low by druid-riddled dreams and Emrys’ scars made my heart ache. Fury simmered in my blood, my gut, suffocated me in its unrelenting claws. In my ears, my breaths solidified into harsh pants that steadily congealed into a sickening weight that pressed down on my chest. Tears blurred my vision, as I glanced at Arthur, at the way he and Dylan were intertwined like bladderwrack and dulce.

Gradually, Arthur's breathing lost its harsh edge. Softened. He laid back against the pillows, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. Under Dylan's gentle direction - and Cafall's sturdy, reassuring weight draped over him - he-ever-so-slightly calmed, while his eyelids became heavy as the seductive pull of slumber beckoned to him once again. His eyelashes fluttered as he bundled himself up in the covers and he, once again, flung an arm over his beloved.

Only, this time, it was not me, but Dylan.

He smiled down at Arthur, his own body going lax again. His long fingers were stroking through his hair to offer him the steadfast comfort that only he could provide. Much like the rhythm of the waves outside he soothed, comforted. Oh, under a lesser god they might’ve been a mighty, destructive force, ay, but Dylan controlled them with an iron grip, forcing them to bend utterly to his will.

And then, with a shy smile, he looked up at me, his blue eyes suddenly weary. “Sit down, Gwynnie,” he patted the bed beside him, concern etched into his features. “You’ve that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“You know which, fy môr. That maddened gleam you get whenever your wrath needs expelling. You had it during the bedding ceremony when you saw Arthur's scars, and you have it now.”

I sighed. Gnawing at my lip, I thought at length for how best to answer. Dylan waited patiently, watching as I stood, a pained wincing flashing over his features as I swayed. Finally, I stumbled over to him, nestling myself against his cool chest, anchoring myself to his sea salt scent. “I just… Emrys and Uthyr hurt him. They did that to him willingly. He was only a child and they just… scored his flesh as though he were a carcass. Something to be… be consumed by the destiny they wished for. Craved. I understand why Eigyr was so angered by Emrys. Why Gwalchmai-” I choked, the words blocking up my throat. -”Why Gwalchmai wanted to kill him when he saw him in the hall. I'd want to do the same. It isn't fair. It's just… It just isn't fair.”

Dylan curled the arm that wasn't trapped in Arthur’s grip around my shoulders. An uneasy look settled over his features, the same as the one he wore whenever Gofannon was brought up. “It never is. You and I both know that. But he needs us, the way we need each other. Or else…”

‘He won’t have anybody to turn to.’

“You've that look in your eyes again, Gwyn.” Dylan’s voice was sharper as I eased myself from his grip. “Whatever you plan on doing, I hope you've an idea of how to enact it.”

I gave him a half-smile, nodding. “I have to speak to Emrys. I must.”

Dylan groaned, despairing. “Gods, why have I been blessed with two unrepentant mortal idiots for lovers?”

“I presume, Cariad,” I teased, giving him a quick kiss before I darted to the door. “That it would be because of your mother’s ever-so-lovely tynged, hmm?”

He groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “Fuck. I'll murder her.”

“I think your uncle and brother might try that first.”

“Well, I'll murder them and then her.”

I giggled, grinning as I pulled the door open, allowing a draught of cold air to sluice through the room. “Of course, oh most noble wave god. I've no doubt you will enact your revenge most triumphantly.”

“Gwyn! Oh, go away, will you? Gods, why did I ever think that I loved you when you're so cruel!”

Smirking, I winked at him, and stepped out into the draughty main corridor, the soft tinkling waves of his laughter echoing around me before I shut the door. The braziers had already been extinguished, having become little more than glowing, red coals, and I shuddered, my teeth chattering as I drew my arms around my waist in an effort to sustain the warmth that'd enveloped me in Arthur's - no, wait they were our chambers now - chambers, as I padded down towards the main hall.

The flagstones were chilly on the soles of my bare feet. An unsettled tingling crept up my spine, while goosebumps shuddered across my arms. Tapestries and shutters rattled as the rain and stormy gales buffeted the broch's walls. Every step I took was filled with a kind of creeping trepidation. It was akin to how I'd scurried down the darkened halls in my father's caer the night I'd been cast-out, brimming with a terror that I could not shift. The overly saccharine perfume of flowers choked me as I shuffled towards the feast hall and I turned my head to see that steadily browning vines and blots of dessicated roses were still clinging to the pillars.

The wedding decorations still had not been taken down even though it was a few days after… the event.

Clinging to the walls with a steadfast grip that would've made even the giant claw that had attempted to snatch Pryderi's foster gather, Teyrnon's, foals, weep, I passed under them, inhaling a cloud of sickeningly sweet, acrid pollen.

Rot was beginning to set in.

My stomach curdled. The air cloyed around me, bland and suffocating, and I fought the urge to retch as I hurried on.

Magic.

Emrys was close by.

My steps quickened, my nightgown hissing over the rush-covered floor. The door loomed ahead of me, the Yrechwyddau shield gleaming darkly in the moonlight.

Slowly, I pushed the door open and inched my way in. The hinges creaked behind me as the door clanged shut. Emrys was sat at the top table, engrossed in something. I padded towards him cautiously, not wanting to disturb him despite the iron ball of indignation that was crushing my chest, and was endlessly grateful that the mats cushioned my footballs.

Alas, he turned around before I was halfway across the room. His amber eyes twinkled with a cat’s luminousity in the darkness and a sly expression flashed across his face as he saw me. “Ah, Lady Gwynhwyfar, welcome.” He chuckled, a low, chilling rumble as he took in my pregnancy. “Or, should I say Your Majesty now? T’is a shame that you would not simply do as your aunt wished -”

“I did not come here to discuss Tywanwedd and her disdain of me, Emrys.” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. “I came to seek you out.”

“Ah.” Delight flashed in his eyes, the amber of them turning to a bubbling gold. I shuddered, thinking of Arthur, of how his emotions had become tainted. “Of course. You wish to know of your husband, no doubt.”

“I want to know what drove your butchery of him,” I seethed. “And why.”

His face was smooth, considered. The gold in his eyes flared, simmering with a darkness akin to dragon fire. “Uthyr Ben wished for his son to be immortal, and I acceded to his request. There is little else in it, My Lady.”

“Yes, there is. That doesn't explain why you and his father deadened him into a shell of himself. Fossilised him into a chalice for your wiles. I saw his scars. I - I touched them and ochre seeped out.”

“Oh, how touching. And to think that when your eyes first fell upon him you loathed him.”

I swallowed, taking a step back. “You sucked all the goodness out of him, so what was I supposed to do? I cannot love an ysbrid. He was as soulless as Annwfn's shades at our betrothal dinner. And you and Uthyr - you just consented.”

His voice sharpened to a sickle point, and the walls shuddered under it. “T'was Aerfen's decree that he should be so! Do not attempt to meddle with what you do not understand. His path was made-”

“His path and mine are intertwined. You were the one that manipulated him. Don't tell me that was done because Aerfen wished for that either. He was a boy. A tiny lad and you just stripped his childhood away.” Emboldened, I took a step forward, my eyes shooting to the glimting gold of his scrying bowl on the table, and the hawthorn wand that was balanced atop it, doing my best to disregard his contemptuous sneer. “And I'll tell you this: you will not get your claws into mine and Dylan’s babe. You, and Aerfen took my mother from me, and Arthur’s free will from him, but you'll not take my child.”

He stared at me coldly, his face a mask of indifference. Still his eyes were a burnished gold, and his voice was the silvery whisper of the apple boughs. “T'will not be I that takes him. The hawk will pluck out his eyes. The eaglet will scour his flesh.”

“Save your prophesying for somebody else.” I snapped, turning on my heel away from him. “I want nothing to do with it, d'you understand? You've decreed enough, you and the gods. I'm sick of prophecies. Of being bounced around like I'm a bloody cnapan ball. It's done me little kindness since that fucking druid snuck into my father's hall all those years ago, and I doubt that it'll continue to do so now.”

Emrys said nothing. Still he sneered, and his eyes were hard, yet his held his divination tools in a white-knuckled grip. I would've snapped the wand if I'd gotten close enough, dashed the bowl across the floor for all the good it would've done me.

And yet… And yet I dared not.

Something, to this day I know not what, prevented me. Every time I tried to rush forward something I was buffeted back by a cold, meadowsweet scented breeze, and I growled low in my throat as Emrys smiled smugly, relishing my evident highwrought rancour.

“Do tread carefully, my dear,” Emrys murmured lowly as he sprawled back in his seat to watch me. “You may belittle me as much as you'd like, for Uthyr Ben did the same. Yet that was much to his regret.” He sighed, tutting. “If only he'd heeded my warning, then his head might have remained attached to his body.”

The weight of his words were a funeral shroud. I froze. Blood roared in my ears.

“Alas. Sh, giant-kin. What tempestuous, trusting, prideful fools. T’was an unforgivable mistake from one normally so shrewd. Oh, but you will not report that to your King, will you?”

For a moment, I stood there, glowering at him. My skin prickled with loathing; a bright, uncontrollable forest fire that flared scorching hot within my body. A cumulus cloud of anger muddied my head like a broiling pumice cloud. Giant’s rage. It was only when he sniggered, cold and callous, the way I'd imagined he’d done when he'd restrained Arthur to cut into him, did I snap. With an animalistic snarl, I punched him, a dull pain spasming up my arm as my fist connected with his nose, sending him reeling back.

A syrupy pool of delight entangled my innards as his head cracked into his chair. He groaned, pained. “You- You dare!” His eyes were foggy when he next raised his head and a thin twinkle of black blood oozed from his nose and down his chin. “You dare strike me! Pathetic mortal! What, are you as foolhardy as Pwyll Pen Annwfn, deluding yourself into thinking you can take a god to task over some perceived slight?”

“You’re not a god.” I calmly retorted, staring down at him coldly. “Merely a mouthpiece. And you'd best be careful that your hubris doesn't condemn you further. Gwenddoleu’s blood already stains your palms or so the annals say.”

“DId the boy teach you that?” He sneered, his eyes flashing dangerously. “He never could cease his tongue when it came to war.”

I walked back towards the door and raised an eyebrow at the bitterness his words were steeped in. “And you and Aerfen could never cut the skeins when it came to starting one. You and my husband are evenly matched, Emrys. You'd best hope that your magic can save you before something befalls you too.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he narrowed his eyes and watched me go. I hurried out of the hall and back down the corridor with all the grace and chaos of Nudd's gales, and I was glad that Pryderi could not see me trip over my feet like an ungainly filly. I stumbled back in my mine and Arthur's chambers and shut the door.

Dylan stared at me, his blue gaze assessing. Waiting. He was still trapped beneath Arthur's arm, and his expression was one of quiet resignation to that fact. I giggled softly, the sight relieving me a little.

“Gwyn?” Arthur murmured from the bed, his dark eyes wide with concern. “Where did you get off to?”

“I went to get some water.” I lied as I made my way over to them. Arthur shifted a little, allowing me to get under the covers and he hissed as I stuck my cold heels on his legs to warm them.

“Gods, woman! You can't just do that without any warning!”

“But I'm positively frozen, husband, and you need to warm me. Dylan won't do it by himself.”

Dylan winked before reaching out to brush an unruly strand of hair from where it had stuck to my cheek. It flamed copper in the light and I yelped softly when his finger brushed against my nose, it still being a little tender.

Arthur made a disgruntled huff that was akin to bear cubs's yowl. “And I s’pose you felt the need to torture me to do so, huh?’

I nodded just as Dylan laughed from his place next to Arthur and leaned across to kiss me. His lips were warm, holding a faint trace of honeycake, and I smiled against his lips as I inhaled Arthur’s linnet oil scent clinging to his skin.

“You two were kissing without me,” I pouted. “How could you!”

“I woke up and you were gone, gwraig bach.” Arthur declared. “I could hardly wait for you to return. Not when our greedy godling needed my touch.”

Dylan flushed, giving an off-kilter, gull-like croak of a laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers pressing into the dark, smudge of a bruise that had been left there, while his eyes darted away from Arthur and I to stare steadfastly at the firepit.

“Oh,” I murmured, gently reaching over to cup Dylan's jaw. My fingers skimmed over it, enjoying the sharpness of it, the way he gave a breathy, aroused gasp and shifted a little. I traced his dimple with the pad of my thumb, delighting in making him melt into me. “I'm ever so sorry I neglected you, Dylan. Won't you forgive me? I just… I so badly needed water and-”

He kissed me then, hard and demanding, stealing my breath. My eyes flickered shut as I gave myself over to him. A dull throb of arousal made my core pulse, my world narrow, and my heartbeat slow to Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. I flung my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. I could do little else but whine as his tongue swiped over my lips, begging for entry. I duly granted it, my breath burning in my chest.

His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and he hummed delightedly as I traced a line down his chest, mapping out the various scars that Gofannon had beaten into him as though he was nothing more than a lump of iron. His forearms were the same. As was his back. Ticklish and tender, the lattice of salmonish scars that littered there were smooth to the touch, no longer reddish-brown fish scale scabs that had oozed open every time he moved thanks to Gofannon whipping him.

Arthur chuckled as Dylan and I parted, breathing heavily, our lips spit-slick and shining. A delicate spider web of saliva connected us and Dylan brushed it away from my lip with a tender touch. “I know you didn't go for water, Gwyn.” Arthur said, his tone clipped. “You went to see Emrys, didn't you? Dylan informed me after much… persisting on my part, shall we say. He's awfully stubborn when he wishes to be.”

My eyes flew to the smudge on Dylan's neck. It stood out all the more because of the coral redness of his skin and I smirked, a sultry coil of heat simmering in my belly. “Is that so? Then I suppose I'll have to discipline him for ratting me out.”

Dylan’s cheeks flamed into the purple of sea aster and his gaze swung between us. “I - You two. Minxes both. You’ll be the death of me.”

“Ay, Dyl, that may be so, but you'll be a happy godling nonetheless.” Arthur declared cheerfully before he eagerly kissed him, the booming joviality reminding me of his father. I frowned, suddenly beset with a nagging feeling.

Should I tell him what Emrys had disclosed?

It would've been right, and, dare I say it, the proper thing to do at that moment, yet it would have broken him. Maimed his already put-upon psyche.

I met Dylan’s Sea Holly gaze over Arthur’s shoulder, an unspoken agreement in their depths.

Better to leave it unsaid for now.

Arthur laughed giddily when he and Dylan drew apart and leaned over to me. He delicately cupped my cheek, the calloused pads of his fingers rough against my skin. “Gwyn, come here. Lemme kiss you as thanks.”

“As thanks?”

“For seeing Emrys. I… It means a lot to me. I would've been too frightened to go after everything, but you-”

I smiled, genuinely touched by his vulnerability, and stroked his cheek, hoping that that small action could convey the words I couldn't.

The soft smile I received in response told me that he seemed to understand. His eyes sparkled softly, agleam with affection, their dark depths having turned an amberish hue in the low firelight. I kissed him tenderly before we parted and duly flung ourselves at Dylan, giggling madly together as we landed in a heap.

Dylan yelped, cackling, yet he made no protest of his predicament even as we weighed him down onto the mattress. Instead, he curled his arms around mine and Arthur’s shoulders and smiled, pressing soft, sweet kisses to our foreheads.

Cafall kicked out in his sleep, his sleepy huff making us all giggle harder and we smiled, before I drew the covers over us.

During the nights that followed, Arthur was no longer plagued by nightmares. Safe and serene, he slept on.

[cain-e-brookman]

Favorite Character Poll

Thank you for the tag, @topazadine! i picked Orrinir in your poll! love a trauma boy with abandonment issues tbh

Rules: list all your main ocs and give brief descriptions of them. then, create a poll with their names and allow your followers to vote on who their favourite character is.

Characters are from my current WIP, The Name Witch. This is part of a series that has many more main characters but I'm really controlling myself here and only taking from the first book.

Uthyr Kri'Asphodel

Uthyr is, in his own words, a soft fussy solitary witch from the Uslarian coast who wants nothing more than to tend his garden, cook good food, and live a life of peace. He has a strong sense of justice, but a delicate heart full of loss and shame. He loves all animals but particularly loves frogs and amphibians as well as most bugs and snakes. His connection to the gods allows him to call on many magics, but he specializes as a healer. Despite being a genuinely kind person, he's anxious and grumpy around groups of people or people he doesn't know. Although a powerful witch, he suffers under others' perception of his standing. He long ago abandoned the name of his foremothers, taking the name Asphodel as the first of his line. Despite this, he doesn't regret doing so. His name, like his garden, is his pride.

Crucius, Formerly of Alilux

Uthyr's neighbor, a Fallen Mage who never speaks on his detachment from his god, though he rarely speaks at all. Quiet, indiscernible, and haughty, he plays most of his past close to the vest, giving very little away in the eight years he's lived next to Uthyr in his square house in the woods. He's branded himself with the only fear he'll admit to: two spiders burnt into the backs of his hands: a reminder of his banishment from his homeland into badlands infested with man-eating spiders. Despite his apparent detachment from anyone, he leaves the corner of the forest he shares with Uthyr every spring and only returns in fall.

Sister Alma of Bhréchin

A young woman from the island country of Bhréchin, new in the robes of the Death God's Order. In fact so new, that as of the first chapter she's introduced, she'd only been a Priestess for a week. Her youth becomes obvious in both her naivete and her love of frivolous gossip, though both belie a dark past she faces head-on. Her devotion to the Death God wouldn't be strange but for the grip of the Lifebringer's Cult in her country, who squash any worship outside of the Church under their boot. With a cheerful disposition, an optimism that could eclipse the sun, and a temper to be reckoned with, Alma is only not speaking when she's asleep. And even sometimes, she does that too.

Bran Yot'Aster

As the heir of the line of Aster, Ninth of his Name, Bran comes from a long line of witches and has been told his whole life of a prophecy that the fate of the world depended on his answer to the call of a twisted wind. When the Coven discovers the unraveling of the realm adjacent, The Other, they call upon him to face his destiny and save them all from the destruction of the Calamities...

Only to find Uthyr has beaten him to it.

Dethroned of his destiny, Bran is surly and adrift. When he joins Uthyr and Alma on their journey, he believes Uthyr's involvement comes entirely from a mistake, that he will see the moment where the prophecy declares him champion, and he finally finds himself deserving of the pedestal his family has always placed him on. Despite the predicament, he's steady and true, believing honesty and valor will light his path to glory.

tags under the cut! feel free to do this even if not tagged, and please tag me if you do! don't feel pressured, only if you'd like to o7

@illarian-rambling @emrowene @xenascribbles aaaannnnnd uuhhhh

@spideronthesun

[nightsidewrestling]

D.U.D.E Bios: Heddwyn Pritchard

The Cyhyraeth Duke of C.R.C Heddwyn Pritchard (2020)

The second eldest son of Maeve, and grandson of Naoise, Heddwyn. An Irish-Catholic living in Wales and a poetic and hearty father.

"Wrestling runs in my blood."

Name

Full Legal Name: Heddwyn Neil Meallán Uther Pritchard

First Name: Heddwyn

Meaning: Derived from Welsh 'Hedd' 'Peace' and 'Gwyn' 'White, Blessed'.

Pronunciation: HETH-win

Origin: Welsh

Middle Name(s): Heil, Meallán, Uther

Meaning(s): Neil: From the Irish name 'Niall', which is of disputed origin, possibly connected to the old Celtic root 'Nītu' 'Fury, Passion' or the Old Irish word 'Nia' 'Hero' Meallán: From Old Irish 'Mellán', derived from 'Mell' meaning either 'Pleasant, Delightful' or 'Lump, Ball' combined with a diminutive suffix. Uther: From the Welsh name 'Uthyr', derived from Welsh 'Uthr' meaning 'Terrible'.

Pronunciation(s): NEEL. MYA-lan. OOTH-er

Origin(s): Irish, Scottish, English. Irish. Welsh Mythology, Arthurian Romance

Surname: Pritchard

Meaning: From Welsh 'Ap Richard' meaning 'Son of Richard'.

Pronunciation: PRIT-chard

Origin: Welsh

Alias: Cyhyraeth Duke, Heddwyn Pritchard

Reason: This is Heddwyn's ring name

Nicknames: None

Titles: Mr

Characteristics

Age: 21

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: Welsh

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: February 21st 1999

Symbols: Banshees, Cyhyraeths, Ghosts, Crowns

Sexuality: Bisexual

Religion: Irish-Catholic

Native Language: Welsh

Spoken Languages: Welsh, Irish, Scottish (Scots Gaelic), English

Relationship Status: Married

Astrological Sign: Pisces

Theme Song: 'Fields of Athenry - Dropkick Murphys (2017-)

Voice Actor: Elis James

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Current Location: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Hometown: Llanfaethlu, Anglesey, Wales

Appearance

Height: 6'5" / 195 cm

Weight: 208 lbs / 94 kg

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Sparse

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 2020) 5

Piercings: Ear Lobe (Triple, Both), Eyebrow (Double, Both), Tragus (Both), Nasallang, Cyber Bites

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Smoker, Social Drinker

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Allies: (As of Jan 2020) The Rhydderch Clan

Enemies: (As of Jan 2020) None

Friends: Adam Nye, Roger Nye, Macario Marino, Joseph Winter, Enrico Di Napoli, Padrig Llewellyn, Fabian Rhydderch, Macaulay Rhydderch, Pace Rhydderch, Hale O'Hannigan, Walker Rhydderch, Conan Pritchard, Neil Pritchard, Glyn Pritchard, Joshua Pritchard

Colleagues: The C.R.C Locker Rooms / Too Many To List

Rivals: None

Closest Confidant: Eithne Pritchard

Mentor: Conall Pritchard

Significant Other: Eithne Pritchard (22, Wife, Née McCulloch)

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Conall Pritchard (51, Father), Maeve Pritchard (50, Mother, Née Rhydderch)

Parents-In-Law: Declan McCulloch (52, Father-In-Law), Eireann McCulloch (53, Mother-In-Law, Née Blanchard)

Siblings: Conan Pritchard (30, Brother), Eira MacThaoig (27, Sister, Née Pritchard), Seren Mathieson (24, Sister, Née Pritchard), Tegwen Pritchard (18, Sister), Neil Pritchard (15, Brother), Owena Pritchard (12, Sister), Glyn Pritchard (9, Brother), Joshua Pritchard (6, Brother), Ulyssa Pritchard (3, Sister)

Siblings-In-Law: Brighid Pritchard (31, Conan's Wife, Née MacKenzie), Cillian MacThaoig (28, Eira's Husband), Conn Mathieson (25, Seren's Husband), Antoniy McCulloch (19, Eithne's Brother), Judda McCulloch (16, Eithne's Sister), Asen McCulloch (13, Eithne's Brother), Pharaildis McCulloch (10, Eithne's Sister), Blagoy McCulloch (7, Eithne's Brother), Roza McCulloch (4, Eithne's Sister), Bogdan McCulloch (1, Eithne's Brother)

Nieces & Nephews: Aonghus Pritchard (10, Nephew), Caoilfhionn Pritchard (7, Niece), Clodagh Pritchard (4, Niece), Ardghal Pritchard (1, Nephew), Brendan MacThaoig (7, Nephew), Damhnait MacThaoig (4, Niece), Brian Mathieson (4, Nephew), Cairbre Mathieson (1, Nephew)

Children: Fiadh Pritchard (1, Daughter)

Children-In-Law: None

Grandkids: None

Great Grandkids: None

Wrestling

Billed From: Anglesey, Wales

Trainer: The C.R.C Wrestling School, Naoise Rhydderch, Conall Pritchard

Managers: Eithne Pritchard

Wrestlers Managed: Eithne Pritchard

Debut: 2017

Debut Match: Heddwyn Pritchard VS Conall Pritchard. Heddwyn won via pinfall

Retired: N/A

Retirement Match: N/A

Wrestling Style: Brawler / Hardcore

Stables: The Rhydderch Clan (2017-)

Teams: No Team Names

Regular Moves: Belly-To-Back Suplex, Bulldog, Figure-Four Leglock, Inverted Atomic Drop, Low Blow, Multiple Jabs, Poking / Raking Opponent’s Eyes, Running High Knee Strike, Big Boot, Atomic Drop, Backbreaker Rack, Diving Overhead Chop, High Knee, One-Armed Body Slam, Piledriver, Running Big Boot, Running Leg Drop, Vertical Suplex Powerslam

Finishers: Sleeper Hold, Jumping Knee Drop, Top Rope Jumping Knee Drop

Refers To Fans As: The Fans, The Family

Extras

Backstory: Heddwyn Pritchard of the C.R.C (Welsh Wrestling League / Cynghrair Reslo Cymru) owning Rhydderch family. When Maeve dies Heddwyn will have a 1/560th ownership of the promotion. Heddwyn is a 'Cyhyraeth Style’ (Brawler/Hardcore) trainer. He’s mostly Welsh.

Trivia: Nothing of Note

[banerpg]

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇. Once again, thank you all so much for the dedication put into applying here at Bane; it's truly been a pleasure reading all of your applications and I'm tremendously grateful. Turning down an application is never an easy process and there was more than one instance where I wish I could permit a duplicate upon the dash. With that said, I'm looking forward to both speaking and plotting with each of you soon — welcome to Bane !  Please turn in your blog within the next twenty-four hours and a link to our discord will be extended to you in return. While you may post your intros and plotting may begin immediately, we will be taking a vote as a group to decide what day we'd like to begin interactions.

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

Lucaris Vanstrada played by Mia.

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐄

Sion Ewig played by Kay.

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

Maerope Nievethil played by Sera.

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Uthyr Caveley played by Juno.

𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑

Zyrah Teneldris played by Caroline.

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂

Graciela Resendiz played by Ori.

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

Llyr Meuryk played by Grimm.

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓

Robin ' Locket ' Caddell played by Snare.

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓

Meinir Trehearne played by Amanda.

[jared-the-fool]

WELL. what is your ocs FAVORITE WAY to eat VEGETABLES? (fried , boiled , etc etc!!)

Um. I'll just mention some outliers since. 50 ocs

Markus tends not to eat vegetables unseasoned, they're always found in all the stews and soups he makes.

Piro is the exact opposite, eating them in whatever form she fancies, often raw and whole.

Kon has eaten a zucchini over the course of several days, biting a single chunk into it each time. He didn't like the taste.

Uthyr and Galvin eat the same diet of exclusively root vegetables and fruits, but Uthyr's people eats them raw while Galvin's people roasts them.

Harker does not eat vegetables. At best he dives into the ocean and eats kelp unintentionally.

Hori has eaten his weight in charred corn at some point. He'll never know when he surpassed it but the thought bugs him occasionally.

Roxana and Echo don't need to eat, but they have tried vegetables and enjoyed them! Echo tends to eat the majority, however, eating hers dehydrated and seasoned.

[heartstringablaze]

@falseroquen

His short-lived foe appeared just as worn as the afternoon they first faced each other. Surrounded by peers. Heavy blades in hand. The look Robin recognized now, then, the same as when Uthyr disarmed him.

No contest.

Around them swelled with murmurs of disapproval, and a chortle or two. But that gaze, however spiritless, was all that spared Robin of complete and utter hopelessness. To duel was to repeat a haunting pattern which Uthyr unsuspectingly broke.

The morning that followed felt like renewal. Robin was armored. With kind words and healing company from Graciela the night before. The symbol that despite what took place, he was still apart of what came next. In his heart, mind this also remained true.

He stood on the veranda and helped himself to tea and a biscuit. Beloved luxuries he at least would carry with him on the journey, but would not last its entirety. Would Uthyr partake? The suns presence was not clear, but Robin presumed Uthyr was the early riser of the company. Perhaps breakfast was already warm in that belly.

"Marvelous morning. Bleak as the last." The poet sardonically announced before savoring the swirling tea. "'divine as Vinnessian ale. Before earning my armor, I couldn't stomach their spices."

[simstoricalish]

Runs the year 984 of the Gerbach Era in the Kingdom of Thyvanor, Estria reigned by King Uthyr whose reign has been relatively peaceful. Still, the unrest of years of unresolved conflicts, pushed into darkness threatens to unleash a raging storm. However, to Adalynn it matters not.

Not when the much dreaded yet expected talk has arrived. Adalynn knew from first glance, they were destined to break each other's hearts and yet she hoped and longed for a life beside her painter, her Aidan. Alas, their time was up and so they parted with bittersweet resentment.

She watched him leave wondering if letting him go was the right choice. Refraining herself from calling out to him once more, to promise to go with him...yet she knew that path would bring her nothing but rancor with time.

Nevertheless, the show must go on she thought. And so she poured her heart into her music, as she had always done to heal herself once more.